21
YOU DON’T LOOK like a happy camper on this bright, beautiful Thursday.”
Brent leaned back in his desk chair and scowled as Colin entered. “Jackson lawyered up—and clammed up. He’s out on bail.”
“Who’d he hire?”
When Brent shared the name of the attorney, Colin groaned. “He doesn’t play nice.”
“I know. I ran into him while testifying during a few trials. With this case, he’ll discredit all the circumstantial evidence in the first ten minutes—and I hate to think what he’ll do to Jeremy’s testimony if the boy ends up on the stand. Assuming we get that far.”
Colin sat. “He’ll do his best to punch holes in it, that’s a given. But on the bright side, Jackson can’t evade the reckless driving charge. There are too many witnesses.”
“His wife also walked out on him. He did let that slip during our interview here, before his attorney shut him down.”
“So there’s some justice, at least.”
“Not the kind I’m after.”
“May I offer a suggestion?” Colin linked his fingers over his stomach. “For all intents and purposes, the threat from Jackson is over. He’d have to be a lunatic to try anything else—as I’m sure his lawyer has counseled him. Step back and let the prosecutor try to get a conviction. In your shoes, I’d focus my energy on finding out who wrote the last note to Eve. Did your canvass of the neighborhood turn up anything?”
“No. None of the neighbors saw anyone suspicious on Sunday afternoon.” Brent stood and began to pace.
“It could have been a one-off perpetrated by a sicko who got a vicarious thrill by tagging on to the string of threats. Eve may never hear from him again.”
Colin’s theory was plausible. Copycat crimes weren’t uncommon, and there were people who jumped into the fray simply to get a taste of the action.
But that wasn’t what was going on here.
Someone else was targeting Eve—and it wasn’t for fun and games. The danger was real . . . and getting closer with every hour that ticked by. He could feel it in his bones.
“You’re not buying that theory, are you?” Colin tapped his index fingers together, watching him.
“It’s possible—but my gut is telling me to be on red alert.”
“Then go with your gut. If you’re wrong, worst outcome is you get a few gray hairs. If you’re right, you’ll be more prepared to handle whatever’s coming.”
“Problem is, I don’t know where to go from here.” It killed him to admit that, but it was the truth—and Colin wasn’t the type to rib him about being a rookie. “The note came back clean from the lab, no one saw the person who left it, and the threat is too vague to address.”
“Those are the negatives. On the plus side, the note was left four days ago and nothing else has happened, correct? No one’s bothered Eve or her sisters or you?”
“No—but that doesn’t mean they won’t. And I don’t want to sit around waiting for this guy’s next move.”
“You may not be. Did you see the memo Sarge sent out an hour ago?”
“No.”
“Check your email. There could be trouble brewing at a political event this weekend. FBI intel says that anti-government Antifa factions may turn out in force. Groups from several states are apparently planning to crash the venue to demonstrate and disrupt. County is going to have a large uniformed police presence.”
“How are we involved?” Brent sat again. Most situations of this type were handled by patrol officers, not detectives.
“We’re on standby in case the situation goes south and extra hands are needed to investigate.”
“When is this happening?”
“Saturday.”
“Where?”
Colin named the county park. “Knowing how those groups operate, this could get dangerous. You may want to read the memo and the backup material, just in case.”
“Yeah.” Brent swiveled toward his desk. “But Antifa is a known quantity. They’re easy to identify if they go black bloc, with those dark hoods and masks—and that attire is also a tip-off to prepare for violence. I’d rather deal with them than this shadowy figure targeting Eve, whose appearance and methods are a mystery.”
“I agree with you in principle—but I clashed with Antifa folks once. It wasn’t pretty. Let’s hope they’re content to carry signs and chant slogans, and that they leave the black garb at home.”
“I hear you.”
“You still on chauffeur duty for Eve?”
“Through tomorrow. We’ll have to regroup after that. Phoenix is a possibility for security.”
“Excellent resource. Also pricey.”
“That’s why I’ve tried to pick up the slack while the case was hot.”
Colin booted up his laptop. “Maybe something will break in the next couple of days.”
“I hope so.”
Brent opened his email to read the memo from Sarge about the Antifa situation—but his mind kept wandering to Eve. As far as he could see, given the lack of clues to follow on this latest threat, it would take another incident to generate new leads that could help them identify the most recent note writer.
But much as he wanted a break in the case, the prospect of another episode that could put Eve in the line of fire curdled his stomach.
It was possible, as Colin had suggested, that whoever was behind the latest note was nothing more than a thrill seeker. Someone who’d fade away once the press sniffed out the news that Jackson was a serious person of interest in the case.
Much as he wished that was how this would play out, however, every instinct in his body was screaming that another incident was about to happen.
And that this one could be deadly.
“Hey, Buzz, you wanna stop in at Bubba’s for a beer?” Suds took off his painter’s cap and wiped the sleeve of his T-shirt across his forehead as they walked toward the company truck. “A cold one—or two—would hit the spot after working in an oven all day. It’s not supposed to be this hot in September.”
