“Detective Hutchins is here, ma’am.”
Naomi rose and gathered her notepad and pen. “I’ll skedaddle. Do you want coffee sent in?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Naomi nodded. “See you at dinner.”
As Jillian stood, her stomach fluttered. Tuesday and Friday evenings, when she shared thirty minutes with the rugged detective, had become bright spots in her week. She barely knew Dave Hutchins, and again she wondered if she’d placed too much importance on the time she spent with him. She’d have to be careful not to let her appreciation of the EPU’s work transfer to an illogical crush on the investigator.
Dave stood to one side in the hallway and let Naomi exit. To Jillian’s surprise, Naomi stopped and looked him over.
“You must be the detective who reports to Jillian on the investigation.”
“Uh, yes. I’m David Hutchins.”
They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you. I’m the governor’s personal assistant, Naomi Plante.”
“Miss Plante.” Dave bowed his head slightly. Jillian was sure he knew exactly who Naomi was.
Still Naomi lingered. “One of the detectives talked to me last week about the shooting. Your unit is doing a great job, based on what I’ve seen here at the Blaine House. Of course, I can’t speak for Jillian’s safety outside this house.”
“We’re doing everything possible to protect Governor Goff, no matter where she is.”
Dave’s stock line, Jillian supposed, but she saw them in action day after day. The detectives surrounding her were diligent, to the point that their vigilance sometimes annoyed her. She could never drop her guard without feeling someone was watching or listening. But since their goal was to protect her, she couldn’t think of a way to improve the situation.
That didn’t mean she was ever one hundred percent safe. As the officers had told her more than once, her life depended in large part on Jillian observing the basic rules the EPU had laid down for her.
Dave came into the office, smiling as his gaze met hers. “Governor.”
“Dave, thanks for coming.” The next few minutes would be almost private, with only Detective Browne outside the door.
Dave’s smile indicated what she might perceive as more than a dutiful greeting or respect for her office. His evident pleasure in seeing her sent a ripple of anticipation through Jillian, and she reminded herself again that this was business.
She held out her hand and he grasped it. “I’ve ordered a coffee tray.”
“Great,” he said, their hands clasped just a moment longer than necessary.
She resumed her seat behind the desk, and he pulled a chair in to the opposite side. She wished she’d sat beside him as she had last week, but the truth was, being that close to him had become almost too enjoyable. She needed to focus on the fact that people were trying to kill her, not that Dave had strong, masculine hands or beautiful brown eyes.
“Well, here we are.” She smiled in chagrin. “Same old, same old?”
“I’m afraid so. We’ve managed to eliminate some suspects and tentatively rule out others. But the possibilities are still huge.”
“So, what are we focusing on today?”
“Let’s revisit one of the routine questions.” He fixed her with a sober gaze. “Who is angry with you?”
She raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug.
“Think back. Before the inauguration. Before the election, even. Is there anyone who might feel you stood in their way?”
She dragged her mind back over meetings, cases and causes. “I honestly can’t think of anyone.”
“All right, let’s take a different tack. Who would benefit from your death?”
Memories of the chaos swirling around her after Brendon’s accident made her feel a bit queasy. As great as her loss had been, she’d benefited in some ways from her husband’s passing. Not just tangible things, like his life insurance. She’d stepped into his Senate seat in Augusta quite easily. She’d gained his political position and the prestige that went with it. Was someone out there hoping to take that away from her?
“Your mother would inherit your estate,” he said gently.
“Yes, but…” She felt the blood drain from her face. “You couldn’t possibly consider my mother a suspect.”
“No, I don’t. Not seriously. But as a matter of course, the EPU has done a thorough background check on her. I hope you understand.”
She pulled in a careful breath. Her legal training told her this was the standard path of an investigation. Spouses and other close relatives were always at the top of the list.
“I do, but you must understand how heartless it feels from where I sit.” She put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. “Forgive me. I never realized how draining a legal investigation is for the victim.”
“You’ve had to hold it together constantly while you tend to your other duties—it must be exhausting.”
“Exactly.” She flashed him a weak smile. “I try not to think about this during the day—it’s too distracting. But when I come home at night, it all rushes back to me and I can’t think of anything else.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure my visits don’t help.”
“Actually, they do. When you’re here, I put things back in perspective. It reminds me of all that your unit is doing to put an end to the questions and…the fear.” She caught herself, realizing she hadn’t meant to reveal so much to him. But it was so easy to talk to Dave. Too easy.
“You’re afraid then?”
“Most of the time, I just keep working. But once in a while it strikes me, and I feel almost paranoid. Someone’s out there watching me.” She tossed her head and laughed. “That’s silly, I guess. I mean, everyone’s watching me.”
He sat forward, leaning on the desk. “Governor…” The way he said it, soft and caressing, made her title sound almost like a treasured name. “We’re doing everything we can. Everything. And part of that is asking you these difficult questions.”
Tears sprang into her eyes, and she looked away from his compelling gaze. “I know. Thank you.”
“I hope it will help you to know we’ve also done a deep background on your personal assistant, and we don’t feel she was involved in this.”
“I should think not.”
“No. But we had to be sure. She’s close to you.”
Jillian nodded. “Thanks. But Naomi wouldn’t benefit from my death. Quite the opposite. And if she wanted to harm me, she’d have much better opportunities than a public press conference.” A soft tap at the door drew her attention. “There’s our coffee. Come in,” she called.
Beth, one of the kitchen staffers, entered with the tray and set it carefully on Jillian’s desk.
“Would you like me to pour, ma’am?”
“No, thank you, we’re fine.”
Beth nodded, smiled and turned to where Andrew Browne still held the door for her. Jillian felt as though she’d just been curtsied to.
The door closed and she looked at Dave. “I’m sorry, but I’m still not used to all this.” She waved a hand, encompassing more than just her comfortable office.
His eyes crinkled with humor. “You’ll get used to it. Just keep reminding yourself that it’s temporary.”
“Right. Four years.” She lifted the coffeepot and poured for him. She’d had to become an instant hostess when she took up residence in the Blaine House. Though she felt she was off to a good start in steering Maine, she still felt somewhat inadequate in the social realm of her role. “Now, where were we?”
“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.
FIVE
Jillian 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. Ge
t 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.”
Hearts in the Crosshairs Page 4