Hearts in the Crosshairs (5 page)

“Who benefits,” Dave said.

“Oh. Right.” She poured her own mug half-full and took a sip. “Who’s on your list, besides Mom?”

“Well, there’s the president of the Maine Senate. He would become governor if you died.”

Jillian chuckled and offered him the small plate of shortbread cookies. “I’m sorry, but the idea that Parker Tilton would
try to kill me is ludicrous. He’s antigun. He doesn’t hunt. He lives with his sister and two Persian cats. He was standing just to my right during the press conference, and I certainly can’t imagine him hiring a hit man to kill me.”

Dave grinned. “It was a stretch for me, too.”

“Parker and I have been on the opposite sides of the aisle in the Senate for years, but we’ve always cordially agreed to disagree on political issues.”

“I’ll take that as an endorsement for Senator Tilton.”

She set her mug on the desk. “Dave, why would someone want to kill me? It makes no sense to me.”

He sat still for a moment, looking at her. “Perhaps someone from your past is using your new political status as cover to kill you.”

Jillian frowned. “Why?”

“To make it look like a political assassination, when it’s actually related to something else.”

Jillian sighed. “This all just makes me want to go out in public even more, to show that I haven’t been beaten by this.”

“Don’t ever go out of this house alone. Always be sure your security team is in place before you interview someone in private, even in this room. And be careful about letting yourself be seen at the windows—”

“Dave, I know. I know. I’m just…daydreaming.”

He smiled apologetically. “I regret being the one to make you think about unpleasant things.”

She gazed into his brown eyes, startled by his honesty. “You don’t, Dave. Quite the contrary actually. I feel very safe with you.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and she regretted it instantly. But Dave met her gaze and held it.

“I’m honored,” he said. She felt heat flush her cheeks, and she forced herself to look away before she said anything else.

J
illian looked over her list of Tuesday appointments. A full day as usual, and she would leave for Portland at 5:00 p.m. to attend a dinner hosted by the Cumberland County Republican Committee. She closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her eyelids. She’d probably fall asleep in the car tonight.

“Does everything look all right, ma’am?” Lettie Wheeler asked. She had worked in the governor’s office for eight years, and Jillian had accepted her predecessor’s recommendation and kept her on. Lettie knew the ins and outs of protocol, official etiquette and legislative procedure. While Naomi presided over the governor’s social calendar, Lettie handled everything related to state business. After only three weeks in office, Jillian knew she couldn’t survive without her.

“It’s fine. A bit tight this afternoon, but we’ll cope.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a bit tired today, ma’am.”

Jillian tried not to frown. “Lettie, you sound like my mother.”

“Is your mother right?”

“I suppose so. My adrenaline kept me going for a while, but the strain is catching up to me.”

The older woman nodded sagely. “It’s a demanding life. And the speaking and travel schedule will get heavier as we head into spring. You need to guard your time to rest.”

Jillian gave her a sheepish smile. “Thanks.”

“A lot of people are praying for you, Governor,” Lettie murmured.

“Thank you. I’ll remember that tonight if I can’t sleep again.”

Lettie put her pen behind her ear so that the business end stuck out from among her silvery curls. “Right. Now then, today’s program. At ten forty-five, your driver will arrive to take you to the paper mill in Shawmut. Then you’ll return home for lunch and come back here to meet with the majority leader about the water quality proposal. I’ll try to hustle your other afternoon appointments along a bit so we can get you off in time for your trip to Portland.”

“Thank you.” Jillian always had trouble cutting off visits with people who came to consult her or sought her attention for their causes. “I’ll do my best not to lag behind schedule, too.”

When Lettie smiled, her eyes twinkled. “I’ve spoken to Miss Plante, and she’ll make sure your gown, shoes and jewelry are ready for this evening.”

Jillian cringed. She didn’t like it when her staff hovered—even if it was just Naomi. “I can dress myself.”

Lettie closed her notebook and rose. “Of course you can. But with a schedule as packed as yours, it will help to have things ready when you get over to the Blaine House. If you don’t want Miss Plante or one of the maids to help you dress, just shoo them out.”

So she did understand. Jillian reached to squeeze her hand. “Thank you, Lettie. I know Naomi and all of the staff try to make my job easier, but my independent habits are hard to kick. Since Brendon died, I’ve done everything for myself.” She didn’t mention that since the election things had changed between her and Naomi. There were things she couldn’t discuss with her friend now, and the easy banter between them had lessened.

