Hearts in the Crosshairs

by Susan Page Davis

  “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.

  Dave pictured himself standing beside the SUV, opening Jillian’s door. In the light from the vehicle, he’d seen only her loveliness, though once they were inside the fatigue and stress had shown in the lines of her face. He’d just begun to know her. Was he just dazzled by a beautiful celebrity who depended on him? No, he was past that. His admiration grew with each new thing he learned about her. After only a few weeks, he cared about her more than he’d ever cared for any other person under his protection.

  He took his flashlight from his belt and stooped, shining the powerful beam along the floor.

  Anything, Lord. I’ll take anything right now. A gum wrapper, a cigarette butt. Just give me some direction. Please!

  Burnished metal glowed in the beam of his light. Dave reached into his inside jacket pocket for latex gloves and an evidence bag.

  The door to the stairway creaked open. Dave looked toward the figure silhouetted against the rectangle of light.

  “Over here, Andrew.”

  His colleague strode toward him. “We’ve combed every inch of this building. Nothing. If he was up here, he got out fast and clean.”

  “Well, maybe this will make you feel better.” Dave straightened and carefully held up his find, an empty brass shell casing.

  SIX

  “Mom, I’m okay. Really.” Jillian sank down onto her four-poster bed and held the phone an inch from her ear as her mother alternately wailed and scolded. She wished she’d put off calling until after breakfast.

  “But they shot at you again! The police have got to do something! I knew I should have stayed with you longer.”

  “They’re doing something. They’re out looking for the gunman right now. For all I know, they may have caught him.”

  “But what if they haven’t? You should ask the FBI to come in.”

  Jillian gritted her teeth and stood. “I have to get to my office. Look, why don’t you come down for supper? We can talk about this then.”

  “What are they serving tonight?”

  “Mom, I don’t know, okay? Just come.” A tap on her door gave her an excuse to end the conversation with a quick, “Gotta go. See ya.”

  “Hi. Sorry to bother you so early.” Naomi stood in the doorway wearing black slacks and a teal sweater set. “Lettie Wheeler called to say that Colonel Smith is coming here to brief you in person at nine o’clock. She’s coming over to help you with some correspondence until the colonel arrives.”

  Jillian opened her mouth and closed it again. She walked to the door of her dressing room. “I guess this means today’s not the day they let me start walking to the statehouse, huh?”

  “Not on your life.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Can you come fix my necklace for me? I never c
an hook this one by myself.”

  Naomi followed her into the dressing room. “You know, you could redecorate this room so that it would look more feminine. Half the first ladies who preceded you redecorated the family quarters.”

  Jillian shrugged and held out the pendant. “I don’t mind it.”

  Naomi huffed out a little breath. “Masculine. Gray striped wallpaper. How about a few ruffles and flowers?”

  Jillian chuckled and turned her back. “Let me get used to living here first.”

  Naomi fastened the chain for her. “All set.”

  Jillian snagged a portfolio on her way past the Victorian secretary in her bedroom. “What are we having for dinner tonight? I am eating here, right?”

  “Yes, and you asked for onion pie.”

  “Oops. Mom hates that.”

  “Your mother’s coming?”

  “Yeah, I invited her to keep her from screaming at me about last night’s shooting.”

  “Want me to switch it with tomorrow night’s menu?”

  Jillian grimaced as they headed down the stairs. “I hate to put Amelia out.”

  “Get a grip, girl. Asking your chef to change one dish is not a major executive decision. Now, go get your oatmeal. If Amelia can’t do it, I’ll ask her to cook a chicken breast for your mom.”

  “Thanks.”

  After breakfast, Jillian carried her cup of tea to her office. She hated to keep people waiting, and efficient Lettie would already be there.

  “Good morning, Lettie.” She smiled at the older woman. Lettie’s cheery red silk blouse matched her lipstick.

  “Good morning, Governor.”

  “I’m sorry your routine was disrupted this morning.”

  Lettie’s sunny smile made the room seem a little brighter. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I can crack the whip just as smartly here or at the Capitol.” She glanced about the well-appointed office. “I haven’t been in this room for almost a year. You’ve kept it just the way the last governor had it.”

  Jillian swallowed a laugh. “So far. But if Naomi has her way, I’ll do some redecorating before I leave the Blaine House.” She sat down behind the desk and set her mug on a coaster.

  Lettie held up a stack of papers. “If you’re ready to begin work, I have some items that need your signature. Then we’ll go through some requests that have come in for appointments. I’ve put off scheduling you too heavily, but if you think you can handle a full day in Oxford County next week…”

  “We should wait and see what Colonel Smith has to say. I have a feeling he’s going to chain me to this house until they catch the person who’s trying to shoot me.”

  “Oh, dear.” Lettie’s face crumpled for a moment, but she regained her placid expression in a matter of seconds. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. It’s a real burden, especially right at the start of your term, when you want to show your supporters that they chose wisely.”

  An officer knocked and announced that Colonel Smith had arrived before Jillian could respond.

  Lettie tucked the papers into a folder. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

  The colonel entered. Dapper, as usual, in a three-piece suit. He inclined his head toward Lettie as she exited.

  “How are you, Colonel?” Jillian asked.

  “I’m fine, thanks, ma’am. The question is, how are you this morning?”

  Jillian hoped her predawn hours of tossing weren’t detectable. “I’m well, thank you. I trust you’ve brought me some news about the little incident last night?” She gestured toward a chair and resumed her place at her desk.

  Smith cleared his throat. “Yes, I do have some information. Our officers have reconstructed the shooting.”