“Can’t tonight.” Buzz stopped at the truck and set down the drop cloths he’d been carrying. He had more important things to do than spend an hour guzzling beer with a moron.
“Hot date?” Suds grinned as he repositioned the eight-foot ladder he was lugging and slid it into the truck.
“Can’t they wait? Crip and most of the other guys will be there.”
Not a selling point.
“Drink one for me.” He loaded up the empty paint cans, and Suds gave him a hand with the tarps. Driving his own wheels to the job site today had been a smart choice.
“You’ll miss out on the fun—and the babes.” Suds waggled his eyebrows.
Buzz tried not to grimace. “Maybe next time.”
“Your loss.”
Hardly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. If we’re lucky, we’ll finish up here early. I wouldn’t mind getting a jump on the weekend.”
Neither would he.
But while Suds probably had more party plans in mind, he had important work to do.
All at once, his fingers began to tingle—and Buzz froze. What was with the sudden case of nerves? He was prepared for the task ahead. Everything would be fine.
He took a calming breath and deposited the last of his painting paraphernalia in the truck. “Enjoy your beer.”
“Count on it.” Suds smacked his lips.
With a lift of his hand, Buzz hurried to his car, slid behind the wheel, and headed home.
Although his stomach began growling as he parked in front of his apartment and ascended the stairs to his second-floor unit, food could wait.
A final gear inspection was his top priority this evening. Everything should be in order, but in case he’d missed an item, it would be helpful to identify it tonight. Running around tomorrow after work to handle a last-minute equipment glitch would be distracting. He wanted nothing on his mind after tonight but the big event.
Buzz dropped his lunch pail on the counter in the kitchen, continued to his bedroom, and pulled out his list. One by one, he laid the items on the bed, ending with the black hood that had seen its share of marches and demonstrations.
But never had it been as critical as it would be this weekend.
He gave the clothing and equipment one final survey. Double-checked it against his list. Nodded. Come Saturday, he’d be ready to roll.
Now he could relax for the evening. Eat dinner, take a shower, read.
And while his high school acquaintances were wasting their weekend with babes and booze, he’d be making an important contribution to the cause. One he’d never get credit for—but that was okay. The hood would keep him out of jail so he could continue the good fight.
Besides, this wasn’t about one man’s glory. It was about securing power for everyone.
He strolled toward the kitchen, a hum of excitement thrumming through his veins. One person would know what he’d done, though—and if he pulled this off, more responsibilities would come his way. More chances to contribute on a large scale. All he had to do was show up, stay cool, and wait for the perfect moment.
Ten seconds later, in the chaos that followed, he’d disappear into the crowd.
And there would be one less voice proclaiming the greatness of America’s corrupt social, economic, and political system.
“Thanks for being such a trouper all week.” Eve glanced at Brent as he swung the car onto her cul-de-sac. “Getting up at the crack of dawn isn’t for the fainthearted.”
“It wasn’t an issue. I’ve put in a fair number of odd hours during my career.” He slowed as he approached her driveway. “Now that Friday’s here, let’s talk about the weekend.”
Drat.
She’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask about her plans. Her Saturday schedule wasn’t going to thrill him—and she was done imposing on him for bodyguard duty. But there was no avoiding his question.
“I’m giving a speech tomorrow.”
He frowned. “Why didn’t I know about this until now?”
“Because it’s no big deal. Everything’s been normal all week. Whoever left that last note must have decided not to take any further action—and as you told me yourself, Steve won’t try anything else or his lawyer will have a fit. I feel perfectly safe.”
A bit of a stretch . . . but she wasn’t going to walk around in fear either. She had a life to live—and commitments to keep.
“Tell me about the speech. Who, what, when, where, why.” He pulled into her driveway and set the brake.
“Wow. You got very official on me all of a sudden.” She grinned and nudged him with her elbow.
He didn’t smile back. “Just give me the details.”
“Fine.” In staccato fashion, she rattled off the particulars about the Young Republicans event and her keynote address.
A muscle clenched in Brent’s jaw, and he closed his eyes. “That is not what I wanted to hear.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
He looked at her. “Did you know there could be an Antifa presence at that gathering?”
“Yes. The president of the group called to tell me he’d been alerted to that possibility. I wasn’t thrilled, but he said they were beefing up security. They’re even sending a car for me. They’ll whisk me in, I’ll do my thing, they’ll whisk me out. Piece of cake. Otherwise I would have called Phoenix.”
Brent’s taut features said he wasn’t buying her assurance—and his next comment told her why. “County is gearing up for trouble.”
Despite a sudden kink in her stomach, she did her best to maintain a placid expression. “What kind of trouble?”
“We don’t know. But that’s a volatile, unpredictable group. There will be a large law enforcement presence.”
“As a precaution, right? There haven’t been real threats of disruption, have there?”
