the chanting was growing louder, and the anger swirling through the air was almost tangible as police began to tussle with several of the more aggressive protestors.
Buzz flexed his fingers, his respiration quickening. Pointing his gun at someone other than Eve today hadn’t been part of the plan, but if that’s what it took to get to her—so be it.
Because whoever came between him and his target—or him and escape—was fair game.
She should have agreed to go when the lieutenant asked her to leave the picnic after Brent’s phone call. Had she done so, she wouldn’t be watching dark smoke billow in the sky above her, nor would she be putting others in danger.
If anyone got hurt today, it would be her fault.
As Eve grappled with guilt and regret, the officers around her halted their forward momentum and closed ranks.
At the abrupt stop, she stumbled.
Brent’s grip on her arm tightened, steadying her, and she rose on tiptoe to try and see what was going on.
“Watch your head!” Brent snapped out the order and tugged her back down as the angry shouts and loud chanting around them grew louder.
“Is it too late to say I’m sorry?” She looked up at him.
“We can discuss it later.” His razor-sharp gaze was focused on the black-clad crowd that was getting closer and closer, the grim line of his mouth and every taut angle of his face screaming red alert.
“Why did we stop?”
“No access to the car. We’re surrounded.”
He retrieved his own weapon—and her heart rate rocketed to warp speed. Would it really come down to a shoot-out?
She clenched her fingers and tried to keep breathing.
“Brent.” She had to raise her volume to be heard above the shouting and chanting that continued to crescendo as the Antifa contingent advanced. “Do they have weapons?”
“Unknown. That’s why ours are out.”
“You won’t shoot unless they do, though—right?”
“That’s the general rule, especially in today’s world. St. Louis police can’t afford to be in the news again.”
True. Disputes about discrimination or race relations or anarchy or a dozen other lightning-rod issues could rip a community apart—as she’d often discussed on her program when covering current events.
But she’d never expected to be in the middle of one.
Thank God there were men and women who were willing to put their life on the line every day to keep citizens safe, despite the constraints and lawsuits and vilification that had become part of a career in law enforcement.
If she got out of this alive, that was going to be the topic of her next broadcast. If being the operative word, given the mob scene around her.
The truth was, there was a high probability this wasn’t going to end without someone being seriously injured—or worse.
Including her.
He had sixty seconds left until the smoke emitters ran out of juice—and Eve Reilly was still twenty yards away.
But the surging crowd was gaining ground, and the police were on overload trying to deal with the belligerent protestors, the noise, the smoke, and the media that had rushed into the fray.
He was going to be able to do this.
A rush of exhilaration coursed through him, and he pushed the black-clad guys ahead of him toward Eve.
“Surround her!”
As he yelled the battle cry, he dove into another cluster of shouting protestors that was also closing in on Eve.
The stars had aligned at last.
Around him, the strident voices were loud, the smoke was creating a screen, and there were a sufficient number of similarly dressed black bloc people to provide anonymity.
He slid his hand into his pocket.
Clamped his fingers around the handle of the pistol.
Took a deep breath.
This was it.
In less than thirty seconds, he’d take out the cop blocking his view of Eve—and then with a fast pop . . . pop . . . pop . . . fire the next bullets into her. He’d drop the gun, dive back into the teeming mass of people as chaos reigned, and disappear.
It was as good as done.
27
THIS WAS A NIGHTMARE.
Heart pounding, Brent did a rapid three-sixty sweep.
The protestors had broken through the police lines on two sides, and other breaches appeared to be imminent.
A loud cry went up on his right, and he swung that direction.
Tear gas had been deployed.
He winced.
There may have been no other recourse, given the deteriorating state of affairs, but getting a faceful of oleoresin capsicum would only make a confrontational crowd more hostile.
“Taser! Taser! Taser!”
The shouted alert by an officer on his left was followed by the crack of the discharge.
It sounded like a