a warrant fast and find answers before the Antifa crowd waiting nearby got impatient with the delay in the afternoon program and decided to forge ahead with its mission.
Whatever that was.
25
IF THIS WAS SUPPOSED to be a joke, he wasn’t laughing.
Steve clamped his lips together, surveyed the desolate area around the abandoned railway bridge, and glowered at the digital clock on the dashboard of his rental car.
One-ten.
Apparently he’d been lured here under false pretenses.
Given that the anonymous caller who’d promised to meet him with helpful evidence had threatened to leave if he wasn’t here precisely at one, the odds were no one was going to come forward with a silver bullet to help him beat the rap hanging over his head.
As the truth hollowed out his stomach, he watched a vulture circle above the corroded bridge and let out a slow breath.
Could Meg have done this, out of spite?
No. Much as she might hate him, it wasn’t in her nature to be mean to anyone.
So who had called him, dangling a carrot he couldn’t resist?
The answer eluded him.
But whoever had devised this prank could be concealed nearby, watching him. Laughing at the desperate man who’d fallen for a mean-spirited trick.
Anger began to churn in his gut, and he squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. No one made a fool of Steve Jackson.
No one.
Muttering a curse, he twisted the key in the ignition. Put the car in gear. Executed a quick U-turn, spewing gravel into the tall weeds rimming the deserted road. He was out of here.
And if he ever found out who had orchestrated this waste-of-time Saturday outing, they’d find out why his ex had nicknamed him Steve the Smasher.
Something was wrong.
Beads of sweat that had nothing to do with the rising air temperature broke out on Buzz’s forehead. Swiping them away with the sleeve of his hoodie, he gave the parking lot another once-over.
More police had shown up, cars attempting to enter were being turned away—and the Antifa demonstration was getting further and further behind schedule.
He checked his watch again. One-twelve.
At this moment, the black bloc groups should be marching and chanting and infiltrating the Republican gathering as they approached the stage where Eve Reilly was speaking. His finger should be on the trigger, ready to dispatch the bullets that would take her out.
Instead, the Antifa crowd was milling around—and becoming restless.
Buzz searched the throng for the guy who’d been their group leader. There. Off to the side, conferring with another group leader.
Buzz headed toward them. He needed answers—and he couldn’t text Dan. His burner phone was history.
As he approached the two men, it was obvious they were as concerned as he was about the change in schedule.
However . . . the delay had far more serious consequences for him than anyone else. If necessary, the group could switch gears, crash the Republican party later in the day, with or without the speeches. While the impact wouldn’t be as dramatic, nor their efforts as disruptive, they would still make the news—and further the overall mission of the movement.
But to complete his mission, he needed access to Eve Reilly and the camouflage of the black-clad group.
He also needed whatever cover Dan had arranged to deflect guilt to someone else—and timing was everything for that. If they got too much off schedule, that cover might not hold.
The two men stopped conversing as he approached.
“Hey.” He tried not to let his nerves show. “Everybody’s wondering what’s going on.”
“So are we.” His group leader furrowed his brow. “The speeches have been delayed. We’ve been trying to reach our contact person for direction, but we’re not getting any response.”
Were they talking about Dan?
Very possible.
And if so, it was strange that communication with the organizer of this gathering had shut down. Dan above all knew how critical today’s rally was.
But he couldn’t say that, or reveal his own contact with the person who’d coordinated this protest from behind the scenes. Only the two of them knew about today’s other mission.
Whatever the glitch, though, he had to find a way to get to Eve Reilly.
Because unless it became absolutely impossible to pull off, he wasn’t leaving the park until he silenced her forever.
Warrant approved and in process. OK to search. Computer tech en route. Possible matches to photo attached.
Brent finished reading Sarge’s email and looked over at Colin, who was concentrating on his computer screen at Olivia’s kitchen table. “Sarge says the search is a go.”
“Good. We’re getting nowhere online. How is it possible