“No harm done.”
She had never been able to shake that one fatal flaw in her makeup—her inability to keep her sense of bearings—and it was her own fault. Frankly, she didn’t pay enough attention until it was too late to correct the mistake.
Every year she made a solemn New Year’s resolution to try harder, and every year she managed to forget that promise and get herself back into situations like this with painful regularity. And to do it in front of three good-looking guys . . . there were times she really did want to be able to shrink into the woodwork.
She took a deep breath and let it go; the damage was done and it was time to recover as best she could. The realization touched her smile with humor. “I’m Shari, by the way.”
“Shari Hanford. Yes, I know.” He firmly closed the door behind him, then released her elbow and offered his hand. “Marcus O’Malley.”
She blinked at the fact he knew her name, then realized a man in his position probably knew most everything; a fanciful notion but not one she would bet against. She had attended too many judicial events where men like him melted into the background not to have a healthy respect for what he did. Not that Marcus would ever melt into the background of anything—he’d be the one attracting the attention.
Up close, the reality of his presence was overwhelming, absorbing her senses. Weight lifter, runner, something . . . he was an athlete and it showed in his build. She looked because she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze finally met his and she blushed slightly at the confident directness and quiet amusement she saw in his eyes.
“Marcus. It’s nice to meet you.” His hand was strong and callused, and when it closed around hers she felt the clasp of warmth through her fingers, palm, and fine bones of her wrist. She wanted to believe it was her imagination that had her hand trapped in his for a beat too long, but then he smiled, still holding her hand, and she realized it was not her imagination. She wanted to blush again but found herself holding his gaze instead.
It had been a long time since someone not associated with work looked at her with that kind of frank appreciation. It did wonders for her sense of morale. She didn’t have to worry that he was going to be hitting her in the next moment with a request for a quote from her boss. She knew she looked her best. She had pulled her hair up, chosen gold jewelry, and defined her eyelashes around her blue eyes. In her new white linen suit she looked not only professional but elegant. It was nice to have that fact noticed.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shari.” He released her hand. “I’ve got a minute, I’ll see you safely back to table six.”
“Oh, that’s how you knew my name,” she remarked and instantly wanted to kick herself. That was a really elegant comment. What would she think of next? The weather? She wanted to impress him not leave a bigger impression of a scatterbrain.
His smile deepened. “Yes.” He nodded to the phone and pager in her hand. “You got a page?”
“Yes. And I tend to pace as I talk, hence the total confusion when I finished the call.”
“Was it at least good news?”
“Very.”
“From that smile, I would think so.”
“Are you always this direct?” she asked, both amused and charmed.
“When I’m killing time with a pretty lady.”
She would have preferred beautiful, but she could live with pretty.
What he had said registered. Someone was running a security check. She had wondered; they were ten feet from the door to the ballroom and they were standing still. Josh, I managed to make the U.S. Marshal’s security breach logbook. It was going to be hard to live this one down.
Marcus had to be swamped tonight, and this was taking time from more important duties, but he was not making her feel stupid. The opposite actually. She deeply appreciated his ability to be kind. She grinned. “Should I tell you all my secrets now, or do we wait for someone to find my file and tell you all of them?”
His brown eyes deepened and warmed to gold. “Security precautions are part of a conference like this; it will only take a minute. But if you have some interesting ones . . . ?”
“None that I’m willing to share unilaterally.”
There was a beat in time and then he laughed, a delightful sound, warm and rich. “Well said.”
She wished she met guys like this more often; politicians rarely had a good sense of humor. She leaned against the wall, letting her shoulder absorb her weight and take the strain off her sore right ankle that she had wrenched earlier in the day playing tennis with Joshua. Marcus looked comfortable in that tuxedo and at home with the authority he wore like a second skin.
“Have you been enjoying the conference?”
She risked showing her interest. “Yes, but it just got much nicer.”
His slow grin . . . she wished she could bottle the warmth it gave so she could enjoy it again later. “I see I’m not the only one who knows how to be direct.”
“I have a feeling I’m about out of time. They’ll have me cleared soon,” she replied easily while her heart thumped a patter she hadn’t heard in a year. The guy didn’t have a ring on, he was breathtakingly handsome, he could turn her to mush with his smile, and he didn’t have a thing to do with politics. She was feeling unusually courageous. Tonight had already been such a roller coaster of emotions that she figured one more would fit right in.
“Why do you dot your i’s with a heart?”
She blinked. “How did you know that?”
“They actually cleared you a few moments ago. Among other things, you signed for the table six tickets.”
“Marcus.”
He didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. “Saying good-bye wasn’t at the top of my priorities. Listen, would you be interested in joining me for coffee tomorrow morning? I’m already having a late dinner with my sister tonight.”
She didn’t know quite what to say. Yes, she did; she just didn’t know how to say it. She took a breath and let herself drop into the unknown. “I would love to join you for coffee.”
Any question of whether that was a good move or not disappeared when she saw his expression. Knowing she had put that look of satisfaction on his face . . . it felt good. Very good.
