Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,113
gunshot.
Screams erupted from all directions.
The chaos worsened as about half of the protestors scattered while the rest pushed harder against the uniformed human barricade with enraged shouts and curses.
This was as volatile and dangerous as any situation he’d encountered in all his years as a street cop.
But his precarious position wasn’t what jacked his pulse into the stratosphere. Personal risk came with the job. He could handle that.
The risk to Eve?
Not so much.
“We have to keep moving.” As he spoke, he urged the cop ahead of him to press on toward the patrol car. Hunkering down wasn’t going to protect them if more of the protestors broke through the barrier.
The officer in the lead started forward again.
Eve’s grip on his arm tightened, and he gave her a fast assessment.
Face white. Eyes too big. Lips quivering.
She was scared out of her mind.
He could relate. This crowd was beyond hostile.
But reinforcements had to be on the way. Someone would have called this in to dispatch by now, alerted headquarters that the simmering conditions had exploded. The already large law enforcement presence would soon swell and they’d regain control—if the officers on site could hold off the crowd that long.
“Taser! Taser! Taser!” Another warning shout . . . followed by the sharp crack of a second shot.
More screams added to the pandemonium.
The small entourage around Eve stopped again, and Brent scrutinized the area ahead.
A half dozen or more hooded activists were barreling toward them.
“Back off!” The officer in front shouted the command and yanked out his pepper spray.
Not the best tactical weapon, given the direction of the wind. If the OC blew back at them, they’d be—
A rock sailed past his head, and Brent ducked, folding Eve beneath him.
Ugly didn’t begin to describe the scene.
And with a hundred feet separating them from the squad car, it could get a lot uglier.
He was almost there.
Buzz pulled out his subcompact Glock and tucked it against his hoodie, barrel aimed at the ground as his feet pounded the pavement in rhythm with his pounding pulse.
All around him black-hooded figures were breaking through the uniformed human barricade and shouting the slogan of the day—Less Power, Less Politics, More People—and waving signs with the same message.
The noise level was rising, and the Tasers that had been fired had conditioned everyone in the area to the bang of a gun. A few more shots would get little attention.
Perfect.
He tucked himself into the middle of the group racing toward Eve Reilly.
The protestors around him planned to block her path—but he would do much, much more.
In T-minus ten seconds and counting.
A bead of sweat slid down Eve’s forehead as Brent remained bent over her, forcing her to lean forward.
It was hard to breathe in the close huddle of bodies.
Or maybe fear was paralyzing her lungs.
Whatever.
She had to have air.
Lifting her head as high as she could, she tried to inhale a few wisps.
No go. There was zero ventilation in these claustrophobic quarters.
Black spots began to flicker in her field of vision—but just when she thought she was going to pass out for lack of oxygen, the bodies around her shifted, and a slight opening let in a puff of fresh air.
Thank you, Lord!
She leaned toward it and filled her lungs. Started to repeat the process.
Froze.
One of the hooded protestors running toward them was holding a gun against his chest!
An instant later, he was gone, lost in a sea of black.
She stared at the spot.
Had she imagined that? Was her crushing fear creating danger where there was none?
Or had her tiny window to the outside world, which framed that one protestor to the exclusion of all else, given her a spotlighted view no one else had?
All at once the guy was back in sight, charging to the front of the group.
She gasped.
Her imagination wasn’t playing tricks on her.
He had a gun.
“Brent!” She tried to shout a warning, but it was lost in the cacophony around her.
The man swung the gun toward the cop in front of her.
“No!” With superhuman strength, she broke free of Brent’s hold and shoved the officer shielding her with as much force as she could muster.
Under normal circumstances, her willowy frame wouldn’t have had much impact on a muscled six-foot-tall guy who was in full-alert mode, but a push from behind hadn’t been on his radar—and adrenaline was known to impart superpowers in life-and-death circumstances.
This situation qualified.
No one was going to die because of her.
As Eve thrust the cop aside, she pointed and shouted. “Gun!”