“What’s SDS?” Colin frowned at the screen.

Brent’s fingers were already flying over the keys, searching for that answer. He clicked on the first hit. “Students for a Democratic Society. The group was a critic of the US political system, big business, economic inequality, racial discrimination—and a host of other things. A memo from the FBI in 1969 called it an organization dedicated to the destruction of American society and Western democratic traditions and ideals.”

“Sounds like Antifa.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Brent typed in Peter Arnold and quickly scanned his bio. “Whoa. Get this. Arnold married a woman named Olivia Wallace in 1961.”

“I assume that’s our Olivia. But she told Eve her husband died twenty years ago—and the names don’t match.”

“There could have been a second marriage. The patrol officer who responded to the emergency call this morning told me Eve said Olivia was married to a guy named Nathaniel.”

“Try pairing the names for a search.”

Brent resumed typing. “The uncommon last name should help keep this manageable.” He scrolled through the hits that popped up. Clicked on one that seemed promising. “She married her second husband in 1970. Nathaniel Macie was quite a bit older than her. They were together until he died in 2000 after a debilitating battle with Parkinson’s disease.”

“Was he also a radical?”

“No. A prominent banker.”

“Huh.” Colin arched an eyebrow. “She went over to the dark side—or at least that’s what her old activist cohorts would say.”

“The evidence downstairs would suggest she didn’t stay there.”

Colin rose. “Let’s dive in and—”

Ding dong.

“Must be the computer tech Sarge is sending.” Brent stood too.

“I’ll let him in and meet you downstairs.”

They parted in the hall, and Brent clattered back down the stairs. Now that the tech was here, they could dig into the woman’s computer. That might yield gold. And the texts and call history on the burner phones would also be valuable.

Unless everything was password protected and their tech guru couldn’t get them into the devices fast.

And fast was key. The Antifa fanatics at the park could lose patience any second.

However, Eve should be safe—unless she and the powers that be in the Republican organization decided to proceed with the afternoon programming.

A shudder rippled through him as a litany of potential consequences strobed through his mind.

But without hard evidence to suggest there was a plot directed specifically against her, she wasn’t the type to back down in the face of pressure. She would stick with her principles, even if that put her at risk.

And all along he’d been afraid his job would freak her out.

How ironic.

Colin joined him in the basement, followed by a jeans-clad guy who could pass for a teenager.

“Sam Harris.” The new arrival held out his hand.

Brent returned the shake and introduced himself.