“I’ll call you.” He gestured toward the ballroom. “Let me see you back.”
Shari walked with him, bemused by the turns this evening was bringing.
They had almost reached the correct door when it opened and her brother stepped out. Shari paused, surprised, and Marcus actually drew her back a step behind him. She got the feeling he automatically assumed a threat and quietly put her hand on his forearm, felt his muscles flex under her hand, as she stepped forward and passed him to meet her brother. “Hi, Josh. Did you think I got lost?”
“You have been known to in the past,” Josh agreed easily, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Just making sure the page wasn’t bad news.”
“Some of it was very good.” She reached up and comfortably grasped her brother’s wrist with her hand. He was assessing the man with her and not being too subtle about the fact. “Joshua, this is Marcus. Marcus, my brother.”
His right arm around her shoulders, Josh didn’t try to shake hands, he simply nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.” The two men looked at each other for a moment, then Josh glanced back at her. “We’d better get back. Carl is just wrapping up his speech.”
“Carl!” She had totally forgotten him for a moment. “How’s he doing?”
Joshua laughed. “Excellent.”
Marcus apparently heard something over his earpiece; his expression became distant as he lifted his hand and replied into the small microphone at his cuff, saying something too soft for her to hear. When he glanced back at her, his gaze was still warm, but it was obvious his attention had been diverted. “It was nice to meet you, Shari. Please excuse me?”
She nodded and watched him walk purposefully away, back the way they had come.
“Security?” Josh asked.
She nodded and didn’t bother to explain how they had met or about the invitation to coffee. “Let’s catch the end of Carl’s speech. I’ve got some great news to tell you!”
* * *
“Pretty lady,” Dave commented, his British accent conveying an extra weight to his choice of the word lady.
Marcus glanced at his friend as they crossed to the elevator that was reserved for security use this evening. “It took you long enough to confirm it was an honest mistake.”
“I noticed you weren’t complaining.”
Dave was probing and Marcus knew it; he just smiled and ignored the comment. The family grapevine would love to hear news that he had met someone he liked. He didn’t intend to feed it even unintentionally.
They wanted him to be happy, and every couple years his social life became a hot topic behind his back on the family grapevine. It would settle down when someone else in the family became more interesting.
Family. He had to love them. Dave was fitting right in.
Shari fit what he was looking for at the moment. She was someone he could relax with for a few minutes in the midst of a pressure-filled weekend. He had learned to seize those unexpected moments in life.
Over the security net came word Justice Roosevelt was ready to come down. Separating the conversation he was having with the security net conversation he was monitoring was habit after all these years. Marcus completed a sentence with Dave and made a request on the security net with barely a pause in between. He got back confirmation from the three agents securing the area into the ballroom that they were ready. Satisfied with his own inspection of the area, he gave the go-ahead. “Send his Honor down.”
Dave watched the elevator numbers start down from the nineteenth floor. “Going to find an excuse to meet her again?”
There were some things that couldn’t be kept a secret in this tight knit security community and in this instance Marcus didn’t even try. “We’re having coffee in the morning.”
“Can I tell that to Kate?”
If Dave mentioned it tonight, Kate would likely find an excuse to drop by the hotel in the morning. “Save it for when you need to dig yourself out of the doghouse for something,” Marcus replied, drawing a laugh from his friend.
* * *
Connor Gray sat at table twenty-two and twirled his fork as he listened to Judge Whitmore’s speech. He listened and his hate grew; his target was now in sight.
His older brother was dead because of this judge. For twelve years the death penalty appeals had wound through the system and no one had stopped the sentence given by this man. It had been carried out.
Now he would return the favor.
He had thought about it, as he had promised his brother he would do. He had thought about it for nine months. He had almost decided to let it go as Daniel had asked, until rumors of the Supreme Court nomination had surfaced.
Connor had gotten hold of a copy of the brief floating around. It was good. Very good. It laid the road map for a senate confirmation of Judge Whitmore. The president was known to be heavily weighing that reality as he made his decision; it wasn’t going to be easy to get a conservative justice confirmed. The brief tipped the ultimate decision strongly in favor of Judge Whitmore. There was no way Connor would allow this judge to sit on the Supreme Court.
He could get away with the murder. He knew what it would take to convict him, and they wouldn’t have it. He had planned with a logic his brother would have been proud of. The mistakes others made had been eliminated. Witnesses. Evidence. He knew what it would take to create reasonable doubt. He had more than just alibis in place.
And he knew the value of the character card at trial. He had been forced to become the good son, to pay for the sins of his brother. As a result he was a man who didn’t even have so much as a parking ticket to his name. He could claim the best schools; he had a Rolodex of the right friends, a distinguished career.
He was being forced to act sooner than he had planned. Judge Whitmore wasn’t on the president’s short list yet, but Justice Department sources said the judge’s name would be added soon. Once he was on that list, reaching past security to get to him would be impossible.