Lettie pursed her lips, but her faded blue eyes still twinkled.
“I’d never have said this to the last governor—he wouldn’t have taken it well at all—but my dear, just give yourself permission to let others pamper you a little. You’ll be surprised at how much smoother things will be.”

Jillian chuckled. “You may be right. Thank you.”

Lettie nodded, businesslike again.

“Oh, and Lettie…” Jillian glanced at the printed schedule again. “Detective Hutchins is supposed to report to me at 6:00 p.m. on Tuesdays. We need to tell him I won’t be in tonight.”

“Shall I call him?”

“Yes. Or maybe…” She hesitated, then looked up at Lettie. “I suppose I could see him when we get back. I’d hate to wait until Friday.”

“I’ll call him. Now, I expect your nine o’clock appointment is cooling his heels in the outer office. Ready?”

“Ready.” As her assistant left the room, Jillian inhaled deeply. A lobbyist for the semiconductor business—Maine’s most lucrative export at the moment—wanted fifteen minutes of her time. That fifteen minutes would be much more enjoyable if she could spend it with the diligent and sympathetic detective. She sat up straight as the door opened again. She’d better get her mind off the handsome officer and onto computers.

Dave arrived at the Blaine House at nine that evening, though the governor’s driver had phoned to say that their expected time of arrival was nine-thirty. He entered through the back entrance and found Detective Bob Caruthers on duty in the security office.

“How’s it going?” Bob asked.

“Oh, middlin’.” Dave didn’t like admitting that the leads were petering out. He and Carl Millbridge were still spending forty or more hours a week investigating the inauguration day shooting, but the other officers of the EPU had been assigned
to other duties. There had been no new attacks, but their lack of a resolution on the shooting frustrated him terribly.

“The governor’s meeting with you tonight?” Bob asked.

“Yes. It’s later than usual, but I don’t mind.” Dave unzipped his jacket, hoping his ears weren’t turning scarlet. His admiration for Jillian had soared since he’d begun meeting with her, but Bob didn’t need to know that. Maybe he could blame his flush on the frigid temperature outside.

“Well, they’ll come in right there.” Bob nodded down the hall toward the back entrance.

“There’s no one with the governor tonight, is there?”

“In her car? Just Browne. He’s driving her tonight.”

Dave nodded. He looked at his watch. Quarter past nine. “Guess I’ll go outside. They could be a little early.”

“It’s cold out there. He’ll call when he gets off I-95.”

Dave was just antsy to see her and to know she’d arrived safely. Portland was as far as she’d traveled since taking the oath of office, and it was only fifty miles away. Next week, if the clear weather held, she was scheduled to speak at the University of Maine in Presque Isle, more than two hundred miles to the north. A squad of four EPU agents would accompany her. Not that the potato farmers in Aroostook County would be likely to make trouble, but you never knew. Get the governor out of town, away from her usual surroundings, and anything could happen. The shooter they’d failed to catch might see it as a good opportunity to strike again.

“Want coffee?” Bob asked.

Dave shook his head and paced to the window. No doubt Jillian would order coffee sent up to her private office for the two of them. He looked toward the corner where Andrew would turn. Traffic was light on Capitol Street. Up a few blocks were several shopping centers, but it was late enough that most shoppers had already headed home.

At nine twenty-five, Andrew called to announce their approach. Dave walked down the hallway and out into the cold night air. Stars spattered the sky overhead.

An SUV slowed and turned in at the driveway on Grove Street. Dave stood where he thought Jillian’s door would be when Andrew stopped the vehicle. A few seconds later, her warm voice greeted him.

“Dave! Thank you. I shouldn’t have kept you out so late.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

She placed her gloved hand in his. By the time Andrew got around the vehicle, she was standing beside Dave on the driveway.

“Thank you, Andrew,” Jillian said. “Good night.” She smiled up at Dave and stepped away from the SUV’s open door, the starlight reflecting off her glossy hair. “Shall we go in?”

“Yes,” Dave said, forcing himself to stop admiring her.

Andrew began to swing the door shut behind her. A
ping
rang out in the crisp night, followed by a distant
pow
. Dave’s adrenaline surged. He reached past her and grabbed the edge of the door, throwing it open again, against Andrew’s push. He shoved Jillian backward, onto the seat of the SUV.

“Get in! Keep your head down!”

She obeyed without question, scrambling onto the backseat. Dave slammed the door and threw himself on the ground next to the vehicle. Andrew crouched beside him, his gun drawn. All was still. For a millisecond it was too much like Iraq.

“Was that what I think it was?” Andrew asked.

