Hearts in the Crosshairs (10 page)

She shook her and mustered a smile. “I’ve thanked God all day long. Andrew was magnificent, too, leaping on him like he did. I’m afraid either Penny or I would have been shot if you hadn’t acted precisely when you did.”

Dave thought, as he had a thousand times in the last eighteen
hours, that he should have frisked the man before he let Jillian leave the concert hall.

“I’m happy to report that we got a match on the gun he used last night. Our ballistics lab says its bullets match the slug from the inauguration day shooting.”

Jillian caught her breath. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. This is the same gun.”

She exhaled. “Thank God. That’s one answer, at least.”

A soft tap on the door preceded Beth’s entry.

“Here’s the coffee, ma’am.” She set the tray on the desk before them.

“Thank you, Beth. Has my mother arrived yet?” Jillian asked.

“No, ma’am.”

Jillian turned to Dave. “I’ve persuaded Mom to spend a couple of days with me again.”

When Beth left the room, Dave said, “I’m glad Mrs. Clark’s coming, but you do understand that we can’t go lax on your security?”

“Oh, of course not.” Jillian reached for her mug. “But things should be a little less tense now, shouldn’t they?”

“A bit. But we still don’t know much about the second shooting. We’re hoping to find something in the shooter’s residence. Did the colonel tell you who the man was?”

“Yes. Wesley Stevenson. I can’t say I recall hearing the name before, but it’s a fairly common one. Colonel Smith said the EPU will do a complete investigation into his background.”

“It may take several days before we get a conclusive report. Carl Millbridge is checking to see if Stevenson had crossed your legal path in the past. At this point we don’t think he showed up as a defendant in any of your court cases.”

“That’s good, I suppose. But it might be better if we knew he had a reason to hate me.”

Dave took a sip of coffee to stop himself from saying that
he found it impossible to believe anyone could hate her, despite evidence to the contrary.

She frowned. “I wish we could know for certain that it was the same man—I mean, that it was Wesley Stevenson all three times.”

Dave would certainly sleep better if they knew that. A lot of people would. But he said nothing.

“When will you be able to resume work?” she asked.

“Maybe as soon as Wednesday.”

“So you get a couple of days off to relax and enjoy yourself.”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure how much relaxing I’ll be able to do.”

She sipped her coffee, then looked at him. “What do you do for fun anyway? I know you’re dead serious about your job. All of you EPU officers are alike in that way. Won’t let me out in the yard alone for half a minute. But you must have hobbies when you’re off duty.”

He studied her for a moment. She’d deliberately taken the conversation out of official territory. Was that significant, or did she simply not want to discuss the dead man anymore? “I like to read. And I hunt. In summer, I do some canoeing.”

“Oh, I love canoeing.” She held her mug with both hands and smiled. “Where’s your favorite spot?”

“Kennebago River, I guess.”

“I like lakes better than rivers for canoeing,” she said. “I’m not skillful enough for white water.”

“I like a good river run now and then, but a nice, calm lake is better.”

Jillian leaned with one elbow on the desk. “Brendon and I went up to Moosehead for two weeks the summer before he died.” Her smile tilted a little.

Dave could see the pain in her eyes and wished he could ease it somehow. “I used to go with my brother.”

She perked up immediately. “Oh, you have a brother. Older or younger?”

“Younger. And a sister. She lives at home still. She’s twenty—going to UMA.”

“And your brother?”

Dave inhaled deeply. “He’s in Iraq.”

She stared at him for a moment, her face troubled. “You were in Iraq, too. Someone told me that.”

He nodded. “Two tours.”

“It must be hard to see your little brother go.”

“Yeah.” He reminded himself that the odds were good Matt would come back in fine shape. “I’m proud of him.” Despite his efforts, his voice cracked. He remembered his first combat experience. If he could spare Matt that, he would do anything in his power. Taking down the man who wanted to kill Jillian last night had been easy compared to seeing his friends fall in combat.

Jillian reached over and touched his hand for an instant, then drew back. “Would you mind if I prayed for him?”

