by Brenda Novak
She started toward the staircase.
“Hold it, Alex,” Jim said. “You can’t go up there.”
“I have to check something.” She stopped, looked at him. “Trust me Jim. I’m still a good cop.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, then followed her, motioning to the cops manning the stairs to let Alex through. “Don’t touch anything,” he said.
She bit her tongue to keep from lashing Jim with it. Jerk.
She took the stairs quickly. Jim and Steve were right behind her. She went to the exact location that the shooter had been standing.
“He stood here.”
“We know that, based on the other witnesses. And we’re getting the security footage. Did you see him drop something? Take off his gloves?”
She shook her head and looked down at the lobby.
The flowers shooting up from the top of the vase completely blocked the center of the main doors. But from this angle, whoever was on the right—walking on Hart’s left side—was completely visible. She’d need a complete reenactment to make sure she was right. She stood on her tippy toes to make herself closer to five foot ten. It didn’t change the angle; the flowers were still blocking line of sight.
“Hart wasn’t the target,” she said.
“You can’t know that.”
“From here he wouldn’t have a clear shot. He’d have to aim through the flowers.”
“Maybe he thought he had a chance. Or maybe he just wanted to scare him.”
Possibly, Alex thought. Possibly. “Who was next to Hart?” She closed her eyes and pictured the scene. Woman on the left, man on the right. “It was a man.”
“His chief of staff Melanie Thorne and his legislative consultant Eric Huang.”
Steve said, “Hart has made a lot of enemies over the years. He was a prosecutor for years, then a corporate lawyer. Now he’s running for Governor—this was a press conference to announce some big campaign shindig or endorsement or something.”
“Aren’t you all political,” Alex teased.
Steve grinned. “I read the news.”
“You need to consider that maybe this Huang guy was the target,” Alex said. “Because if I was trying to take someone out, I’d damn well make sure I had a clear shot. Especially with a handgun—” She snapped her fingers. “It was a Glock. And it wasn’t the gun I saw the flash of, it was his belt buckle. The gun I saw when he pulled it from his waistband.”
“You could tell it was a Glock from—” Jim looked down, “that’s about thirty feet down? And fifteen feet over?”
She hesitated. “Semi-auto handgun. You’re right, I can’t say with certainty it was a Glock, it could have been a Sig, something similar. It just had that feeling to it. Again, gut impression.”
“Alex, just go get the damn stitches and let us do our job.”
She glared at him. Her temper was flaring, but she also felt woozy. Trying to keep her voice pleasant, she said, “Let me know what you find out.”
“As much as I can,” Jim said. “Remember, you’re not a cop anymore.”
Like she could ever forget.
Jim’s phone rang before she could comment. “I have to take this,” he said and turned his back on her.
It was better this way. She went back down the stairs where the two paramedics seemed more concerned than warranted. “I’m fine,” she said.
“You’re bleeding again,” one of them said.
She looked down at the bandage that Officer Lane had put on her. Sure enough, it was red.
“I give in,” she said. She pointed to the gurney. “But I’m walking to the ambulance, or I’m not going.”
Before they could argue with her, she left the hotel and sat on the ambulance bumper, hoping and praying that the reporters didn’t know her name.
If they don’t know, someone will tell them. Brace yourself, Alex. The shit storm is going to hit you – again.
***
District Attorney Matt Elliott had the news muted while he called FBI Agent Dean Hooper. Dean wasn’t just any FBI Agent, he was one of three Assistant Special Agents in Charge of the Sacramento FBI.
Dean answered the call immediately. “Hold on, Matt,” he said and put the phone down. Matt heard voices in the background of Dean’s office.
He stared at the screen as the camera replayed Alexandra Morgan leaping off a table in the center of a prominent hotel and save the life of the Lieutenant Governor. He didn’t see her get hit, the cameraman was on the ground and the film was at an odd angle, but he saw the blood on her arm as she ran past the camera a few seconds later.
Seeing her reminded him of how he royally screwed up any chance of having a relationship with Alex, before it even started. Seeing her risk her life to save someone else reminded him why he’d fallen for her in the first place.
Matt had fielded a half dozen calls in the last thirty minutes, but he had few answers. All he’d learned was that Hart was safe, the shooter was at large, and Alex was the only injury.
Twice he’d gotten up from his desk with the intention of going to the hotel to check on Alex personally. Twice he’d sat back down and picked up the phone to learn more about the shooting.
Dean came back on the line. “Sorry, Matt, as you can imagine things are hectic here.”
“What’s going on with the Travis Hart investigation? We’re making progress on the investigation and then someone takes a whack at him?”
“Honestly, Matt, I don’t know—there has been no chatter about this, our intel doesn’t have a hint that someone was after him. The CHP and Sac PD are taking lead, I can’t go in and muck things up. If I do, Hart will know we’re investigating him.”
“We need something solid, Dean.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“Politically, this will give him a bump. Right when he needs it the most—he officially announced his candidacy for governor last month. We need to take him down before the election.”
