Hearts in the Crosshairs (3 page)

She stopped at the head of the stairs and turned slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I know you’re determined to put the best spin on this, and I admire you for that. You’re angry. You don’t want to give the shooter the satisfaction of making you keep your head down.”

“That’s exactly how I feel.” Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at him, and she caught her breath in a bitter chuckle.

He wished he could offer her more comfort, but words were the only solace he could give. “It’s too dangerous. You could be playing into an assassin’s hands by showing yourself so soon.” She wavered. Her gaze darted to the stairs and back to him. “Please, Governor. You’ve got to let us do our job. Let the Public Safety Department’s spokesman update the press again. I’ll give him any message you want relayed to the public.”

She pressed her lips together. He could sense her courage warring with her common sense. “Tell them…tell them I’ll be in my office in the Capitol at 8:00 a.m., eager to put in my first full day as governor of Maine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dave jogged down the stairs, leaving her under Andrew’s watchful eye. Andrew should be able to persuade her to join her mother now.

He called the department’s official spokesman with her message and waited in the reception room downstairs until he saw Mark Payson’s car pull into the yard. The spokesman got out and walked toward the reporters with his hands raised.

As Dave left the mansion and walked quickly toward the gate, he cased the crowd. It was up to him and a handful of others to catch the gunman before he could strike again. The clues were sparse, and so far the witnesses had given them nothing. Jillian had a full schedule for the next week. How could the EPU keep the governor safe if she made herself so accessible? Suddenly Dave felt inadequate for the job. It would take an army to keep the beautiful Jillian Goff alive.

D
ave took a deep breath as he stepped through the family entrance at the Blaine House two days later. He’d always felt nervous coming into the governor’s mansion. In the past, just the thought of meeting the state’s chief executive set the adrenaline flowing. Knowing he had to get everything right the first time. Realizing he’d be scrutinized by the governor, his family and his staff every moment he was in the house.

By now he should have enough experience and confidence to stay calm when reporting to the governor. But his pulse cranked up several notches as he strode down the hallway, and he knew exactly why.

The anticipation of seeing Jillian. How had she held up under the strain of the last two days?

Yesterday, Lieutenant Wilson had updated her on the unit’s investigation, but today he’d given Dave the assignment as an ongoing duty. He would see her frequently to report their progress.

He sent up a quick prayer for wisdom in fulfilling his responsibility. Detective Stephanie Drake met him in the doorway to the sunroom.

“Hi, Dave. The governor just returned from the Capitol, but she’d like your update before she eats dinner. She asked me to
send you upstairs to her private office, and she’ll see you in about five minutes.”

“Great. Thanks.” He climbed the stairs. No one was posted at the doorway to her office this evening, but farther down the hall, a guard stood watch between him and the rest of the family quarters.

He entered Jillian’s office and went to the window, which looked down on the yard that fronted on Capitol Street, across from the statehouse. Dave pushed aside the curtain. He’d always thought the office would be more secure if it faced the backyard.

He caught the sound of soft footsteps muffled by the thick carpet and let the curtain fall. An older woman crossed the threshold, carrying a small tray that bore a steaming coffee mug and a square of cake on a china plate.

“Officer Hutchins?” Her skin wrinkled at the corners of her mouth as she smiled and held out her offering. She wore a matching skirt suit of thick, woven material, and her hair was neatly styled. She might have been an administrative assistant or a journalist, but the glint in her blue eyes reminded him of the face that had occupied his thoughts for the last two days.

“I’m Jillian’s mother, Vera Clark.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Clark.” He stepped toward her quickly and reached for the tray. “Is this for me?”

“Yes. Jillian was just about to join you, when she received an important phone call. She asked me to tell you she’d be along in a few minutes. I didn’t think a cup of coffee could hurt a policeman who’s been working hard all day.”

Dave grinned. “Thanks very much.”

Free of her burden, Vera lifted her left hand to her throat and fingered the bright red and white beads of her necklace. “Would you like cream and sugar?”

“No, black is fine, thanks.” He hesitated. She still stood there, watching him with some sort of expectation. “Uh…would you like to sit down?”