As it turned out, even that change in timing had worked out to his benefit. He was here, within sight of his target, and no one suspected what he had planned.
Connor excused himself as Judge Whitmore’s speech concluded.
Chapter Two
Shari was safely back at table six. Marcus saw her seated there as he scanned the room. He stood behind Justice Roosevelt: listening, watching, attuned to any movement in the crowd, staying relaxed, ready to react. An older couple, a second look confirmed they were her parents, sat to Shari’s left. Joshua sat to her right. A nice guy, her brother; young but protective. Not many men would have made that direct a silent challenge to him.
As an older brother himself, he had accepted the silent challenge with more amusement than personal irritation. Shari was frankly too open with strangers; she needed a Joshua in her life watching out for her.
He was going to enjoy having coffee with her. He liked her willingness to admit with self-directed humor to being directionally challenged; he liked the confidence in her gaze when she met his. She carried herself with the ease of someone comfortable with who she was. He smiled just thinking about her comeback regarding sharing secrets unilaterally. Someone who could laugh at herself was rare and very appealing.
She was pretty; not classically beautiful, but pretty. When she’d walked into the Belmont room by mistake he’d captured details out of habit: brunette; blue eyes; five-feet-three; slender; mid-thirties; a small, white scar on the left corner of her top lip; teeth so straight she had probably worn braces as a child. A few minutes with her and she had his full attention. She reminded him of his sister Jennifer, someone who vibrated with life.
It was such a subtle sign, Shari reaching up to grasp her brother’s wrist, but it shouted. In her world, family was close, special, and trusted. She had been given that gift by luck of birth; he had found it with the O’Malleys. They’d share at least one thing in common: love of family.
He wished he had bumped into her under different circumstances. This was bad timing. It wasn’t like either one of them lived in Chicago; it wasn’t like he would get a chance to see her after this weekend if he wanted to follow up coffee with a more substantive invitation to dinner. Unless . . . the back of Shari’s photograph had given her name, listed her residence as Virginia.
He traveled constantly with work, was based out of Washington, but his apartment was in Arlington, Virginia, just across the Potomac River, north of Arlington National Cemetery. When he was in town, he took advantage of the hiking trails maintained on Roosevelt Island for his morning run. If Shari were interested, if she lived somewhere in his area of Virginia, maybe he wouldn’t have to meet her once and then say good-bye . . .
“Movement on the right, yellow zone, subject unidentified.”
Marcus turned his attention toward the threat without appearing to move. If someone unidentified broke the red zone, ten tables from the speakers’ table, they would be forcibly stopped. The waiters were not all waiters.
* * *
Nothing had happened; it was the best kind of evening. Marcus stretched a cramp out of his right shoulder and rubbed his forearm. Ever since the O’Malley baseball game on the Fourth of July when he’d backhanded a throw to catch Dave out at first base, the muscles had been acting up. He smiled, remembering Kate’s outrage when Dave had been called out. A sore arm was worth it.
Chairs fell with a clatter. Marcus turned to see two workers move to pick them up. The hotel crews were beginning to take down the decorations in the ballroom, rearrange the tables. In seven hours this room had to be reconfigured for a breakfast meeting for six hundred.
“Marcus, we’ve got a problem.”
His partner Quinn was striding across the room toward him. “The evening was going so well. Justice Rooseve
lt?”
“Thank goodness, no. He’s safely tucked back in his suite on the secure floor. Washington just called. The president added Judge Whitmore to his short list.”
Marcus raised one eyebrow. “The president added him at this time of night?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. The decision had likely been made some time ago and they were only now hearing about it. His frustration showed in his scowl. “When are they going to realize they need to warn us first, before they take the names to the president for consideration?”
“Exactly. Be glad they didn’t leak the name during his speech.”
“Is there a room free on the secure floor?”
“The East Suite.”
Marcus glanced at his watch. Kate would be here soon. “Let’s go find the judge and get him moved to the nineteen floor. Did you pull his threat file?”
“It’s being faxed over now. Apparently it’s pretty clean.”
“That will change as his name leaks out.” They left the ballroom and moved through the lobby, skirting past guests to the private corridor. “Do we have a deputy we can assign?”
“I was thinking about Chuck Nance,” Quinn replied. “He’s covering the live television interviews in the Ontario Room; he’ll be free within the hour.”
“He’s good; okay, get him assigned. How else is it going?”
“Besides a fender bender, a paparazzi trying to get a photo of Judge Frenston kissing the wife of Judge Burkhaven, and the hotel running out of imported caviar? It’s just wonderful. You should have this job.”
“Burkhaven’s wife?”
“Don’t worry. I was tactful when I suggested they might want to find some privacy.”
“I wish I had been a fly on the wall.”
“This keeps up, I’m going to ask for a reassignment. I hired on to chase bad guys, not be a diplomat.”
“But you’re so good at it,” Marcus protested, chuckling at Quinn’s scowl. Marcus saw Dave ahead of them, just stepping into an elevator. “Dave, hold the elevator.”
The Guardian Page 3