Untitled (27 page)

   "Really?" He could barely control his excitement. "And you don't mind taking me along? I mean, after everything I said, you don't think I'm a dope or that I'm really lame or—"

   It was time to put the past behind us and get our friendship back on an even keel. I gave him a smile. "Can't think of anyone else I'd rather have along on this investigation with me," I told him. "Besides, what do you mean, after everything you said? I have no idea what you're talking about."

       have spent an appropriate amount of time doing the happy dance in celebration, then gotten down to business doing things normal people do on their days off, like the laundry or catching up on bills. Or at least helping with the preparations for the baby shower the next day. Of course, my life was anything but normal. That would explain what I was doing out in the pouring rain, a placard in my hands. Since Kegan had put it together for me and I'd barely given it a glance when I picked him up at his apartment in the rental car the insurance company had provided me, I wasn't exactly sure what I was for. Or against. I only knew the neon-colored sign in my rain-slick hands said something about a Pollution Solution.

   On his cue, I waved it in the air. The sign helped me look like I belonged in the crowd of chanting protesters in Lafayette Park across the street from the White House. And it kept some of the raindrops at bay, too.

   While I was at it, I stood on tiptoe and looked around, hoping for a glimpse of Reggie Goldman. "Are you sure he's going to be here?" I asked Kegan. It wasn't the first time I'd asked, so I wouldn't have blamed him if he lost his temper. Kegan being Kegan, he did no such thing.

   "I've checked around and talked to plenty of people. Reggie's got something of a reputation. He's a hothead and a troublemaker. Not the kind of guy anyone wants associated with a legitimate cause. But . . ." I'd described Reggie to Kegan, and he looked around, too. Being taller, I figured he'd sight Reggie long before I did. "People remember him, Annie. They talk about him. A couple people I asked told me that the plumes of airborne dust and pollutants from Asia that blow across the ocean to North America . . . well, according to them, that's Reggie's thing. His cause, you know? And Benjamin Rhodes . . ." Kegan looked over to the makeshift stage from which a distinguished-looking guy in a yellow slicker was getting ready to address the audience. "Rhodes is the world's foremost expert on the subject. No way Reggie is going to miss this."

   A raindrop plopped in my eye. "Maybe Reggie found something better to do today. Like keeping dry."

   "Better than hearing about black carbon particles?" In disbelief, Kegan shook his head. I could tell the research he'd done to get us ready for the day's protest had really fired him up. All the way into D.C., he'd filled me in on the massive plumes of pollution that make their way across the oceans. Interested or not, I already knew the plumes packed a combination of industrial emissions like soot and trace metals, and that by studying them, scientists hoped to shed light on global warming.

   "Black carbon produces warming by absorbing sunlight," Kegan said, his enthusiasm for the subject taking flight, just like those plumes. "They may mask up to half of the global warming impact of greenhouse gases. I'm telling you, Annie, Reggie will be here. He has to be. This is way too exciting for him to miss."

   At that point, I wished I believed it. At least if Reggie showed, and we had a chance to grill him about any connection he might have to Brad Peterson and Mother Earth's Warriors, it might justify standing there in the rain. Even as I thought about it, a single, cold drop dripped off the brim of my hat and rolled inside the collar of my blue rain slicker and down my back. I shivered.

   Kegan glanced around again. "If it wasn't so crowded, we might be able to see more."

   "Or maybe we just got lucky." I latched on to Kegan's arm and pulled, and he had enough faith in me not to ask where we were going. Maybe he didn't have to. Maybe like me, he'd seen a glimpse of a bare head and the golden ponytail plastered down by the rain.

   I excused us through the crowd, darting between protesters as I kept an eye on the beefy guy thirty feet up ahead. When we made our way around the technicians operating the sound system as they huddled under tarps, we closed the gap.

   "Reggie!" I called his name, and when he stopped, I stepped up my pace. "Imagine seeing you here! I'm Annie," I said when he gave me that blank look designed to make me think he didn't remember our meeting at Mamie Dumbrowski's. I wondered if he remembered my front tire any better and promised myself that someday, I'd have the chance to ask. "So, you're interested in plumes of Asian pollution, too."