“Thank you.” She wasted no time in claiming one of the leather chairs. “That’s blueberry cake. I baked it this morning and brought it along, but Jillian will only eat a sliver, to please me. She’s very strict about carbohydrates.”

“You made this cake?”

“Yes, with blueberries from the freezer. We picked them last summer.”

Dave sank into the chair opposite her and picked up the fork, so as not to insult her. Beneath the streusel topping, the cake was bursting with plump blueberries. Just looking at it made his mouth water. He set the tray on the edge of Jillian’s huge desk and took a forkful.

Vera watched him, her shoulders tense, her eyes questioning.

He nodded as he chewed and swallowed. “Delicious.”

She exhaled and sat back. “Thank you. So what are you doing to protect Jillian?”

He blinked and reached for the coffee mug. “I’m involved in the investigation of the shooting, ma’am.”

“And what have you got?”

He sipped the brew carefully and set the mug down. “Actually, I’m not allowed to discuss that with anyone outside my department. Except the governor, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” She tugged at the beads and looked away.

Dave realized her real mission was not to deliver a message or coddle a hardworking officer. She had come to worm some information out of him. He studied her for a moment. Mid-fifties, discreet makeup. She kept her nails short but well manicured. She was frightened for Jillian’s safety.

“You’re worried about your daughter,” he said.

Vera leaned toward him, her hands clasped in her lap. “She’s
on edge over this shooting business. We all are. I thought the Executive Protection Unit would keep her safe.”

“We’re doing our best, Mrs. Clark.”

Her eyes sparked for a moment. “Well, it’s not good enough. Jillian was nearly killed Wednesday.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I thought from the start that it was crazy to let her speak to the press outside like that.”

“Well…” Dave lifted his shoulders and let them drop again. “It’s tradition for the governor to make public appearances, and to give a press conference immediately after the swearing in. We’ve always been careful, and in the past, everything has been fine.”

“This isn’t the past. This is now, and she’s my daughter.” Vera’s eyes narrowed and her jaw took on an unexpected firmness. “Officer Hutchins, if your unit doesn’t keep my daughter safe, you’ll have to answer to me.”

Jillian paused in the doorway to her office. Her mother sat on the edge of her chair, glaring at Detective Hutchins, who gazed back rather sheepishly.

She glanced at Stephanie Drake, who stood guard outside the door. Stephanie quirked her eyebrows slightly, but said nothing.

Jillian leaned toward her and whispered, “What’s going on?”

“Your mother’s giving Dave Hutchins what for.” Stephanie’s barely suppressed smile quickly disappeared and she straightened her shoulders and looked forward.

Jillian pulled in a deep breath and walked into her office.

Dave said to her mother, “I assure you, ma’am, the governor has the best possible—” He noticed Jillian and leaped to his feet, jostling a tray of dishes on the edge of her desk.

She extended her hand and smiled. “Dave. It’s good to see
you again. I appreciate your stopping by to brief me. I hope it’s not keeping you away from a family dinner.”

His lips curved in a tight smile. “It’s just me, ma’am. No problem.”

Jillian wished she had the freedom to invite him to join her family dinner, but that wouldn’t go over well in the upper echelon of Maine politics, she was sure.

The words “It’s just me” echoed in her head. Was he single?

She caught herself and turned to her mother, trying to get her focus back.

“Mom, thanks for giving Detective Hutchins my message. I’ll be with you and Naomi in half an hour.”

“I hope I’m not delaying
your
dinner,” Dave said.

“Oh, no.” Vera chuckled as she stood. “They serve it too late here, anyway. Jillian, you should speak to that housekeeper about moving your supper up an hour.”

Jillian managed to keep a smile on her face. “If you and Naomi would like an appetizer while you wait, feel free to ask the kitchen staff.”

Vera sniffed and walked toward the doorway, but turned back. “Oh, Officer, you haven’t finished your cake.” She threw a meaningful look at Jillian. “
He
likes my blueberry cake.”

“It’s fantastic,” Dave said.

“By all means, feel free to finish it while we talk,” Jillian told him.

He glanced at her mother. “Thank you again, Mrs. Clark.”

“You’re welcome. I expect we’ll see each other again.”

At last she was out the door, and Jillian closed it gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Your mother obviously cares about you.”

