“Unknown.” The lieutenant folded his hands on the table. “Most of the Antifa folks claim they prefer peaceful protests—but we’ve all seen how these kinds of situations can degenerate. As I said, delaying the program would be wise at this point, until we know more.”

“We can do that,” the president confirmed.

“I’ll have the officers circulate in the crowd and make that announcement quietly. Let’s try to keep Antifa off balance as long as we can. We should have new information soon that will give us further direction.”

“That’s fine with us.” Again, the president checked with the other board members, who murmured their assent.

The lieutenant rose. “Ms. Reilly, I was instructed to have you call Detective Lange. I understand you have his number.”

“Yes.” She stood too.

“May I ask that you remain here for the time being? I’m sure these folks would be happy to give you privacy.”

The president and his cohorts took the cue and stood at once. “We’ll mingle too and help spread the word among our members. And Ms. Reilly—given the circumstances, we fully understand if you choose to withdraw from the speaker lineup.”

Not in her plans—unless the situation deteriorated further.

“Let’s play it by ear for now.”

She sat again, pulled out her cell, and turned it back on as the corner of the tent emptied—except for the four officers forming a perimeter around her.

Brent answered on the first ring—and his greeting did nothing to reassure her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. We just had a briefing from a lieutenant—such as it was. He just alluded to an increased threat level and asked the organizers to delay the program. I also have armed, uniformed officers stationed in close proximity. What’s going on?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes.”

“We’re beginning to think Olivia Macie is the second person who had you in their sights.”

Eve’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Repeat that.”

“You heard me correctly. Your neighbor appears to be a strong person of interest.”

She stared at the shadows of the officers on the other side of the tent flaps as Brent filled her in on what they’d found in her neighbor’s basement.

But the connection wasn’t computing.

Olivia . . . Antifa?

Bizarre.

She waited to speak until he finished. “I’m reeling.”

“So are we. While we were in her office, we found a framed photo of a young man that appears to be from the midsixties, early seventies. It was taken at a Vietnam War protest. Did she by chance ever mention anyone from her past who had been important to her?”

“No. She never mentioned anyone, period. I don’t think she had a family, other than her husband—and he died twenty years ago.”