Dave focused on the present and Jillian’s safety. “Gunshot. I think it hit the vehicle.”

“From the statehouse?”

“No.” Dave edged up until he could peek through the SUV’s windows. Jillian huddled inside, barely visible in the shadows. Beyond, a block to the west, lights shone on top of the parking garage.

“Up there.” He nodded up the street. “On the garage roof.”

“Are you sure?”

Dave hesitated. “Ninety percent.”

Andrew pulled out his radio. “I’ll get backup and send officers up there.”

“They’ll be too late.” Dave’s breath formed a white cloud in the frosty air. “We’ve got to get the governor into the house.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Bob Caruthers called from the house door.

“We’ve got a shooter on the parking garage,” Dave yelled. “Andrew called for backup. We’ll bring the governor inside through the dining room entrance.”

“Got it.”

“Get in from this side and drive around to the family dining room entrance,” Dave said to Andrew. “Get as close as you can to the steps. I’ll get her into the house.”

“Can do.” Andrew reached for the door handle.

“Hey,” Dave said softly, “keep down, will ya?”

“Sure.” The night was still, except for distant traffic and a faraway horn. Andrew yanked the front door open. “Governor, I’m getting in,” he said, still crouching. “I’ll drive around back and Detective Hutchins will assist you into the house.”

“All right.” Jillian’s voice came soft but steady.

Dave eased away from the vehicle, bent over, and bounded around the corner of the mansion’s back wing to the marble steps outside the rear entrance to the dining room. He watched the vehicle come around with the lights off, and stop inches from the steps. A glance to his left told Dave they were shielded from view, even if the shooter was on top of the four-story parking garage up the hill.

He dashed forward and opened Jillian’s door. Once more, she stepped out, this time ducking low. Dave shielded her with his body and they made their way quickly up the steps. Bob held
the door open with the room darkened. As soon as they were inside, Bob secured the door and put the lights on. They dashed through the dining room to the hallway.

“This way.” Dave took her to the front stairs. Jillian paused at the bottom of the flight, panting.

“Are you all right?” Dave asked.

Her lips trembled and her warm breath fanned his chin. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Let’s get you upstairs then, and in a secure place.”

Naomi soon joined them in the family living room, anxious to see that Jillian was all right. She summoned a maid to run a hot bath for the governor and took Jillian to the master suite.

As soon as Detective Penny Thurlow arrived to stay with them in the private quarters, Dave went back downstairs. Bob was directing a rapid investigation from the security office in the rear wing. Andrew clapped Dave on the shoulder as he entered.

“You and me, up to the garage? There are half a dozen patrol officers there already.”

“Let’s go.”

Bob covered his telephone receiver with one hand. “You’re in charge, Hutchins. They haven’t let anyone drive out of the garage.”

“Right. We’ll handle it.”

“Leave the SUV here,” Bob called after them. “We need to check it for damage and get the projectile angle.”

Dave and Andrew jumped into Dave’s pickup. Dave turned on the strobe light. In less than a minute, they entered the garage and were flagged down by the first responding Augusta police officer.

“We’ve got two men at each exit and four more available to help you search. More on the way.”

Dave immediately deployed the men. Only two dozen cars were parked on the first level, and a few more on the second.
Stairways and elevators required systematic searches. While Andrew saw to the details, Dave ran up the stairs to the open third level of the structure. The fourth level covered only a small part of the third, and he could see no one up there.

Dave hurried to the east side and looked down past a low retaining wall, over a bank and its parking lot, beyond the shrubs and leafless trees, to the driveway and yard of the Blaine House.

The colonial-style mansion sparkled as white as the snow around it in the glow of security lights. Several cars sat near the staff entrance. Dave walked slowly along the wall until he came to the spot that gave the best view of the private back driveway, the Blaine House stable, which now functioned as a garage, and the private entrance to the house.

During his first week as an EPU officer, he had climbed up here and contemplated the parking garage’s advantages as a sniper’s post. Nearly a hundred and thirty years ago, James G. Blaine was almost killed by a shooter in the Capitol dome, across the street from the mansion. Nowadays, security at the Capitol was so tight that it would be nearly impossible for an assassin to repeat that escapade. But the parking garage was open to anyone. They’d talked about it once in an EPU briefing. Short of convincing the legislature to budget funds to raise the height of the wall, he didn’t see what could be done about it. The garage provided a perfect view, especially in winter, with tree branches stripped of their foliage. It was a long shot, but with a good scope and a bipod, very doable.