“Yes.” Almost too much sometimes, Jillian thought. She slipped past Dave and sat down in the chair her mother had occupied. “I do hope she didn’t pester you too badly.”

He grinned. “I can take it.”

Her heart fluttered. Again he reminded her of Brendon—the carefree exterior that covered a more pensive attitude. She had to stop staring into his alert brown eyes. Next she would be sighing over her protector. Wasn’t that a classic reaction from a woman in danger? She’d have to be careful to maintain protocol, despite his charming personality and striking features.

“Please have a seat, Dave. Would you like fresh coffee?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Will your mother be staying here with you?”

“She prefers her own home in Belgrade. It’s more private, and it’s close enough for her to see me whenever she wants. But I think I’ll ask her to spend a week or so here while I get settled in my routine.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dave said.

“Even with the staff, one person alone could rattle around in this big old house.”

She realized she’d just told Dave she found the Blaine House lonely, and quickly changed the subject. “So, are you any closer to catching the shooter?”

“We have some leads.” Dave picked up a leather portfolio from beside his chair. As he reviewed it, she studied his profile. Not bad at all. Again she caught herself. She hadn’t considered a romantic relationship since Brendon died, and she refused to think about one now. Even if she did, it couldn’t be with someone from her security unit. She knew how to stick to business, and she would, even in her thoughts. Period.

He looked up and smiled. “I wish I could tell you we have a viable suspect, but we don’t. Not yet. We have several avenues we’re following, and you can be sure we’re being extravigilant regarding your security.”

Reaching up to her cheek, she fingered the scrape that was
now almost invisible. “Can you be more specific about the leads you have?”

“Of course. I brought a few pictures for you to look at.”

“Pictures?” She edged her chair closer to his.

“These were taken on Wednesday during your press conference. Some are stills from news crews’ video footage. The others were submitted by newspaper photographers and people who took snapshots.”

He passed the portfolio to her. Jillian looked down at the pictures arranged in plastic sleeves. Most were of her and the dignitaries who had stood near her that day: the previous governor and his wife, the state’s congressional representatives, the senior members of the Maine legislature.

She flipped the page over. The next few were crowd shots, and she raised the portfolio, studying the sea of faces. “This one shows a group of volunteers who helped with the campaign. And these are my law partners.” She glanced over the last few photos and handed the folder back to him. “So who are you looking at?”

“Well, the man you defeated, of course.”

“Peter Harrison.”

“Yes, and his staff.”

“They wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“Are you sure?”

She shrugged. Politics was a tricky game, even in a small state, and she’d overcome her naiveté long ago. But still.

“Peter and I are polar opposites on the energy issue, and he’s quite passionate about it, but I don’t think…No, I don’t. Who else?”

He took a small notebook from his inside jacket pocket and consulted it. “How about Arthur Leeman?”

“He wasn’t happy when I prosecuted him, but then I suspect he’s never happy. He killed his wife and her sister. He’s still in prison, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“You think it was a hired hit.”

“We can’t rule it out. What about Robert Vincent?”

She thought back to the high-profile trial that preceded the embezzler’s all-too-short incarceration. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“So far, there’s nothing definite on any of the people you helped convict,” he said. “But we’re also looking at a couple of men you defended in private practice. Defendants who lose their cases sometimes harbor resentment toward the attorneys who represented them.”

She inhaled slowly, knowing he was right. Two cases came immediately to mind. In both instances, she knew she’d defended a guilty man. “Are you looking at Roderick Tanger?”

Dave nodded. “I sure am. And does the name Gerald Francis ring a bell?”

“Yes. Check them both.” She shivered. Most of the time, she’d loved being an attorney, but there were days that still haunted her. “How will I know what you’ve found out?”

“I’ll report to you at least once a week. More often if you’d like.”

She looked down at her hands. A week seemed terribly long to go without an update on the search for a man who wanted her dead. She turned her plain gold wedding ring back and forth a few times, then raised her gaze to his.

“I suppose every day is too often?”

“Not if that’s what you want.”

She sighed and tried to reconcile her fear with her love of efficiency. “I probably don’t need it that often, unless you have a breakthrough I should know about.”