What was she afraid of? She wasn’t dead yet. She could at least try to have it all. It might not be that difficult to combine romance and ambition with Peter. They could share politics. But what about children? He wanted them. Could she do it? Could she achieve her ambitions and be a good mother? She always figured she’d be cheating something or someone somewhere along the line if she tried.
But it turned out she was not immune to the pull of wanting babies. She was like every woman. She was a woman first, a creature of the evolution of the species. All her studying of the human species and human nature wouldn’t exempt her from its bonds. Procreation was a paramount desire in all species. And in her.
She wished again for a chocolate.
“Are we set to go?” Dennis checked his watch and glanced around at the assembled cameras and the various reporters geared up and ready.
“I’m set.” Madeline smiled and walked toward the podium. That was when she caught sight of the limousine pulling up to the curb down below. The mob of media turned their heads en masse. The back door opened from the inside and Peter John Douglas got out, too impatient to wait for the door to be opened for him.
All cameras turned 180 degrees away from her as she stepped behind the podium. The assembly of reporters with cameras flocked toward Peter the Rock, shouting questions and flashing cameras and shoving microphones under his nose. The press conference announcing his latest endorsement must have gotten over in record time. She watched him, for only a second.
“Shit.” That was Dennis. Valerie rushed over, Jonathan behind her.
“What’s he doing here?” Jonathan didn’t sound as annoyed as Dennis.
“Is something wrong?” Valerie sounded alarmed.
Madeline looked out over the crowd of fawning press and enjoyed the view for a moment. Then she decided to take advantage of the microphones in front of her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome Peter John Douglas to our party.” He glanced up at her and arched his brow as he made his way up the steps. She watched him with her slight smile. He smiled back as he climbed the steps, ignoring the shouted questions of the reporters pressing in on him. Sam and Acer caught up and tried to clear the way like the king’s guard protecting their master from the rabble. With a sudden clarity of thought, Madeline realized it would be wonderful if he won the election. He would be a great governor. Maybe she’d known that all along. They were both good, albeit oh so very different.
She looked regal atop the state house steps. He needed to reach her and he wasn’t even sure what the urgency was about, though he was well aware of the strangeness of his appearance with the election in two weeks and the fact that they were still opponents. Rick had reminded him of this loudly before Peter dashed from his own press conference. But then everything about this campaign had been unusual. Too late to worry now. Peter glanced back to see Sam and Acer rush to catch up and help deflect the media mob. Funny, he found it easy to ignore the media just now, even though he knew that it was at his peril to do so this close to the election.
Exactly what was he going to say or do when he reached her at the podium? Of course he was going to reinforce her story and make sure people knew without a doubt that she was an innocent victim of fraud and deceit. But hadn’t that been done at Benny Chen’s press conference this morning? The questions the reporters shouted at him about the nurse going to jail and about who was really behind it all told him they knew the story by now.
He was here for more than that. It wasn’t about her professional reputation any more.
“Wait till I get to the podium. Then Madeline Grace and I both will be happy to answer all the questions.” He smiled and deflected. Then he heard the unmistakable screech of tires behind him and spun around with the speed of someone trained to be alert to possible threats.
Marcus Thompson burst from the car almost before it had completely stopped. He stormed in Peter’s direction with one hand raised to buffet the instant media attention and the straight angry line of his mouth and accusing stare aimed at him.
“Shit.” Peter hadn’t meant to say that aloud and of course a microphone was immediately shoved in front of his face.
“Have you alienated your running mate by appearing at the press conference of your opponent and one-time lover Madeline Grace with the election less than two weeks away?” He turned to the young reporter who’d said the mouthful. Shaking his head, he decided what the hell and laughed out loud.
“What do you think?” He glanced back up the steps to see Madeline conferring with her people, the brilliant October sun refracted by her golden hair giving her a halo-like appearance. Geez, he thought, he must have it bad.
He turned back to Thompson and beckoned the man to join him with a wave of his hand. “Glad you could join me, Marcus. After all, we want to make it perfectly clear that we do not condone the despicable acts, the lies, the fraud and the blackmail, that were used in an attempt to defeat Ms. Grace.” He said loud enough for the grateful press to hear and eagerly report. Marcus looked around and with a strained smile nodded his ascent.
“No, definitely wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression, would we?” He looked at Peter. Peter controlled his urge to laugh again and instead spoke out loud what he thought.
“I knew I picked a good man.” He gave the impression of winking without doing so and moved up the steps again at a staccato pace. “Let’s go Marcus. I’m not going to slow down. You’ll have to keep up with me.” Peter heard the man practically choke on a chuckle behind him.
“Don’t worry about me, PJD. I’m right on your heels.”
Peter silently nodded his approval of his soon-to-be lieutenant governor. The latest polls taken over the Internet after the DA’s press conference showed him in the lead over the other party by a large margin, with Mad Madeline right behind. He kept his eyes on Madeline now as he moved up the last few steps to the podium and approached from the right. Then he noticed some of her people looking left, surprise and trepidation mixed on their faces.
