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 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.