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 there are no database or Google references for a person in the twenty-first century? It’s like Olivia Macie lives in a cave.”

“The cookie-baking Olivia Macie that Eve knows does in terms of the internet. I’m thinking she uses another name for her illicit activities.” He relayed the rest of Sarge’s message and opened the photos, tipping his cell so his colleague could see the screen too.

“That’s him.” Colin pointed to one of the images.

“I agree.” He touched it and read the brief bio that came up, pulling out the pertinent facts.

Peter Arnold. Prominent SDS activist. Killed in violent confrontation during a protest in 1964.