Madeline couldn’t help admire how Peter handled the arrival of Marcus Thompson.
“The guy never misses a beat. How does he do it?” Valerie almost sighed the question as they both watched the media watching the two men.
Madeline decided to answer even though she knew an answer wasn’t expected. “I used to think it was his special ops training, but somewhere along the way I finally realized he was born that way. Completely one hundred percent under control and unflappable.”
“You’re a lucky woman.” Valerie turned to her.
“I know that. But exactly which piece of luck were you referring to?”
“The man is obviously here for you. I mean, he is really going out-of-his-way crazy for you,” Valerie said. Madeline laughed but didn’t dare even say how much she hoped and wished that were true. She felt too much like a twelve-year-old even thinking it.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” Dennis stepped up to the microphone and changed his frown to a smile at the swarming mob. Madeline glanced at Peter down to her left. He was only a few steps away. She turned to Dennis on her right and caught something in the distance. A slight commotion. She saw Jonathan striding over toward a knot of people, their voices raised.
Dennis paused and turned to look.
Madeline squinted and focused in on the woman rushing forward past Jonathan. Why was he trying to stop her?
It was Sarah.
Madeline moved from behind the podium toward her. They could postpone their speech another minute. She heard Peter shout her name and turned toward him. It was strange that he was rushing forward toward her. He was at a dead run up the last few steps.
At the last moment she realized. In the split second it took her to look back at Sarah to see that she was struggling with a man. The man threw her off—it was Bertrand St. Cyr. He raised a gun and fired it.
The loud crack of the gun sounded out of place in the middle of the crowd. It stunned her and the next thing
she felt was the impact of PJD tackling her to the ground.
All she heard as she looked up into his face, lying there cushioned by his shoulder and arms, were the shrieks and shouts of every living soul around them and the sounds of their feet pounding down the granite state house steps in their frantic attempt to escape getting shot by wild bullets. Her heart seem to thud in slow motion as she relaxed like she’d jumped into a dark pool of deep water to drown. The crowd noise turned into a buzzing in her ears and she concentrated on his warmth; the warmth of his body and the warmth in his eyes going soul-deep, as it all sank in.
“It’s a good thing St. Cyr has lousy aim, ’cause you didn’t throw your body in the path of the bullet in time to save me,” she said.
“I must be getting old.”
“Naah. That only works in movies anyway.”
“Like you would know.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get shot. I’d have felt terribly guilty.” She started feeling silly, even wildly giddy lying there in his arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to move from the surprising comfort. She supposed her grin was inappropriate as she took note of the tightness in his smile. But it didn’t lessen even when the people around them started prodding to make sure they were okay.
The shouts and noise of the crowd surrounding them finally drowned out the thundering of his pounding heart. He lifted himself and Madeline with her grin and the tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. Many hands around them helped right them and they spoke all at once, saying the same things in a jumble of words. Peter doubted she even realized she was crying. Then her face turned from giddy relief to sadness in such a short space that he knew she must be partly in shock. He grabbed her around her waist and hugged her to him before she could fall and shoved his mind into gear.
“You’re okay, Mad,” he murmured into her ear and kissed her temple Then he moved with the quickness of a running back carrying the ball and ushered her through the haranguing crowd back toward his limo, half carrying her down the steps.
“Acer, where is he? Do they have him?”
“I can’t tell. Sam went after him. He still had the gun. Even after that crazy Sarah tried to wrestle it away from him.” Acer shook his head in what looked to be incredulous admiration. “The uniforms were taken by surprise. The chase was hampered by the crowd taking cover.” They looked in the direction of the commotion to see Sam disappearing in pursuit.
“I think I know where St. Cyr may be headed.” Peter was certain, but reluctant to say where.
“He’s going to my house.” Madeline read his mind.
He turned back to Acer. “Tell the police,” he said it as he heard the sirens screech into action and begin the race. He was more concerned now about Madeline. They watched Acer race back to the mob of blue uniforms. Valerie was there with Sarah when an ambulance pulled up, and they put Sarah on a stretcher. Peter glanced up at the podium to see McBain gamely handling the press with Jonathan. Time for him to go. He shoved her in the back of the limo and she let him. That alone was telling. And not in a good way.
“Hi, Bob.” Mad smiled. She must be in shock. He felt her forehead and she slapped his hand away. “I’m fine. Let’s get where we’re going. Where are we going, anyway?”
“Home. To Cambridge.” He told Bob through the rearview mirror.
“What about Sarah? Shouldn’t we be going to the hospital to meet them there?” Mad looked at him like he was mad. Maybe he was. What was he going to do in Cambridge? He pressed himself back into the seat and regrouped.
“You know we have to talk.”
“We’ll talk after it’s all over. After the election.” She said it kindly. That killed him. He ought to go to the hospital, but not to see Sarah.
“You’re right,” he sighed.
“Now that’s what I call progress,” she said. Even Bob laughed at that one. He turned the car around and headed to Mass General Hospital.