“Antifa doesn’t always tip its hand. FBI intel suggests quite a few of the groups aligned with the movement have encouraged members from our region to attend. It’s being touted on their websites and message boards. What will happen after they all convene is anyone’s guess.” The twin furrows on his brow deepened. “Have you ever had any direct contact through your show or on your blog with anyone who’s identified themselves as a member?”
“No—but many of my critics could fall into that camp. I stand for everything they abhor. Left to their own devices, they’d abolish the government and Constitution, which they believe are inherently racist. They’d do away with capitalism because they think it enslaves people. And they’re convinced our political system is fundamentally corrupt.”
“They’re also not afraid to engage in violence or property destruction to achieve their goals—and some have no compunction about killing people who defend the system. They think of it as self-defense for the world. That’s why the FBI classifies their activities as domestic terrorism.”
“I understand all that.”
“Yet you didn’t think it was important to mention to me that you were speaking at an event where they may have a strong presence?”
“The president of the group has me covered—and I’m not going to hijack your weekend. You’ve already gone above and beyond with my case.”
His eyes narrowed. “What time is the speech?”
“One o’clock.”
“When are they picking you up?”
“Ten. There’s a private meet and greet at eleven, followed by lunch, then the speech. I should be home by two-thirty.”
“I’ll join the motorcade. I’d say cancel the car, but let’s leave it in case I get called in.”
Her heart warmed—but her independent streak reared its head. “Brent, I don’t want you to—”
“Eve.” He killed the engine and turned to her. “Humor me. Other than an early run with Adam, my Saturday is open. If I’m not with you, I’ll be at home worrying.”
After a beat, she sighed. How could she refuse after that admission? “Fine. I accept—if you’ll let me treat you to Starbucks afterward.”
“Not necessary.”
“I’ll be in the mood for a Frappuccino, and I hate to drink alone.”
He cocked his head. “Is it a deal breaker on me riding shotgun if I turn down your invitation?”
“Yes.”
One side of his mouth twitched. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Seems like a fair arrangement to me—I get a bodyguard, we both get a treat. Are you in?”
“Yeah. I’m in.” He pulled his key out of the ignition. “I also have another piece of news for you. During your program I got word the story’s about to break on Jackson. His attorney tried to contain it as long as he could, but the news hounds sniffed it out. Headquarters got a call this morning from two media outlets to confirm. A brief written statement will be released within the hour.”
“There’s no downside to that, is there?”
“Not from your standpoint. In fact, there may be an upside. This may deter your latest harasser. If he was coasting on Jackson’s coattails, trying to get a vicarious thrill, that gig is up. He knows if he strikes again we’ll be searching for another suspect.”
“I’ll take that as a very positive way to end the week. And it would also suggest there’s less justification than ever for you to spend your Saturday afternoon listening to a boring speech. The danger may be past.” She released her seat belt.
“May be isn’t good enough. I’m not letting my guard down until I have definitive proof this is over. Sit tight while I get your door.”
He slid out of the car without waiting for her to respond. After giving the neighborhood a practiced sweep while he circled the Taurus, he pulled her door open.
Eve joined him on the pavement. “I could get used to this curb service.”
“Anytime.” He hitched up one corner of his mouth and took her arm as they walked to her door. “What’s on your calendar for the rest of the day?”
“Catch up on my blog, practice my speech, do a load of laundry.” She felt around in her purse for her keys.
“So you’re not venturing out anywhere?”
“No.”
He waited while she opened her door. “I’ll call you tonight.”
“I’d like that.” She dropped her key back in her purse but didn’t enter. Now that her case appeared to be waning, why postpone her dinner-for-two invitation? “I’m planning to make moussaka next weekend. Assuming all remains quiet, will you join me? It’s my mom’s recipe, and she was a fantastic cook.”
Despite the obvious conflict in his eyes, his tone was definitive. “We’ve already had this discussion. I’m not the best guy for you, Eve. For any woman.”
“I disagree. You may believe that’s true, but—”
He reached past her, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open.
Her alarm began beeping.
“If you don’t shut that off fast, you’ll have a patrol car barreling down your street.”
She expelled a breath. “I can’t believe you did that. This conversation isn’t over, you know.”
“It is for today.”
“Chicken.”
“Sticks and stones . . .” He gave her a gentle push toward the house. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Making no attempt to hide her annoyance, she swiveled around, shut the door in his face, and scurried toward the kitchen.
She disarmed the alarm with four seconds to spare and dashed back to the front door. Only Brent’s taillights were visible in the distance.
Well, shoot. Getting the man to talk about their relationship was going to be a challenge.
But challenges had never daunted Eve Reilly. So over their Frappuccinos after her speech tomorrow, she’d tackle this one head-on.
Because after almost a week of normalcy, she’d be willing to bet that whoever had put her in his sights last weekend would cease and desist once the suspicions about Steve became public knowledge—if he hadn’t already.
After all, as Brent had noted, why would someone who was using Steve as a cover continue to bother her knowing that would put them on law enforcement’s radar? Only a person with a far more sinister intent than Meg’s husband had had would risk exposure by persisting in his harassment.
And the odds of that had to be small.
Didn’t they?
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