“Not a bit. In fact, Matt and I would both appreciate that. Thanks.”

“Dave…”

As he looked up to meet her pensive gaze, another soft knock came at the door.

“Come in.” Jillian looked expectantly toward the sound.

Stephanie entered, smiling. “Your mother is here, Governor. She’s in her room, getting settled.”

Dave rose, picked up his jacket and slipped it on. “Have a good evening. Thanks for the coffee.”

Jillian’s smile soothed the ache in his heart. The people of Maine, more than a million strong, vied for her attention. Tonight, for fifteen minutes, he’d had her all to himself.

“Dave, thank you for everything.” She stood and took his
hand in both hers for a moment. His heart thundered as he gazed down into her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said. “Have a good night’s rest.”

“I think I will. And I’ll pray that you’re back on active duty soon.”

“Thank you.” He stood too long, looking down at her. If he’d acted a moment too late…but he hadn’t. She was safe. And others would watch over her until he was allowed back. Which couldn’t happen a moment too soon.

W
hen Jillian answered her phone on Thursday afternoon, Lettie’s words set her pulse racing.

“Detective Hutchins is here, Governor. He has some news for you on the Stevenson investigation. If you can give him a few minutes, he’d like to see you.”

“Of course. Oh, Lettie, I have someone coming at three…”

“I believe they just entered the outer office. I’ll seat them until you’re finished with the detective.”

Jillian sat back and took a deep breath. Every time she’d thought about Dave lately, she’d tried to convince herself that her feelings for him were illogical and temporary. But careful consideration brought the opposite conclusion. What could be more logical than falling for the man who had done so much to protect her? This was more than an adolescent crush. She admired and appreciated Dave’s diligence, his sympathy and kindness, and she found herself wishing their relationship could transcend business and become something more personal…and more permanent.

He entered, smiling, and she stood to shake his hand.

“Dave! You’re back at work.”

“Who told you?”

“You did. I can tell by the satisfaction on your face.”

He laughed. “I admit being on leave depressed me. It feels good to be back on the job.”

“You look great.” She immediately wondered if the remark was too personal, but his dark gray suit, pearl-gray shirt and burgundy necktie, along with his dashing good looks, put him in the head-turning category.

“Thanks. I feel great. How about you? Any pain in that ankle?”

“No, it’s fine. What can you tell me today?”

He sat down opposite her, and sobered as he looked into her eyes for a long moment. “We’ve found a connection between you and Stevenson.”

She caught her breath. “What?”

“Roderick Tanger.”

“He’s still in prison.”

“Yes.” Between Dave’s eyebrows, little vertical lines spelled regret and concern.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Okay. This Wesley Stevenson—the gunman—worked for Tanger.”

“Before Tanger was convicted?”

“Yes. And some say he still did.”

Jillian studied his face. “You think Tanger’s still running his so-called business from the Maine State Prison?”

“Maybe. Other men are doing the legwork—bringing the drugs in, collecting the payments. But Tanger may still have a hand in it. We’ve got three detectives in Portland and another at the prison right now, trying to ferret out information.”

“So you think Tanger is carrying out the revenge he’s wanted on me for nearly a decade?”

“I think it’s possible. We’re looking into Stevenson’s connections now and trying to determine how he’s supported himself recently. The car he drove to Orono Saturday night wasn’t flashy enough to draw attention, but it’s not a cheap
model. The detectives in Portland searched his house, and they tell us he lived pretty well. We’re looking at his bank records now.”

She nodded slowly. “Anything else?”

“Yes. They found a rifle. The lab will test it. They should be able to tell if it fired the round from the parking garage.”

“That would be progress.”

“The thing is, Tanger’s been a model prisoner. If he’s still running drugs, we have no proof. And the prison is crowded. They want his room.”

“You’re not serious,” Jillian said, her stomach suddenly in knots.

“He’ll have a parole hearing this summer.”

