They sat for half a minute without speaking. Jillian remembered Tanger’s fury when the verdict came down at his trial. She shivered, and despised her own weakness.
“Thank you,” she said at last. “I know this is your job, but it’s more than that to me.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I wish I could make it go away. If we find anything that shows Tanger was communicating with Stevenson, we’ll throw away the key on him. But if he had nothing to do with it…”
She nodded. “I’d be the last one to want an innocent man punished for this. Thank you for everything. I feel as though it’s more than a challenge for you. That you really care, not only on the professional level, but…”
“I do. I care very much.”
Jillian’s pulse quickened at his husky tone and the warmth in his eyes. She warned herself not to make too much of it, but she felt an unexpected wave of happiness. They gazed at each other across the desk. There were so many things she wished they could say, but she wouldn’t break protocol, and neither would he.
With reluctance, she pulled her gaze away. Her three o’clock appointment had been waiting ten minutes.
Before she could speak, Dave rose.
“It’s been a pleasure, Governor. I’ll keep you posted on our findings.”
That Sunday, Jillian felt more optimistic than she had in weeks. She and Naomi rode to her hometown to attend services at her own church, a welcome change from the cloistered existence she’d lived for nearly two months. The pastor’s sermon reminded her that God was in control of everything—the investigation, the workings of the state and, yes, even her personal life.
Jillian’s mother, who had returned to her own house the day before, met her and Naomi in the auditorium before the worship service. She insisted that the two EPU officers with them, Penny and Ryan, join them for lunch at her home afterward. On the return drive to Augusta, with Penny at the wheel of the SUV, Jillian talked quietly with Naomi.
“I meant to tell you,” Naomi said, “I have a date for Friday evening.”
“Oh?” Jillian asked. “Someone new?” She couldn’t recall Naomi dating anyone since they’d moved to Augusta.
Naomi chuckled. “It’s Beth’s cousin.”
Jillian stared at her. “Beth? You mean our Beth?”
“Yes, the one who helps Amelia in the kitchen. He’s going to be in town next weekend, and Beth wanted to line up someone for a foursome with her and her boyfriend.”
“That could be interesting,” Jillian said.
“She warned me that he’s an accountant, and he never reads anything but science fiction.”
Jillian laughed. “You hate sci-fi. And you always came crying to me for help with your math.”
“I know.” Naomi grimaced. “But Beth is fun. It’ll be something different.”
“You’ll have to tell me how it goes.” Jillian leaned back and closed her eyes. She was glad Naomi had made friends with Beth. It made Jillian feel less guilty about how unavailable she’d been lately, as a friend.
She let her mind roam. Since Stevenson’s shooting, she’d done two press conferences. The first, on Monday, had included reporters from the networks, as well as Maine newspapers and TV stations. The second, held Friday morning in the Hall of Flags, was limited to in-state journalists, though some of the networks had run clips on their evening broadcasts. Jillian preferred to let Mark Payson do the interviews, but she saw the wisdom of letting the world see her unscathed face after the nearly successful assassination attempt.
Her short interludes with Dave Hutchins brought more pleasant memories. Those few minutes alone with him at the mansion and in her statehouse office had sown a seed of longing she didn’t think she’d ever feel again. Ten years ago, she and Brendon had planned their life, their home and their family together. Did she still have a chance at that? Was there still time for her to have children and a family life?
Not without a husband.
But she’d signed on for four years in a very high-stress job. This was not the time to think of dating or marrying or becoming a mother, much as she yearned for those things. Yet, when she thought of Dave, the longing pierced her deeply.
She let out a sigh.
“You okay?” Naomi asked.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Is your mom coming to stay with us again soon?”
“I hope so.” Jillian opened her eyes.
“I was going to spend next weekend with my mother, but now that I have a date…”
“You can always go home on Saturday,” Jillian said.
“Maybe. We’ll see. We’ve been so busy since the inauguration that I haven’t been home much,” Naomi said. “I should go soon.”
“Yes, you should.”
Jillian closed her eyes again, mulling over her new life. At first she’d found the domestic staff and security officers annoying. No matter where she went, someone was only steps away. It rankled her independent soul. Since becoming a widow, she’d done things for herself and enjoyed her privacy and solitude. But she’d lost that now. A simple walk in the park required complicated schedule shuffling and arrangements for her security.
But if she expected to stay alive and maintain a semblance of a normal life, the EPU was necessary. And Dave Hutchins was more than necessary. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to do about that.
Dave tapped his fingers on the edge of his keyboard and scowled at the spreadsheet on the screen. More than a week had passed since he’d shot the stalker. They were still investigating the dead man, probing Stevenson’s associates and his connection to Roderick Tanger. Dave had made two trips to southern Maine to interview people who had known the dead man after Carl Millbridge parceled out the interviews to several detectives. Dave was getting to the end of his lengthy list. He closed his eyes for a moment and sent up a silent prayer. Lord, help us to not overlook something critical.
He would see Jillian tonight, having resumed the biweekly briefings in her office at the Blaine House. He tried to ignore how much he was looking forward to seeing her.