   "Yeah." Reggie looked at me through narrowed eyes. "Why are you here?"

   I glanced down at my sign. "I'm looking for a pollution solution! And my friend Kegan here—"

   "Hey, I know you." Reggie offered Kegan his hand. "Seen you at a couple round table discussions. Deforestation, right? And watershed preservation. You presented a paper on overpopulation, too. I remember that. You're good people."

   Kegan blushed. Before the lovefest could get out of hand, I stepped between them. "That's sort of what we'd like to talk to you about."

   "Watershed preservation? Or overpopulation?"

   "Well, not exactly. Environmental causes, though. And a group called Mother Earth's Warriors."

   Reggie crossed his arms over his broad chest. He was wearing a gray sweatshirt that was already soaked. He didn't seem to mind. "I've heard of them."

   "No doubt." This was from Kegan who, for reasons I couldn't explain, didn't seem to remember that back in the car, we'd talked about taking it slow and trying to lull Reggie into taking us into his confidence. I tried to deflect what I knew was coming, but Kegan was too quick for me. Before I could say a word, he raised his chin and glared at Reggie. "Do you know about the death of Joseph Grant, too?"

   Reggie snorted. "That guy was a whack job. Died in one of his own fires, and I say good riddance. That's the kind of nutcase who gives people like us a bad name."

   "Maybe he's not the only nutcase around here."

   Reggie's chin came up, and the camaraderie that had brightened his eyes only moments before was replaced with suspicion. "Who you calling a nutcase?"

   "Boys!" I hadn't been counting on things getting so far out of hand so quickly. I wedged myself between Reggie and Kegan. "That's not at all what Kegan is saying," I explained, sending a death ray look to Kegan as I did so he'd shut up and let me take over. "It's just that we're making some inquiries into the death of a guy by the name of Brad Peterson. Brad was a journalist out in Colorado at one time. We know he had a connection to Mother Earth's Warriors."

   "So?" As questions went, Reggie's was legitimate enough. I might have pointed this out, if Kegan didn't step up to the plate.

   "So we think that maybe Joseph Grant isn't dead. He was a tall guy with blond hair. And he might have known Brad Peterson was on his trail. If you know anything—"

   "I don't."

   "He doesn't." I didn't like this new, aggressive Kegan. I put a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. "What Kegan meant to say," I told Reggie, "is that there might be a connection, and with your contacts in the environmental community, we thought you might be able to help."

   "Unless Brad knew the truth about you, and that's why you had to kill him to shut him up. What did you do with the proof? The stuff Brad sent to Gillian Gleeson. Did you find it when you went there to kill her, Reggie? Or should I call you Joseph?"

   "Kegan!" I groaned my frustration. Not only had he embarrassed us, but he'd blown our investigation. I knew this for certain when Reggie turned on his heels and stalked away. "What on earth is wrong with you?" My voice was a little sharp. OK, it was a lot sharp. I couldn't help it. Watching Reggie disappear into the crowd, my temper soared, and my hopes of ever finding a solution that would prove Eve's innocence dissolved in the mud and rainwater that surrounded us. "That's not how you interrogate a suspect!"

   Kegan's expression, so hard and unyielding while he grilled Reggie, faded into chagrin. "I'm sorry, Annie. I don't know what got into me. I've been watching detective movies to get ready for our investigation, and I guess . . . Oh my gosh, I really got carried away."

   "So did our best chance of ever talking to Reggie." My shoulders slumped, and when I realized I still had my protest sign over my shoulder, I plunked the stick handle down into the soft grass. "We blew it."

   "
I
blew it." I didn't think anyone could be more disconsolate than me, but of course, Kegan took my criticism to heart. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I thought . . ." He puffed out a breath of annoyance right before he craned his neck. "Maybe we can still find him," he said. "Come on."