She frowned and looked down at her desk, gathering a few stray papers and nervously tapping them into a neat stack. “I can recommend that the parole board refuses to release him.”

“Maybe you should set up a meeting with the attorney general.”

“I’ll ask. But if they can’t find any evidence…” She jotted “Call the AG” on a slip of memo paper, then looked up into Dave’s brown eyes. “You seriously think Roderick Tanger was behind these attacks.”

“I don’t know. But it’s the best lead we’ve had in a long time.”

They sat for half a minute without speaking. Jillian remembered Tanger’s fury when the verdict came down at his trial. She shivered, and despised her own weakness.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “I know this is your job, but it’s more than that to me.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I wish I could make it go away. If we find anything that shows Tanger was communicating with Stevenson, we’ll throw away the key on him. But if he had nothing to do with it…”

She nodded. “I’d be the last one to want an innocent man punished for this. Thank you for everything. I feel as though
it’s more than a challenge for you. That you really care, not only on the professional level, but…”

“I do. I care very much.”

Jillian’s pulse quickened at his husky tone and the warmth in his eyes. She warned herself not to make too much of it, but she felt an unexpected wave of happiness. They gazed at each other across the desk. There were so many things she wished they could say, but she wouldn’t break protocol, and neither would he.

With reluctance, she pulled her gaze away. Her three o’clock appointment had been waiting ten minutes.

Before she could speak, Dave rose.

“It’s been a pleasure, Governor. I’ll keep you posted on our findings.”

That Sunday, Jillian felt more optimistic than she had in weeks. She and Naomi rode to her hometown to attend services at her own church, a welcome change from the cloistered existence she’d lived for nearly two months. The pastor’s sermon reminded her that God was in control of everything—the investigation, the workings of the state and, yes, even her personal life.

Jillian’s mother, who had returned to her own house the day before, met her and Naomi in the auditorium before the worship service. She insisted that the two EPU officers with them, Penny and Ryan, join them for lunch at her home afterward. On the return drive to Augusta, with Penny at the wheel of the SUV, Jillian talked quietly with Naomi.

“I meant to tell you,” Naomi said, “I have a date for Friday evening.”

“Oh?” Jillian asked. “Someone new?” She couldn’t recall Naomi dating anyone since they’d moved to Augusta.

Naomi chuckled. “It’s Beth’s cousin.”

Jillian stared at her. “Beth? You mean our Beth?”

“Yes, the one who helps Amelia in the kitchen. He’s going to be in town next weekend, and Beth wanted to line up someone for a foursome with her and her boyfriend.”

“That could be interesting,” Jillian said.

“She warned me that he’s an accountant, and he never reads anything but science fiction.”

Jillian laughed. “You hate sci-fi. And you always came crying to me for help with your math.”

“I know.” Naomi grimaced. “But Beth is fun. It’ll be something different.”

“You’ll have to tell me how it goes.” Jillian leaned back and closed her eyes. She was glad Naomi had made friends with Beth. It made Jillian feel less guilty about how unavailable she’d been lately, as a friend.

She let her mind roam. Since Stevenson’s shooting, she’d done two press conferences. The first, on Monday, had included reporters from the networks, as well as Maine newspapers and TV stations. The second, held Friday morning in the Hall of Flags, was limited to in-state journalists, though some of the networks had run clips on their evening broadcasts. Jillian preferred to let Mark Payson do the interviews, but she saw the wisdom of letting the world see her unscathed face after the nearly successful assassination attempt.

Her short interludes with Dave Hutchins brought more pleasant memories. Those few minutes alone with him at the mansion and in her statehouse office had sown a seed of longing she didn’t think she’d ever feel again. Ten years ago, she and Brendon had planned their life, their home and their family together. Did she still have a chance at that? Was there still time for her to have children and a family life?

Not without a husband.

But she’d signed on for four years in a very high-stress job. This was not the time to think of dating or marrying or becom
ing a mother, much as she yearned for those things. Yet, when she thought of Dave, the longing pierced her deeply.

She let out a sigh.