He was still at the computer when the lieutenant called him at quarter to six.
“The governor is working late at the statehouse. Detectives Mills and Thurlow are scheduled to take her home, but Mills’s shift ends in a few minutes. If you’re available, the governor thought it might be easiest if you update her at the statehouse. Help Thurlow get her home, and Bob Caruthers will take over for you at the Blaine House.”
“Sounds good,” Dave said, thinking he’d rather meet with Jillian in the office at the mansion. It felt more private.
He drove to the huge parking lot outside the state office building. Most of the workers had left for the day. He walked around the massive utilitarian building that ruined the view of the statehouse from most nearby vantage points.
As he rounded the corner, he surveyed the back of the Capitol building, from the open area where Jillian had given her ill-fated press conference on inauguration day, to the copper-covered dome topped with a statue of Wisdom. As always, the sight stirred him.
He crossed the lobby, bypassed the elevator and took the broad marble staircase instead, coming up into the majestic Hall of Flags on the second floor. The entrance to the governor’s office was tucked away, with a sign so small beside the door that it would be easy to miss. The EPU officer standing on duty outside indicated Jillian’s presence in the chambers. The receptionist had left for the night, and her small office was empty. Dave swung to the right into the next, much larger room.
In the spacious outer office, Jillian’s administrative assistant, Lettie Wheeler, was pulling on her coat. Dave knew little about her, but she always had a smile and a kind word for the officers.
“The governor is expecting you,” she told him. “I’m heading out, but when you are finished, the two officers on duty here will help the governor lock up and see her home.”
“Actually, I’m one of the two who will escort her tonight,”
Dave said. “Things must be busy around here.”
Lettie nodded. “You could say that. Governor Goff has been meeting with legislators and lobbyists all day. She’s determined to see that tax bill go down, but there are a lot of people who would like to see it pass. If you want my advice, keep the briefing short and take her home to get some rest.” She winked at him, and Dave chuckled.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
Lettie leaned over her desk and pushed a button on the phone. “Detective Hutchins is here.”
“Thanks, Lettie,” Jillian’s clear voice said. “Good night.”
Dave watched the older woman leave and turned toward the closed oak door of the inner office. He tapped on the panel, and the door opened from inside. Another officer greeted him and stepped outside, allowing Dave to enter, and closed the door behind him.
“Dave.” Jillian waved him in.
He took a seat and smiled down at her. “Long day?”
“Yes, but I think I made a lot of progress on a couple of fronts today.”
“Energy and taxes?”
“My, you are keeping up with the statehouse scuttlebutt, aren’t you?”
He laughed, slightly embarrassed. She grinned at him.
“I suppose we could have waited and had our talk at the Blaine House, as usual.” She sat back in her chair. “I’m about done here for tonight, but if I went over now, there would barely be time between when we got there and dinner. I wouldn’t want to be rude to the chef, but I’d hate to make you wait. I don’t suppose you’d sit down to dinner with Naomi and me?”
Dave gritted his teeth. “Thank you, but I’m sure there’s some rule or other against that.”
“Thought so.” Jillian crossed her legs and smiled. “So. Where are we in the investigation?”
“I have a list of eight people I’m looking hard at. I intend to interview all of them again within the next week.”
“People I know?”
“Some.” He took a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to her. “Half of them are people who worked with Tanger before he was incarcerated.”
“Who else?” She looked down at the list, frowning. Dave took the opportunity to stare without reproach. She was beautiful, even if she didn’t look happy. He realized that she’d started talking, and he wasn’t listening.
“I can understand why you think Raymond Grant might have it in for me. He’s a dedicated lobbyist, and I’ve butted heads with him many times—including this afternoon—over the petroleum issue.”
“Grant has a lot riding on what happens during your administration. If the study you’re pushing for leads you and your advisors to believe that drilling in the Gulf of Maine would be inadvisable—”
“For environmental reasons,” she put in.
“For whatever reasons. That would cost Raymond Grant a bundle. He’s banking on getting a green flag to drill.”
“He knows we have to consider all the possibilities. I’m not against drilling for oil here, if we can do it safely. But I don’t think the federal government will let us move in that direction, even if we find that it would benefit the people of Maine in every conceivable way. And if it’s found to be risky…”
“Grant knows all that. But if he’d seen someone elected who was gung ho on the project, his stock would have climbed. He and his colleagues are pressuring you to hurry up that study, aren’t they?”
She put one hand to her forehead and sighed. “Somewhat.” She looked back down at the list. “I thought you’d ruled out Parker Tilton.”
“He’s still first in line to be governor if anything happens to you. We haven’t found a solid motive other than that, but we can’t totally exclude him from the equation. Ditto for your opponent in the election, Peter Harrison.”
She stood and paced to the tall window, where she looked down at the grounds and street below. Dave resisted the instinct to tell her not to stand in the window like that.
At last she turned and came back to her chair. “Why are we still looking at these people?”
“You know why.”