  She studied him while she reviewed in her mind the moment when they’d heard the gunshot and Dave had pushed her unceremoniously into the SUV. “So, what did their efforts tell you?”

  Smith opened the leather folder he had brought with him and looked down at a legal pad inside. “The shooter was indeed on the roof of the parking garage up the street, as my men suspected. They retrieved a shell casing last night, and we’re running tests on it right now.” He glanced up at her. “He was trying to shoot at you over the top of the vehicle. Because you exited on the side nearer the house, he had to wait until you took a step away from the SUV. His bullet hit the roof and deflected. He missed you by inches.”

  Jillian’s mouth went dry. “That close?”

  “I strongly suggest you curtail your public appearances. Do your office work here in the Blaine House for a few days until we run this fellow down.”

  She nodded, still at a loss for words. “Excuse me just a minute.” She rose and went into the next room. In one corner, an armoire concealed a television set and a small refrigerator. She opened the minifridge and selected a bottle of Poland Spring water. When she turned, Colonel Smith stood in the connecting doorway.

  “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “But you really need to have an officer with you at all times.” He glanced toward the windows. “And these curtains are wide open. Last night’s attack underscored what we already knew. No matter how closely we guard you, there will be moments of opportunity for someone who seeks them.”

  She walked past him, trying not to glare. She sat down and twisted the cap off the bottle. The cool water bathed her parched throat, and she set the bottle down. The colonel resumed his seat facing her.

  “You know, Colonel, I appreciate you and the state police. The officers of the EPU have been wonderful, and I feel safe with them. But I’m starting to feel a little claustrophobic.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Before the election, I imagined myself living here and walking across the street every morning to my office in the Capitol.”

  He shook his head before half the sentence was out of her mouth. “We can’t let you do that.”

  “I know. But I also know that I can’t hide in this building. I need to show the people of Maine that our government is strong, and that I won’t let my duties go unfulfilled until everything is perfect. That could take some time.”

  His face flushed, and he fiddled with the folder. “I’m sure this will break soon. With the new evidence—”

  “And the new attack,” she reminded him. “The new evidence doesn’t bear on the inauguration day shooting, does it?”

  “Well, not directly.”

  “We have no proof that the two shooters were the same person, do we?”

  He shifted in his chair. “Technically, no, but—”

  “I need fresh air, Colonel. I cower in a heavily guarded bunker.”

  “But Governor, just getting you from here to the statehouse without exposing you to danger is a challenge.”

  “One I’m sure the fine men and women of the EPU can meet.”

  He raised his chin to speak again when his phone trilled. He winced and stood to fumble in the pocket of his trousers. “I’m sorry. That’s my emergency phone. They wouldn’t call me on this line if it weren’t important.”

  “Take it, by all means.” She swiveled her chair slightly away from him and reached for her water bottle.

  “Smith here,” he said gruffly. “Oh, Hutchins. What have you got?”

  Dave. Jillian’s morning instantly grew sunnier. She stood and went to the window, looking down over the snowy yard and the white fence that separated the front gardens from the street. If Smith weren’t on the phone, he’d probably scold her and tell her not to endanger herself like that. In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t suggested moving her Blaine House office across the hall into one of the guest rooms in the back.

  “I see,” Smith said. “Yes. Where are you now?”

  Across the street, the state office building loomed huge and gray, and beyond it the Capitol dome rose, glorious in the dazzling winter sun. Dave was out there working on her case, diligent as always. Jillian wondered if he’d slept at all.

  “I’m with the governor,” the colonel said. “Why don’t you co
me up here and give her these findings yourself?”

  Jillian wiped the grin off her face before she turned to face him. “Good news, I hope?”

  “Maybe. I told Hutchins to come up and report in person. He and Detective Millbridge have finished their calculations.”

  Two minutes later, Bob Caruthers tapped on the door and admitted Dave.

  “Good morning, Governor.”

  Jillian noticed the lines at the corners of his eyes looked deeper, and he hadn’t shaved. In fact—yes, that was the same shirt and tie he’d worn last night. The man hadn’t even slept.

  “I hope you got some rest, Detective,” she said, concerned.

  “Carl Millbridge and I wanted to get as much data as we could while the evidence was fresh.”

  She sat down and indicated that he take the chair opposite his colonel. “What did you find?”

  “Last night we discovered an empty cartridge casing on top of the parking garage. The mark on the roof of the SUV was probably made by a bullet fired from up there. We were able to put the vehicle back in the exact spot it was in when the shot was fired, and we’ve measured the angle of the projectile based on the ding it left on the SUV.”

  The colonel leaned forward. “And?”

  “I wish I could tell you something definite. Like height. Because of the distance, and variables like wind, gun model and cartridge load, we can’t say for sure. But the shooter didn’t kneel and rest his rifle on the wall. If our calculations are accurate, in order to fire a rifle from up there and hit your vehicle from that angle and that range, the shooter had to be at least five feet, ten inches tall.”

  Jillian sank back in her chair and exhaled. “So. That narrows it down some.”

  Dave chuckled. “It could eliminate ninety percent of women and Parker Tilton.” He glanced at the colonel, who scowled at him.

  Jillian hid her smirk behind her hand. The Senate president stood only five feet six inches with his shoes on.

  Dave continued quickly. “Anyway, we can’t be positive, but I’m banking on it being a tall man.”

  Jillian nodded. “So, what now?”

  “The casing is undergoing laboratory tests, and the SUV has gone to the lab, too, to see if they can find out anything else. We’ve got a man with a metal detector searching the area near the driveway for the bullet.”