The Target

by Catherine Coulter

  “Fine by me,” Detective O’Connor said. “It’ll save the taxpayers some money. In Chicago, the good Lord knows they need a break.”

  The mainstream media finally got bored and left, but some paparazzi, hoping for another strike on Mason Lord, stayed on speculation of blood and gore. They were like a plague of locusts only not as benign, said one of the hospital administrators. They camped out at the Lord mansion, too. One of them got a shot of Emma sitting in the shade of a big rhododendron bush in the garden of the estate, playing her piano. It was taken from a goodly distance, a bit on the blurred side, from magnification, but it was still clearly Emma. She’d been labeled as the Granddaughter of Crime Lord.

  When Mason Lord saw the photo, he said quietly to Gunther, “How clever the play on words is. Isn’t it odd? It’s this photo that has broken my patience, my indifference. Get the name of the paparazzo who took the picture.”

  JUST after lunch that day, Eve Lord came out of the living room into the grand foyer to hear Ramsey say to Molly, “There’s no reason to stay longer. Your father is over the worst. We all know who likely shot him and there’s not a thing we can do about it. As to the actual person who pulled the trigger, the cops are on it. Chances are slim we’ll ever know. This could mean that the violence will escalate. I don’t want us here if it does, particularly Emma. Let’s get married. Let’s go home.”

  And Molly, frumpy plain Molly with her wild red hair and too-skinny body, gazed up at the big man whom Eve would take to bed in a minute, stared up at him like she wanted to eat him, and she probably did. Then she laughed and jumped into his arms. She clearly caught him off guard, but he was fast, managing to catch her and bring her tightly against his chest, his arms locked around her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Then he laughed and swung her around. “Home,” she said, kissing him once, twice, a half dozen more times. “I like the sound of that.”

  Slowly, he slid her down the front of his body. When she was standing, staring up at him, laughing, he leaned down and kissed her mouth. Molly’s hands were on his shirt. She looked ready to rip it off him.

  Eve cleared her throat. “I see there’s more going on here than a little friendship.”

  “Yes,” Ramsey said, lifting his head, releasing Molly slowly. The taste of her was still fresh, still drawing on him, the memory of her body was still warm against him. “You can congratulate us, Eve. Molly and I are going to be married.” They hadn’t told her before. It felt a bit on the indecent side to tell that to a woman who’d nearly been made a widow.

  “Congratulations,” Eve said. She looked down at Molly’s waistline. “You pregnant already?”

  “No, I’m not,” Molly said. “Getting in that condition would be kind of hard, what with Emma sleeping in the same room, don’t you think?”

  “I would say that in my experience, men always find a way. My former fiancé nailed me once in the coat closet with his family not six feet away.”

  Ramsey laughed. “Then he deserves to be a former.” He hugged Molly to his side. “Is Emma eating chocolate-chip cookies in Miles’s kitchen?”

  Eve pulled on soft pale cream leather gloves that matched her silk dress. “Not chocolate chip, but her new favorite—peanut butter. Mrs. Lopez was chattering about it. I’m going to see your father, Molly. Does he know about this?”

  “Yes, we told him last night.”

  “I see. So I’m the last to know. Will you two be here when I get back?”

  “Depends,” Ramsey said. “You want to bring back something to celebrate?”

  “Sure,” Eve Lord said, then called out, “Gunther, I’m ready!”

  IN the Chicago Sun-Times, on the bottom of page ten of Section A, there was brief mention of a man who had been found just off Highway 88 between Mooseheart and Aurora by a passing motorist. The man had been beaten severely, but was expected, in time, to make a full recovery. His cameras had been crushed and left beside him. The newspaper called him a freelance photographer, but bottom line, what he was, was a paparazzo.

  “I think we should pack our meager belongings, grab Emma, and hop a plane to Reno. I was thinking Las Vegas, but Rule Shaker’s there, and I can’t quite handle getting married anywhere near to where he is. I don’t want any more magazines or tabloids with pictures of Emma. She saw the one in the National Informer. She’d made out some of the words before I managed to get it away from her. I just pray she hadn’t gotten to the part about her playing the piano as well as her murdered father, Louey Santera. Can you begin to imagine the field day the media will have if we get married either here or in Harrisburg at my folks’ place? They always find out, no matter how careful you are.”