   Before I knew it, he had ahold of my arm. He dragged me through the crowd, and we searched near the tents where folks sold newspapers and magazines that supported environmental causes. We looked around over near the portable bathrooms (not too close!) and toward the back of the stage where, by this time, Benjamin Rhodes was talking about those black carbon particles and the folks in the crowd were applauding his every word and calling out their support.

   There was no sign of Reggie anywhere.

   "Dang!" Disgusted, I took refuge beneath the spreading branches of a tree that was just leafy enough to keep the worst of the rain away. I propped my chin in one hand and grumbled. It wasn't until I was all set to suggest that we try over on the other side of the park where the crowd was thinner that I realized that somewhere between the portable johns and the media tents, I'd lost Kegan.

   "Dang!" I said again because, let's face it, it really was the only appropriate response. Now I had two missing environmentalists on my hands and no hope of finding either one of them if I stood there and tried to stay dry.

   Which didn't stop me from grumbling some more. Right before I stepped back out into the rain.

   I wound my way through the maze of heavy black cables behind the stage, and when I didn't see either Kegan or Reggie, I headed toward the far side of the park.

   The way I remember it (and I think it's pretty safe to say I remember it pretty well since one, my memory is excellent, and two, nearly being killed has a way of sticking in your mind), I was almost there when the first shot plunked into the wet ground not ten feet from where I stood.

       stunned and frozen with terror? Nobody who's ever been shot at, that's for sure. Lucky for me, my surprise didn't last more than a second or two. After that, I took off running.

   Where was I going?

   I didn't have a clue.

   What would I do when I got there?

   I only wish I knew.

   Right about then, the only thing that mattered was that I

took one chance of looking over my shoulder, and in that one fraction of one second, I swore I saw the glimmer of rain-slicked, golden hair. Reggie Goldman was somewhere toward the back of the crowd, and no doubt, he was all set to take aim again. If I didn't get out of the line of his sight—and fast—what he'd started out on the George Washington Parkway was going to finish right there across the street from the White House. I could practically see the headlines now: "Arlington Woman Killed in Protest."

   More's the pity, since I wasn't even sure what I was protesting.

   My steps fueled by my fear, I raced across the park, heading as far from the protest as I could—until I realized my thinking was all wrong. I didn't need to get away from the crowd, I needed to get lost in it. With that in mind, I swung around a huge old oak, prepared to dart around the other side and head back into the heart of the crowd. I would have made it, too, if my sneakers didn't slide on the soggy ground. My left ankle turned; my feet went out from under me. I hit the ground face-first, and muck and mud aside, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. When the next shot hit, it slammed into the trunk of the tree, exactly where I would have been standing if I hadn't slipped.

   Yeah, I thought about staying right where I was, rolling into a ball, and whimpering. But that wasn't going to help. With all the noise the protesters were making as they cheered Benjamin Rhodes, nobody could hear the shots. And with all the people milling around, no one was going to notice one lone woman running through the rain like a fool.

   If anybody was going to save me, it was going to have to be me.

   I hopped to my feet and took off again, this time toward the fringes of the crowd. As soon as it closed ranks behind me, I breathed a little easier. But only for a moment. I was short enough that I couldn't see far past the people in front of me. If I happened to take a wrong turn and bumped right into Reggie, he could finish me off at close range without anyone being the wiser.

   I moved carefully. Earlier, I'd seen a couple of cops over near the stage. If I could make it that far . . .

   I sidestepped my way around protesters waving signs and singing. I ducked around a guy dressed as a black carbon particle (don't ask me how I knew, just take it on faith that a few garbage bags and a lot of duct tape can work wonders). I dodged my way between a photographer taking pictures of the crowd and a guy keeping nice and dry under a golf umbrella who was catching a lot of flack from the people around him because they couldn't see the stage. I darted to my right, feinted to my left . . .

   And slammed right into a tall man.

   My heart clutched. Until I realized this guy was too thin to be Reggie. In fact, it was Kegan, and at the same time I let go a breath of relief, I punched him on the arm. "Don't do that to me!"