The General at Mass General
The whole world was at Mass General. Except Sam and a few policemen still out looking for the perpetrator, Madeline hoped. But then what was one more mob of media at this stage?
“Looks like you can have your press conference here instead of the state house steps, Mad. A little more melodramatic than your style, but what the heck,” Peter said.
“Yeah, what the heck. That’s just what I was thinking,” she said. He dragged her out of the car by way of helping her. Then he enveloped her under his arm and pushed forward through the throng. She concentrated only on the here and now. Everything else was a jumble in her head. Besides, she liked here and now in Peter’s protective hold. The ripple of disturbance created by that acknowledgement passed and she let herself rest against him.
“Mr. Douglas, what does this mean for your campaign? Will you increase your security?”
“Ms. Grace, will you be dropping out of the race for governor? Are you afraid for your life?
“Will Ms. Lisky be stepping down from her position as campaign manager?”
They got to the door and Peter stopped to face the mob. “We’ll give you a statement once we check on Ms. Lisky’s condition.” Then they went in the building where they were met by security guards and escorted to a private waiting room near the ER, where they were looking at Sarah. Bob caught up with them.
“Call Rick and fill him in. Tell him to meet us here. And to pick up McBain on his way.”
“Peter, honey, whatever happened to Marcus Thompson?” Madeline asked when the thought popped into her head. They looked at each other. Last she remembered was seeing him on the state house steps behind Peter on the way up. She didn’t remember seeing him on the way back down.
“Good question.” They both looked at Bob. Bob shrugged.
“Have Rick bring Bill along and have Bill locate Marcus. The man probably hit the deck and scattered with the rest of the crowd once the gun was fired and all hell broke loose.” He looked at her and smiled one of his heart-melting real smiles. “I wasn’t worried about keeping track of him.”
She smiled back and stood up straight, breaking free of his arms, but not free of his hold. But it hit her why they were here. She wasn’t the one who ended up getting hurt. Sarah did. And Peter wasn’t the one that ended up saving her from harm’s way. Sarah did.
Mad started pacing around the small waiting area, circling Peter and worrying about Sarah in a fuzzy-minded way, only hoping she would be okay, but nothing more; nothing past that thought.
Bedside
“She was only nicked in the scuffle, as it turns out,” Val said.
Mad rushed to the bed, stopped short and glanced at the doctor for permission. He nodded. She bent over the half-dozing, half-alarmed woman who suddenly looked small. Not that Sarah Lisky was a big woman, but she’d always had a bigness of manner about her.
That had disappeared, and Mad felt close to tears. She hugged the woman and kissed her cheek, then stood and stepped back to give her breathing room.
Sarah’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes averted. Then she reluctantly met Mad’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, Mad. So sorry.” Sarah flicked a glaze at Peter. “PJD, you too. You both have a right to hate me.”
“Not on your life! Not when you saved mine.”
Sarah shook her head. “If it wasn’t for me it would never have come to St. Cyr taking a shot at you…”
“Not that. Although I’m very grateful to you for stopping the bullet.” Mad smiled. She wasn’t sure how she was going to explain this, but she felt like she’d been saved—partly from herself, from her own ambition. She couldn’t think of what else to say. All she had were feelings and unformed wisps of thought spinning in her head.
“So you’re a new person now?” Peter asked.
He looked on edge as he watched her. No expression to speak of, and on the edge of what she wasn’t sure. She smiled and nodded yes.
“I was rather fond of the old you.”
“This is getting too mushy. I’m out of here.�
�� Val scooted to the door.
“Hey, don’t leave me alone here with them.” Sarah suddenly seemed her former self. Mad sighed.
“Don’t worry. I’m still me. As far as I can tell. But I’ll be all right when—if I lose the election,” Madeline said in a rush.
“Does this mean you’re going to concede the race?” Peter deadpanned.
“No!” Val and Sarah shouted at the same time. She looked at her friends. Peter laughed.
“I meant—,” she stopped. “Oh, I don’t know what I meant. Things just feel different.”
“This is only temporary until we regroup,” Sarah said.
“Until we regroup.” Mad looked at Peter and wondered who would be in that new group. She hoped to God Peter would be there. But she knew he was holding back.
“I, for one, would be disappointed if you gave up politics altogether,” Peter said.
“So would I. Don’t worry. I wasn’t thinking that.” She realized now how true that was. “I have too much I need to think about.” But not now. “I have time. A whole lifetime to do everything. And a life to live while I’m at it.” At least she sounded wise. Now all she had to do was carry it off.
She was about to say more when some blue uniforms walked in the room. Right behind them was Peter’s assistant DA. She wasn’t sure if they were the reason she started feeling woozy right then. But the envelope of dizziness started overtaking her. They were all talking. She could see their lips moving.
It was all so strange. They must have come to arrest Sarah, but that couldn’t be what was making her knees so weak and her ears buzz and the spots interfering with her vision.
“Shit.” Peter reacted. If Mad hadn’t been standing right next to him he would never have caught her before she hit the floor. He never saw it coming. Too busy paying attention to the blue uniforms and his assistant DA.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 34