  “Oh, God!” Miles came running out of the kitchen, a dishcloth in his hands. “Thank God you’re both here. I just don’t believe this. Somebody just tried to kill your daddy again, Molly. Oh God. Where’s Gunther? Where’s Mrs. Lord?”

  “Is he all right, Miles?”

  “Yes, he is. That was one of the guards we hired to protect him in the hospital. The guy fired from the building across the way—a good hundred and fifty yards—right through the window. He wounded a nurse who was taking your father’s blood pressure.”

  “That’s an enormous distance,” Ramsey said.

  “Is the nurse all right?”

  “Took off a lot of her right ear; she bled all over everything, which made everyone believe that your father had been shot, but yeah, she’s fine.”

  Ramsey squeezed Molly’s hand. “I guess we’d better get to the hospital. Miles, will you make certain Emma is never out of your sight?”

  “No problem, Ramsey.” He’d been wringing his hands, but now at the mention of Emma, her need to be protected, he instantly calmed down. By the time Ramsey and Molly were out the front door, Miles had pulled himself together. Emma stood beside him. He was holding her hand.

  Detective O’Connor from Oak Park and two detectives from the CPD were in Mason Lord’s room when they arrived.

  “Show them in,” Detective O’Connor said. Introductions were made quickly. Miles was right. There was blood everywhere.

  “Ears bleed like stink,” one of the CPD detectives said. He pulled on his own ear and Molly realized the bottom part was gone. He’d never be able to wear pierced earrings. She nearly laughed. She was losing it.

  She slipped her hand around Ramsey’s. He looked at her briefly, saw her too-bright eyes, and slowly, very slowly, pulled her closer. “It’s all right,” he said quietly, his mouth nearly touching the top of her head. “It will be just fine. Breathe slowly, that’s it.”

  The hospital window was shattered. Two technicians were busy very carefully extracting the bullet from the wall just about ten inches off the floor. The woman was using tweezers.

  Detective O’Connor looked tired and harassed, but that wasn’t anything new. She felt tension between him and the other cops. He told them in his concise way, “Nurse Thomas was standing right next to your father, taking his blood pressure. Suddenly he seemed to weaken and fall back against the pillow. Nurse Thomas immediately leaned over him, holding on to him, when the shooter fired. If your father hadn’t gotten suddenly weak, if the nurse hadn’t pressed him down even more, shielded him, all those things, then the chances are good that your father would have gone down this time, Mrs. Santera. At the very least he would have been wounded. The bullet went through Nurse Thomas’s earlobe, downward. The bullet slammed into the wall less than a foot above the floor.”

  Molly leaned over her father. “Dad, Ramsey and I are here. You’re all right, thank God.”

  “Yes,” Mason said. “I’m fine, Molly. Actually, I’ve got to be the luckiest bastard in Chicago. As for Nurse Thomas, I’m going to cut her a nice check for her bravery.”

  They turned to see the technician holding up the bullet. “It’s fairly intact,” she called out. “Enough for identification.”

  “Excellent,” one of the Chicago detectives said. “We’ll do a comparison between this one and t
he one they found on the scene over on Jefferson after Mr. Lord was shot. Are you Judge Ramsey Hunt?”

  “Yes,” Ramsey said. “It seems likely the bullets will match, but unfortunately it won’t tell us anything else.”

  “At least we’ll verify that we’ve got just one perp here,” Detective O’Connor said.

  Molly, who was staring at that smashed window, said, “He blew out the window. I remember all of us mentioned the possibility, but the closest building is so far away. At least one hundred and fifty yards, probably more.”

  “I’m not blaming Gunther,” Mason said, the first words he’d spoken in a good ten minutes. There were seven people in the room, most of them talking. The instant he spoke, everyone shut up and turned toward him. He continued in that calm cool voice of his, “I remember when you were looking out that window, Molly. I remember you were one of the people who brought up the possibility, but none of us considered it a threat. We underestimated him. Technology just keeps racing forward, and this time, our brains stayed behind. We’re getting old and careless, Gunther. The guy had a clear shot at me through that damned window.” He leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes.