“You okay?” Naomi asked.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“Is your mom coming to stay with us again soon?”

“I hope so.” Jillian opened her eyes.

“I was going to spend next weekend with my mother, but now that I have a date…”

“You can always go home on Saturday,” Jillian said.

“Maybe. We’ll see. We’ve been so busy since the inauguration that I haven’t been home much,” Naomi said. “I should go soon.”

“Yes, you should.”

Jillian closed her eyes again, mulling over her new life. At first she’d found the domestic staff and security officers annoying. No matter where she went, someone was only steps away. It rankled her independent soul. Since becoming a widow, she’d done things for herself and enjoyed her privacy and solitude. But she’d lost that now. A simple walk in the park required complicated schedule shuffling and arrangements for her security.

But if she expected to stay alive and maintain a semblance of a normal life, the EPU was necessary. And Dave Hutchins was more than necessary. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to do about that.

Dave tapped his fingers on the edge of his keyboard and scowled at the spreadsheet on the screen. More than a week had passed since he’d shot the stalker. They were still investigating the dead man, probing Stevenson’s associates and his connection to Roderick Tanger. Dave had made two trips to southern Maine to interview people who had known the dead man after Carl Millbridge parceled out the interviews to several
detectives. Dave was getting to the end of his lengthy list. He closed his eyes for a moment and sent up a silent prayer.
Lord, help us to not overlook something critical.

He would see Jillian tonight, having resumed the biweekly briefings in her office at the Blaine House. He tried to ignore how much he was looking forward to seeing her.

He was still at the computer when the lieutenant called him at quarter to six.

“The governor is working late at the statehouse. Detectives Mills and Thurlow are scheduled to take her home, but Mills’s shift ends in a few minutes. If you’re available, the governor thought it might be easiest if you update her at the statehouse. Help Thurlow get her home, and Bob Caruthers will take over for you at the Blaine House.”

“Sounds good,” Dave said, thinking he’d rather meet with Jillian in the office at the mansion. It felt more private.

He drove to the huge parking lot outside the state office building. Most of the workers had left for the day. He walked around the massive utilitarian building that ruined the view of the statehouse from most nearby vantage points.

As he rounded the corner, he surveyed the back of the Capitol building, from the open area where Jillian had given her ill-fated press conference on inauguration day, to the copper-covered dome topped with a statue of Wisdom. As always, the sight stirred him.

He crossed the lobby, bypassed the elevator and took the broad marble staircase instead, coming up into the majestic Hall of Flags on the second floor. The entrance to the governor’s office was tucked away, with a sign so small beside the door that it would be easy to miss. The EPU officer standing on duty outside indicated Jillian’s presence in the chambers. The receptionist had left for the night, and her small office was empty. Dave swung to the right into the next, much larger room.

In the spacious outer office, Jillian’s administrative assistant, Lettie Wheeler, was pulling on her coat. Dave knew little about her, but she always had a smile and a kind word for the officers.

“The governor is expecting you,” she told him. “I’m heading out, but when you are finished, the two officers on duty here will help the governor lock up and see her home.”

“Actually, I’m one of the two who will escort her tonight,” Dave said. “Things must be busy around here.”

Lettie nodded. “You could say that. Governor Goff has been meeting with legislators and lobbyists all day. She’s determined to see that tax bill go down, but there are a lot of people who would like to see it pass. If you want my advice, keep the briefing short and take her home to get some rest.” She winked at him, and Dave chuckled.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

Lettie leaned over her desk and pushed a button on the phone. “Detective Hutchins is here.”

“Thanks, Lettie,” Jillian’s clear voice said. “Good night.”

Dave watched the older woman leave and turned toward the closed oak door of the inner office. He tapped on the panel, and the door opened from inside. Another officer greeted him and stepped outside, allowing Dave to enter, and closed the door behind him.

“Dave.” Jillian waved him in.

He took a seat and smiled down at her. “Long day?”

“Yes, but I think I made a lot of progress on a couple of fronts today.”

“Energy and taxes?”