Free The Black List by Robin Burcell Page A

and Sydney to the left of the doors, each with a camera hanging around their necks, their attention on Tex, undoubtedly waiting to find out what to do next.
    “Friends of yours?” Eve asked, apparently noticing his interest.
    “My photographers,” he told Eve.
    A moment later Tex watched as two men moved to either side of Sydney and Griffin, stepping in close. Too close. Unfortunately, Micah Goodwin walked up to the podium to begin his speech, and the applause drowned out whatever the two men were saying to Griffin.
    A third man walked up behind Tex and Eve, and in a voice just loud enough for the two of them to hear, said, “Don’t move, Mr. Dalton. I have a gun pointed right at you.”
    And to prove his point, he pressed the weapon into Tex’s side.

 
    14
    Nothing like the sobering feel of hard steel against your rib cage, Tex thought, as the sound of applause finally died, and Micah Goodwin stood at the podium on the dais.
    “Thank you,” Micah said into the microphone. “But I won’t bore you with a long speech, other than to say I appreciate your support tonight, your generosity in growing my dream of bringing refugees from war-torn Africa to a better life here in the U.S. As one man I was powerless. Together we’re building dreams.”
    More applause, and then he continued with, “And while it goes to show what we can achieve when joined by others of a like mind, there is one person here who deserves special thanks. Eve Sanders, the lovely young volunteer worker who managed to put my otherwise unknown documentary in the hands of the great people at A . D . E. Without her, I wouldn’t be an international phenomenon. More importantly, we wouldn’t have all of you wonderful people coming together to ensure the success of From Sticks to Bricks. Eve? Where are you?”
    Scattered clapping, then Micah saying, “Ah, there she is near the book table with a group of ardent admirers.” Micah glanced to his side, where a man was working what appeared to be a sound and lighting system. “Terry, shine that spotlight over there. See her? Silver dress. Come come, gentlemen. Don’t let her walk out without the acknowledgment she deserves.”
    Eve stilled as the light hit them. “What should I do?”
    The gunman shoved his weapon deeper into Tex’s side, using his body to shield it from view, as he quietly said, “Extricate yourself, Ms. Sanders.”
    She glanced at Tex, then down at the weapon, before turning a bright smile toward the podium. “They’d rather see you, Micah.”
    “Not the men,” Micah replied, to some scattered laughter.
    Now or never, Tex thought, then called out, “Would you like me to bring her up?”
    “How about it, folks?” Micah said into the microphone. A thunderous round of applause, then he waved them to the podium.
    The gunman leaned over and said into Tex’s ear, “Be very careful, Mr. Dalton. We still have your friends.”
    Not for long, Tex thought, placing his hand at the small of Eve’s back, ushering her away from their would-be captor. As they neared the stage, he glanced back, saw the two men walking Sydney and Griffin toward the side door.
    He grabbed Eve’s hand, doubled their pace.
    “What are you doing?” Eve whispered.
    “Improvising.”
    He hurried her up the few steps to the podium, then leaned over to speak into the microphone. “Mr. Goodwin, you’re going to have to forgive me here. If we could swing that spotlight over by the front door . . . where my photographer and his assistant are trying to make a getaway . . .” He waited and the man working the lights did as asked. The two thugs on either side of Sydney and Griffin froze like deer in headlights as Tex continued, “Before they rush off, I was hoping you’d allow my photographers to snap a few photos of you mingling with the crowd. We’re talking some good front page material, courtesy of the Washington Recorder. ”
    “That ought to make the politicians happy,” Micah said to laughter from