Hearts in the Crosshairs Read online

  “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. BROWNE.

  “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 hea
d. “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.”

  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.

  THREE

  Dave 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.”