She exhaled heavily. “We can’t prove Stevenson acted alone. We can’t prove he fired at me from the parking garage—yet. But if someone hired him—and even if there was more than one gunman in the three shooting attempts—isn’t the connection to Roderick Tanger strong enough?”
“No. I’m sorry. We haven’t found any communication between the two of them since Tanger went to jail.”
“Who’s running his business now?”
“His old network seems to have splintered. Those first four names are people who worked for him. They all have other connections now, some legal and some not. We’re investigating very thoroughly, and some of them may face unrelated criminal charges. But Tanger seems to be a drone now that he’s behind bars. The corrections system may have successfully isolated him from his former contacts.”
“How can we know that for sure?” she asked. “Aren’t there always leaks?”
Dave didn’t like her thinking, but she was right. “We can’t know everything. I’m praying hard that if there’s something there, we’ll find it, so the case will break and we can assure you that you’re safe.”
“Can I stop wearing a bulletproof vest every time I go out now? I wore one to the opening of a new elementary school yesterday, for crying out loud!”
“I’m sorry that was necessary.”
“I know you’re frustrated, too. Can’t we just trust God that this is over and act normal?” she asked.
“That would be great. But if we were wrong…”
Jillian raised her chin. “I pray for the same thing over and over. ‘Let the EPU guys find something, Lord! Give us proof that this Stevenson was a crazy who resented me for putting his boss in the slammer.’”
“God doesn’t always answer our prayers in the way or in the time frame that we think is best.”
“I know. Yes, I know that’s true.” She lowered her forehead into her hands and closed her eyes. “If he wasn’t in touch with Tanger, why would he care about me?”
“Another option I’ve considered is that Stevenson had a new boss after Tanger was put away. Someone else who resented you. He might be doing the same line of work he did for Tanger, but for someone else.”
“But we don’t know who.”
Dave glanced around, wondering if anyone was watching them on the closed-circuit cameras. “Is it…truly private in here?”
“Yes. If you mean is our conversation being recorded, it’s not.”
He eyed her cautiously for a long moment. When she met his gaze again, he asked softly, “Would it be all right if we prayed about this together?”
“I…” She sat still, looking into his eyes. Gradually her lips slipped into a weary smile. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”
He reached across her desk and took her hands in his, and bowed his head.
ELEVEN
“Hey, Hutchins, wait up.”
Dave paused and let the other officers pass him, emptying the duty room after the Wednesday-morning briefing. Carl Millbridge hung back, glaring stonily at him.
Dave waited just inside the doorway, wishing at least one other officer had lingered behind.
“What’s up, Carl?”
“You’ve been going over all the interviews I did in the governor’s case since inauguration day.”
“That’s right.” Dave leaned back against the door frame. “I figured I’d read through all the data we’ve collected again. Is there a problem?”
“Not really. But I can tell you, there’s nothing there.”
Dave shrugged, not sure where Millbridge was going with this. “It can’t hurt to go over what we have and see if we missed anything.”
Carl gave him a long, dark look. “I didn’t miss anything.”
“Probably not. But it will help me get a fuller picture if I read other people’s reports again. Not just yours. I aim to read through everybody’s until I either find
something to pursue or we get some new leads. We need to be aggressive on this case.”
“What, you think I haven’t been aggressive enough?”
“I didn’t say that. But I’d have thought we could have had the ballistics report back on Stevenson’s rifle in less than ten days.”
“The lab was backlogged. Someone had vacation last week.”
“So? I could have run a few rounds through that gun myself and checked the slugs. So could you. An hour tops, and we’d have known. This is our most important case ever, and we’re waiting for some tech to get back from vacation?”
“Well, we know now, don’t we?” Carl leaned toward Dave, his face a deep red.
At that moment, Lieutenant Wilson breezed through the doorway, almost smacking into Dave, who stepped quickly to one side.
Wilson stopped and looked back and forth between them.
“What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Carl said.
Wilson eyed him dubiously.
“Just discussing the fact that the rifle from Stevenson’s apartment was the same one used on top of the parking garage at the end of January,” Dave said.
“Yes. That’s the good news and the bad, isn’t it?” Wilson said.
Dave nodded. “It ties it up almost too neatly.”
“You’re just mad because there’s no one left for you to chase,” Carl muttered.
“No. I’m skeptical because, so far as we can tell, Stevenson had no motive. With the bits and pieces we’ve put together, I’m saying it was money, and that means someone was paying him. But who?”
“A lot of people are working on that,” Wilson said. “The only people who’ve visited Tanger in prison for the last six months are his lawyer and his sister. I wish we could say it’s over and close the file.” He sighed. “You’ll have to call Payson and brief him for a press conference today, Millbridge.”
Dave still wondered if they’d pushed hard enough. He had to tread carefully, though. If he seemed too eager, someone might suspect he was developing personal feelings for the governor, and he would lose his job. He strived to keep his relationship with her strictly by-the-book, but he knew he was losing his heart. And if he were really honest with himself, he’d say he’d already lost it.
Hearts in the Crosshairs Page 9