“Matt, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. D.C. is breathing down my neck, but I haven’t been able to connect Hart to Sergei Rykov. Not directly. And I don’t have enough evidence to take Hart down on corruption charges. The donations Rykov gave to his campaign were perfectly legal. If I make a run at Rykov too soon, I’ll lose him completely.”
“I’m just—just frustrated.”
Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, then said, “Matt, do you think that Alex Morgan would be open to working with us on this?”
Alex. He couldn’t see anything good coming from drawing her back into their operation. She’d been burned before, he wouldn’t do it to her again.
“No,” he said immediately. “She lost everything when she agreed to keep quiet about the FBI investigation. Did you know she was at the hotel today because of a job interview? Hotel security?”
“I offered her a job in D.C.”
“Her family is here,” Matt said.
“I would have moved her back once the case is over,” Dean said. “Look, her cover isn’t blown. Sergei has no idea she was working for me, he still believes she didn’t care that her partner was taking kickbacks until he crossed the line and started screwed around with Sergei’s underage prostitutes.”
“She won’t be able to get back onto the force,” Matt said. “Even after you nail Ryvok. And if she was able to go back now, it would take her months—longer—to get back into a position to gather intel. It’s far too dangerous.”
“I was thinking along the lines of deeper cover.”
“They’ll kill her if they even get a hint that she’s reporting to the FBI. And you’re forgetting about Judge Morgan.”
“Shit,” Dean mumbled. “You’re right, it won’t fly. However, she might be in the perfect position to get in with Hart.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Travis Hart may not be running organized crime in Sacramento, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Worse in some ways because he was both charming and cunning.
&nb
sp; “She’s good on her feet. Smart. Hart will reach out to her at some point, probably make a media splash with it, give her public thanks for saving his life. She can work him. Try to get inside his network. Has her father endorsed anyone for governor yet?”
“Not as far as I know.” Matt didn’t like Dean’s unstated plan, but he immediately saw the benefits. Judge Morgan was a powerful name in the law enforcement community. He didn’t often endorse, but when he did it carried weight.
“Can you talk to him? See if he’ll be willing to pretend he’s considering an endorsement of Hart?”
“Yes, but I still don’t see how Alex is going to learn anything by putting Judge Morgan together with Hart.”
“Hart will probably invite her to his office to give her a state resolution commending her bravery and heroism. Might even have a press conference. He’ll want to publicly thank her, not just for the political points, but because it’s expected. Then, she can use that to put her father together with Hart for a meeting. Find a reason to be there, to get involved.”
“I don’t know,” Matt said. He stared out his window but didn’t really see the street below. “I don’t see how it’ll play out.”
“Alex will figure it out as she goes. If she’s the liaison between the Judge and Hart, that gives her access. She can work that into something more, volunteering for his campaign for example. Matt, I don’t have anyone in Hart’s organization. He’s paranoid. My informant in Russian organized crime can’t get the evidence I need for an indictment on Rykov or Hart. We were so close last July...”
That comment irritated Matt, and he snapped, “And what exactly was she supposed to do? Turn her back on her partner screwing a fourteen year old?”
“No, of course not.”
It was one of those situations that no one could have predicted. Alex shouldn’t have confronted her partner, but she also knew that the chances that the department would do anything more than slapping Detective Tommy Cordell on the wrist for screwing a prostitute were slim to none. Alex had walked in on her partner receiving oral sex from a young girl. She’d lost her temper and threatened to turn him into Internal Affairs. Cordell’s over-reaction suggested that there was something he feared more than a suspension. He’d shot Alex in the back as she turned to leave. Only her quick thinking had saved her life—she’d returned fire and took Cordell down. That they’d both survived was a testament to modern medicine and great surgeons.
Matt didn’t blame Alex for what happened. No one did, though they’d wished they could have connected Cordell firmly to Rykov. If she’d had more time to gather evidence, they might have been able to flip Cordell to turn state’s evidence on Rykov. As it was, Cordell had kept his lips shut from the minute he’d been arrested.
Alex was lucky she wasn’t dead. Lucky that she was a good shot and the pills that Cordell had been popping had thrown off his aim. Lucky that Cordell hadn’t died. His trial started in six weeks. Matt wanted to prosecute him personally, but if it came out that Matt was working with the FBI prior to the shooting, it could cast doubt on the trial. Matt had to assign a prosecutor who had no personal connection to Judge Andrew Morgan or Alex.
“I’ll talk to Andrew, then to Alex.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll let you know.”
“I can talk to her,” Dean offered.
“No. I’m the one who got her into this mess in the first place.”
He hung up on Dean and dialed Andrew’s number. While on hold, he stared at the chair where Alex had sat fifteen months ago. It was right after Christmas. The office was quiet, court adjourned until after the New Year.
“My partner’s on the take and I don’t know who to trust.”
“You can trust me, Alex.”
She smiled. She was so beautiful when she smiled. Matt had always been attracted to Alex Morgan, but he’d never pursued it and he didn’t know why. His sister had told him—often—that he’d let his father’s multiple marriages turn him into a cynic. Maybe Megan was right—he dated, but never anyone he was truly interested in. Plus, he had his career.
