Hearts in the Crosshairs (2 page)

J
illian ate dinner in the family dining room with her mother and her personal assistant, Naomi Plante. The guards outnumbered the diners, which she found disconcerting. Her mother, however, chattered on uninhibited as the staff served their meal.

Jillian realized she would have to get used to being waited on. She’d lived alone since Brendon died, eating a majority of her meals out of the microwave, so the hovering domestic staff put her a little on edge. Once the meal was over, she could retire to her private rooms with her mother, away from the watchful eyes. But even then, the security guards and staff would be only steps away.

She had hardly eaten all day, and she found the food delicious. Menu planning was one of the duties she had decided to delegate to her assistant. Sometime soon she’d have to talk to Naomi about meals, but right now, other thoughts occupied her.

Her mother might think she could distract her by talking about the décor, the food and the next week’s schedule, but Jillian’s mind kept skipping back to the shooting. Who wanted to kill her? Every time she recalled the morning’s events, her bewilderment morphed into anger. She took a deep breath and focused on her mother.

“It’s such a pity they canceled your ball.”

“Oh, I know,” Naomi said quickly. “You bought such a beautiful dress, Mrs. Clark.” She turned to Jillian. “And your gown! Will you ever wear it?”

Jillian shrugged. “There’ll be another event.” She chuckled. “I never was much of a dancer, anyway.”

“Oh, but I
love
to dance,” Naomi protested.

Jillian did feel a bit of regret for her mother’s sake and Naomi’s. Both had talked about the ball for weeks. Naomi bought her gown the day after election day, as soon as the ball was a sure thing. So much for the sure thing. It would have been the most prestigious event of Naomi’s life, Jillian realized. Her mother’s desolation, however, seemed more a cover for her anxiety about Jillian’s welfare.

“Well, I’m glad they’re looking after you,” Vera said. “If that means no ball for you, then I guess we just stay home and turn into pumpkins. But it’s such a waste. So many people booked rooms in town and bought special clothes. And all that food!”

“That’s true,” Jillian said. “I wish I could do something about that. I suggested a brief appearance, but the police said getting me there for a few minutes would be as risky as a full evening out, and the organizers felt they should cancel it outright.”

Her mother’s shoulders drooped. “I do hope they can keep you safe, Jillian.”

“They’re trained for that, Mom.”

They lingered over dessert and coffee without mentioning her narrow escape again. The lead officer on duty entered the dining room and approached her.

“Ma’am, Detective David Hutchins is here. He’s one of the chief investigators of the incident. Would you like to see him now?”

“Certainly.” Jillian pushed back her chair. “Show him into my private office upstairs, please.” She wondered if that was the proper place for an interview with a police officer. Maybe
she should take him into one of the public rooms across the hall—the sunroom or James G. Blaine’s old study, for instance. But the windows in those rooms fronted on Capitol Street.

Even inside the well-guarded house, she felt vulnerable. This morning’s incident had shaken her more than she’d admitted to anyone.

“Jillian,” her mother called.

She looked back. “I won’t be long, Mom. You and Naomi relax and make yourselves at home.” She smiled at the irony of that. She was slowly absorbing the reality of living in this fabulous house. “I’ll find you upstairs in a few minutes. Maybe the…family living room?”

The layout was still strange, and she had much to learn. She followed the hallway to the private stairs near the back of the house.

Finally, I’m alone for three seconds.

She heard muted steps behind her and shot a glance over her shoulder. One of the plainclothes officers of the EPU was only a couple of paces behind her.

At the top of the stairs, she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man entering her office. Another officer took up a post to one side of the doorway.

“Detective Hutchins is waiting for you, ma’am. We’ll be right here if you need anything.”

She tried to glance unobtrusively at his name tag. A. B
ROWNE.

“Thank you, Andrew.” She hesitated and decided to be upfront. She hadn’t mastered all the officers’ and staff’s names yet, but they were in this for four years. “It is Andrew, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled and nodded as though she were a precocious child.

“Thank you.” She ducked inside the office and closed the door behind her. For an instant, she lingered with her hand on the knob, facing the door. She’d known privacy would elude her
after the inauguration, but she hadn’t imagined how claustrophobic she would feel. She pulled in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned.

“Good evening, Governor. I’m sorry to disturb you. Lieutenant Wilson asked me to update you before it got too late in the evening. I understand you have guests, and I won’t keep you long.”

She stood still, trying to assimilate her impressions. The smile seemed genuine. Something about it reminded her of Brendon, though the detective looked nothing like her late husband. Taller, a little sturdier. Less studious looking. More outdoorsy.

How long had she been staring? She stepped forward, extending her hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Detective…” His warm fingers closed on her hand. She halted and looked in vain for a name tag. “I’m sorry, but your name slips my mind. I haven’t James G. Blaine’s talent for recalling them, I’m afraid. It didn’t come with the house though he was famous for it.”

He chuckled and released her hand. “Dave Hutchins. I’m pleased to be part of the unit looking out for you, ma’am.”

“Oh, please. Let’s not be ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir.’ I’ve had about all the formality I can stand for one day.” She avoided the desk and sat down in one of the comfortable leather chairs before it, indicating with a wave of the hand that he should take the other.

He sat, and his long legs folded with athletic grace. His suit wasn’t expensive, but he wore it well. He cocked his head slightly to one side, studying her. “Well, then, if you don’t mind, please call me Dave.”

She smiled. “Terrific. And you may call me—”

“Governor,” he said gravely.