  Gunther said, “That’s why we’ve moved the bed away from the window.” He was pale and tense, as close to distraught as Molly had ever seen him. He added, “One thing we do know is this guy has to be a world-class sniper. I’ve known of maybe half a dozen guys who could have made that shot through a closed window.”

  Detective O’Connor said, “We’d like you to provide us with the names of all the men you know who would be capable of such a shot.” He paused a moment, running his palm over his bald head. “You know, if Mr. Lord hadn’t fallen back on the pillow at that particular instant . . .”

  Gunther nodded, then said to Mason, “We’re getting another room ready, sir. It’s being seen to right now. No one will know the new room number. There won’t be any window that has a building within a mile of it.”

  Mason laughed, then coughed. He was silent a moment, controlling the pain. “Gunther, you know a secret is impossible when more than one person knows about it. It’ll get out, but it won’t matter, because I’m going home.”

  “TELL me how you’re feeling, Emma.”

  “About what exactly, Dr. Loo?”

  “Well, your grandfather came home from the hospital this morning. How is he?”

  “I heard Miles say he’s really tired and weak. Eve didn’t want me to get near him because I’m a kid and I make noise, only I don’t, not much. I think she kept me away because she doesn’t like me much. Then I saw his face when they were carrying him in on a stretcher. He looked all gray and old. I never thought he was old before. I always thought he looked like one of those movie stars in the old movies Mama likes. Yes, he’s all black and white.” Emma paused, easing her piano down across her legs. She added, “This morning he looked old. I didn’t say anything. There were people everywhere. I think three of them were doctors and they were all around him.”

  “How is your mother dealing with all this?”

  Emma thought about that. She lightly touched the piano keys but didn’t make any sound. Her dark hair, normally in a French braid, was loose this morning. Emma had some of her mother’s naturally curly hair. It swung over, hiding most of her face as she said, “Mama’s really quiet. I think she’s scared. She’s been scared for a long time now. She’s scared about me. She doesn’t want to leave me alone. Neither does Ramsey.” Emma sighed. “Sometimes I’d like to be alone, but I know they worry if I’m ever out of their sight. But that’s not often.” She raised her head, pushed her hair back, then looked toward the closed door. Molly and Ramsey were in the waiting room. “I’m really glad that we’re getting married, though.”

  Dr. Loo smiled, unable not to. Despite everything, this child was one of the lucky ones. She figured that Molly and Ramsey would love Emma so much she’d have no choice but to heal. “When are you all going to get married?”

  “I heard Mama say that we couldn’t leave for another day or so.” She lowered her voice. “I think we’re going to elope.” Dr. Loo nearly laughed aloud this time, restraining herself when Emma sighed again, that too-adult sigh that made Dr. Loo wish for a tantrum, or at least the threat of one. She remembered Ramsey saying the same thing. What was going on here?

  “Do you want to elope, Emma?”

  “Oh yes, Dr. Loo. I’d get to be Ramsey’s best man and Mama’s maid of honor. I’d get to be the flower girl, too.”

  “Then what bothers you?”

  “My grandfather wants us to be married in his house. Miles said that he wants to give my mama away. But Eve wants us to leave. I think Eve will win.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because Grandfather is sick. He has to be standing to win.” She lowered her head. “I heard Mama say that to Ramsey. They were talking really quiet so I snuck close so I could hear them.”

  “Well, you tell me tomorrow how everything is going, all right? Have you had any more nightmares, Emma?”

  Emma shook her head. She scooted off the chair, her piano clutched close. “I think about him though, Dr. Loo.”

  “And what do you think, Emma?”

  “That he’s going to come back. I know when we go back to San Francisco there will be police officers close to make sure he doesn’t get near us. I heard Ramsey talking to Officer Virginia on the phone yesterday. Ramsey told me his name is Sonny Dickerson. He showed me a photo of him. He’s the man. I described him really well.”

  Dr. Loo had also seen the photograph. “Yes, you certainly did. Now, Emma, do you believe, deep down in your heart, and up higher, in your brain, that your mama and Ramsey will keep you safe?”