Now, it was too late with Alex. She’d moved in with her boyfriend, another cop. He’d missed his chance. “I know I can trust you, that’s why I came here. I can’t go to my boss, you know how it is—a slap on the wrist or they’ll reassign me. I’ve turned my back on crap other cops have done, minor stuff that just isn’t worth fighting over. But this? Tommy has a gambling problem, and I think he’s taking money from the Russian mob. Sergei Rykov. And I know Rykov is suspected of running girls, running drugs, building his organization. Ever since I transferred to the Northern Command last year, I wondered how he could get away with it, why the police could never pin anything on him. Now I know why. He has cops on his payroll. I don’t think Tommy is the only one, but I can’t go to my commander without proof. And need something so egregious no one can ignore it.”
“We should call the FBI.”
“Why? Don’t you have an investigative unit in the D.A.’s office?” She’d sounded panicked. No cop wanted to work with the feds against one of their own.
“This would be a federal investigation. Public corruption is almost always investigated by the FBI. I’ll talk to my sister first.” Megan was the SSA of Violent Crimes. “But if anyone has an open investigation into Sergei Rykov, it’ll be Dean Hooper.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You know Officer Riley Knight?”
“Of course. We used to work together in Central Command.”
“Dean is his brother-in-law. He’s a good guy. You can trust him as much as you trust me. You can ask Riley about him.”
She looked nervous, but agreed. “Just tell me what to do, because I can’t live like this. I almost put in for a transfer ... but if I don’t do something, who will?”
Chapter Three
Detective Jim Perry shut off his phone before he went to the penthouse where the hotel had put Hart and his entourage. He didn’t need anymore calls, didn’t need to be nagged, didn’t need anyone breathing down his neck.
He just needed to do his job.
He flashed his badge to the CHP officer standing at Hart’s door, then went in. It was a clusterfuck. Reporters and staff and security. He spotted Lieutenant Governor Travis Hart standing by one of the windows, talking on his cell phone. Jim went straight over to him and interrupted. “Mr. Hart, we need talk about the shooting. Now.”
Hart wrapped up his conversation quickly and said, “Of course, Detective.”
“Is there any place private we can talk?”
Hart shook his head. “Not really. We have the two rooms adjoining this, but staff is in there. The CHP said you’d want to talk to everyone.”
“Yes I do,” Jim said. He motioned for the people hovering around their boss to go to the other side of the room. He’d like to have done the interviews one-on-one and without the commotion, but he also wanted to do them now.
Hart still wore the suit he had on earlier, but he’d taken off his jacket. Blood spotted the crisp white. “You weren’t hit, were you Mr. Hart?”
Hart looked down. “No. But the woman was. I was told she was okay, but going to the hospital.”
“She’s fine,” Jim said. “Start at the beginning. Was your trip to the hotel planned? On your schedule?”
“Yes,” Hart said. “I had scheduled a noon press conference here, in one of the ballrooms, to announce my anti-crime initiative. I have secured the endorsements of more than a dozen Sheriffs and Police Chiefs, as well as the last three Attorney Generals—even though one of them isn’t of my political party. In light of the initiatives on the upcoming ballot, I wanted to get out front on a few issues.”
“I really don’t need the lesson in politics,” Jim snapped. “Were any of these endorsers here with you?”
“Yes, but they’d arrived earlier and were already in the ballroom awaiting my arrival. They’d given earlier interviews with the press.”
Jim scribbled down the notes. “When did you put th
is event on your schedule? Who knew about it?”
“We only scheduled it two days ago, when I secured an important endorsement. It wasn’t secret—we sent out a press release, the hotel knew because they provided the food and room, my staff, it was in the paper this morning and a radio announcement—my press secretary can tell you everywhere the information ran.”
Anyone could have heard about it. “What exactly did you see when you came in?”
“Nothing except the reporters. I was about to tell them to head to the ballroom—they weren’t supposed to be in the lobby, but herding reporters is like herding sheep. They like to think they can get the scoop. One goes to the entrance, they all follow, like lemmings.”
“And?”
“And as I was about to speak, this woman—someone told me her name was Alexandra Morgan—jumped onto the table in the center of the lobby. My first thought was she was an aggressive photographer trying to get a good photo.”
“Did you see the shooter?”
“No—because Ms. Morgan made quite a spectacle yelling something—I believe it was get down—and then she jumped on me. Pushed me to the ground. I heard the gun shot.”
“How many?”
“Two, I think.” He paused. “Yes, two. One before she jumped on me, and one right after.”
“And then?”
“And then she ran after the shooter, or so I was told.”
“You have a security detail?”
“CHP handles Capitol security. This was a campaign related event, so I had two private security who come with me.”
“Have you been threatened?”
“I have private security mostly to help keep things moving, avoid being stuck, assessing venues, advance work, things like that.”
“I repeat, have you been threatened? Letters? Calls?”
“My staff would turn over any threatening calls or letters to the CHP. You’ll have to talk to them. I was a prosecutor for fifteen years. I have my fair share of enemies. But I can’t think of anyone who would want to kill me.”