Not what she’d hoped for, but did she really expect the officers to call her Jillian? Of course not. It wasn’t proper protocol. If she weren’t so tired, she never would have entertained the idea. She put her hand up to her cheek. The small bandage
below the corner of her right eye was her combat ribbon. She’d survived Day One.

“Are you all right?” Dave sat forward, his brow creased and his eyes sober. “Maybe I should come back tomorrow.”

“No, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt, really.” She managed a small smile. “The doctor said I should retire early, but not at seven-thirty. I’d like to know how the investigation is going.”

“We’re just starting, but we covered a lot of ground today. Our officers questioned witnesses and we searched the area where the press conference was held.”

“Did you find anything?”

“The initial investigators did find a slug at the crime scene. It’s somewhat distorted because it hit the stonework on the statehouse, but it could have been worse. It was a copper-jacketed bullet, probably from a nine-millimeter handgun. The bullet’s in bad shape, but our ballistics team will do what they can.”

“Do we know anything about the gunman?”

“Not specifically, but we have a rough estimate of where he or she probably stood.”

She touched her cheek again. “The bullet chipped the granite wall beside me. They say that’s what hit me—a piece of stone.”

“Right. I believe you’ve stated that you heard the shot.”

“Yes. It wasn’t terribly loud, but it startled me. The officers pushed me to the ground.” She shook her head, preferring not to remember those moments. “What else do we know?”

“We’ve approximated the angle from which the gun was fired.”

“You followed the trajectory back from where the bullet hit the stonework?”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

“And he wasn’t on a rooftop somewhere.”

“No. We’re studying pictures of the crowd, trying to pinpoint him. But of course, most of the submitted photos and videotapes show you, not the audience.”

She grimaced, wishing anew that she could perform her job without the requisite fame. She had plans for Maine, not so much for herself. Perhaps someone wanted to stop her from fulfilling her campaign promises.

“It sounds as though your unit is doing all the right things.”

“I also drove to Waterville this afternoon and spoke to your law partners.”

“Oh.” She sat back in the chair. “They were all here this morning.”

“Yes. I talked to them about their impressions. They’re intelligent people who are used to reading character, and they were only a few yards from you when it happened.”

“You’re not…looking at them as suspects, are you?” At once she knew the answer. “Of course you are. You have to.”

He nodded reluctantly. “We can’t rule out anyone yet. But I will tell you, they’re not my top picks for this. They weren’t standing near where the shot originated.”

“Glad to hear it.” She studied him, weighing where to file Dave Hutchins in her memory bank. She wouldn’t forget the name again, or the serious brown eyes that could leap with laughter in an instant. Fine lines at the corners of his eyes spoke of fatigue, not just from today, but many days. His five o’clock shadow didn’t lessen his attractiveness.

She realized he was sizing her up, too. Clearly he was good at his job.

The decision came quickly. She could count on him. File under
dependable
, but cross reference under…intriguing.

“The doctor said your wound is superficial,” he said.

“It won’t slow me down. I’ll probably lose the bandage tomorrow. I intend to present a strong image to the public.”

“Good. In terms of proceeding with the investigation, I’ll be looking into the background of anyone who may hold a grudge
against you—perhaps someone you dealt with while you were in private practice, or during your stint as a public prosecutor.”

“I suppose you’re right. It all seems implausible, and yet…”

He smiled in sympathy, but continued. “We’ll also look at political opponents. Will you jot down a list of names for me? Anyone you’ve crossed swords with in the past.”

She shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone who would want me dead. Not even Peter Harrison.”

Dave’s eyebrows rose. “You defeated him in the election. He wanted to be governor as badly as you did.”

“Possibly more.”

“But you don’t think he’d lash out at you?”

“He was there with the VIPs when it happened. He was practically next to me.”

“I know.” Dave cleared his throat. “Governor, we’ve got to consider the likelihood that this was a hired hit.”

She let that sink in. “A planned assassination? Aren’t these things usually carried out by half-crazy whack jobs outside the political sphere?”

“Sometimes.”

“Some kid could have the misguided impression that knocking off the new governor would impress his girlfriend.”

Dave looked directly into her eyes, and her heart stuttered for a moment. “We can’t discount any theories yet.”

“But you think it was intentional, not a kook who doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

“I aim to find out, Governor. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this so that you can do your job in peace.”

He smiled at her again, and she knew she’d sleep slightly better tonight, knowing that Dave Hutchins was looking out for her.

They left the office a few minutes later, after Jillian had given him a few names to start with—mostly criminals she had helped send to prison. Dave could easily check their statuses on his computer.

When they entered the hall, Andrew Browne stepped forward.

“Governor, Miss Plante and your mother are waiting for you in the family living room. However, a crowd of reporters has gathered outside. We’ve pulled all the drapes on this level, but you should be cautious about going near the windows. There’s a small sitting room on the other side of the hall where—”

“I’ll get my coat,” she said. “Can I go out the door near the study?”

“Uh, ma’am—” Andrew shot Dave a glance and followed her down the hall. “You can’t go outside, Governor.”

“But the reporters need a sound bite. I saw the early news reports. Your spokesman’s assurances that I wasn’t seriously injured sounded almost too glib. I’d like to show them that I’m ready to face whatever comes my way.” She pulled the bandage off her cheek in one quick jerk. “Seeing me hale and hearty will be worth a thousand speeches from aides.”

“Governor.” Dave caught up with her at the top of the stairs and touched her arm before he realized what he was doing. A no-no where protocol was concerned, but this could devolve into an emergency fast, and he needed to get her attention. “Jillian.”