  Emma thought about that. She looked hard at her Nike sneakers. She was wearing her favorite plaid socks that Ramsey had bought her in Ireland.

  Dr. Loo patted her lightly on her arm. The child was still too thin, but that was all right, for now. She imagined that it worried her parents, though. Emma finally said, “My heart’s sure, but my brain isn’t.”

  Dr. Loo nodded. “That’s smart. Until this Sonny Dickerson is caught, Emma, it’s really important for you to pay attention as well as your mama and Ramsey. Since there will be police nearby if he does come back, that should make you feel safer.”

  “I asked Ramsey to teach me to read more. Maybe I’ll read about that man in a book.”

  “Yes, an excellent idea.”

  “Mama said I was so smart that I’d be reading about crime and punishment before I went to school this fall.”

  MOLLY looked at her father, who was slightly elevated in his hospital bed, a newspaper on his lap, his reading glasses on. He wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t about to back down. She wanted Emma out of here, as quickly as possible. He said in that particular mildly contemptuous way he always spoke to her, “You will marry here.”

  She just shook her head. She wasn’t going to argue with him. She said mildly, “You’ve already seen me get married once. You don’t need to do it a second time.”

  Ramsey said, “We’d like to get Emma out of here and safe.”

  “She’s so safe in San Francisco?” Mason said, his sarcasm biting. “That bastard took her from right under your goddamned nose, Ramsey.”

  Eve said, “Mason, there are Ramsey’s parents. It isn’t fair to them.”

  He didn’t even look over at her. “Keep out of it, Eve. This doesn’t concern you.”

  She merely smiled down at him, seemingly untroubled. She said, “I think I’ll go get some tea. Oh yes, Ramsey, the car’s coming for you at three o’clock, if that’s what you decide.” She looked down at her Cartier watch, smiling a small but quite amused smile.

  They left at five minutes after three, Molly’s good-byes to her father curt. The media knew their plans, naturally, likely from a leak from the limo company. Ramsey and Molly watched the media take off after the town car with its thankfully tinted windows. He smiled. “Let’s go, Gunther. Good
idea. Well done.”

  I’M married, Molly thought, staring at her pale face in the mirror. Married again. Only this time I’m an adult, not a stupid immature kid. This time I married a good man and he’s so sexy I don’t think I can stand it. And he loves Emma to death.

  She grinned at herself, touched on some lipstick, and slowly slipped the gorgeous peach silk nightgown over her head. Ramsey had presented it to her just ten minutes before, right in front of Emma, since there was no choice. “No more cotton tents,” he’d whispered in her ear. “This is for both of us. Actually, tonight, I guess it’s for Emma too.” He looked as if he wanted to break into tears.

  She walked out of the bathroom, leaving the light on for a moment, knowing it backlighted her very nicely.

  Emma called out, sounding awed, which really pleased Molly, “Mama, you look like a fairy princess. Ramsey and I have been waiting for you. And waiting. I want to get married so I can wear that, too.”

  Emma sounded as bright as a new penny, enthusiastic, about as far from being asleep as a new puppy. So what? In the long run, it wasn’t important when she had a wedding night, when she was finally alone with her new husband. Things would happen when it was time. She gave Emma a big hug, making her squeak she squeezed her so tightly. “We’re married and we’re all together,” she said, smoothing her fingers through Emma’s hair. “We’re lucky, Em. I really like our man.”

  Ramsey was still wearing a beautiful dark suit and pristine white shirt. His tie wasn’t as conservative. In fact, it was a psychedelic mishmash of purple, pink, and yellow squiggles. He looked big and tough, and his smile would have charmed the gold out of a miser’s teeth.

  “He promised me he wouldn’t ever get fat, Mama,” Emma said.

  “That’s right,” Ramsey said. “I don’t believe in it. However, to help me keep that promise, you’ve got to get me to a gym before too much more time passes. Well, Emma, we’re married. Do you approve?”

  There was a thread of fine tension in his voice. Molly cocked her head to one side, staring at him. Surely he knew that Emma was nuts about him. She understood. He had to hear it. He was waiting, all quiet.