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?