by Brenda Novak
“I need to talk to your staff, particularly the two who were walking with you—Thorne and Huang.”
Hart hesitated, just a moment, then said, “Is there a reason why?”
“I need to talk to everyone, Mr. Hart. You know that. You were a prosecutor.”
Hart tensed, but Jim didn’t care. He wasn’t going to coddle the politician, and he wasn’t going to slack off, especially a high profile case like this. His boss was going to be a stick up his ass until they had the shooter in custody.
“They’re both in the next room. So can I assume that the woman, Ms. Morgan, didn’t get a good look at the shooter?”
“We have security footage.”
“Of course. Thank you, Detective.”
“Just make yourself available when I need you.”
Jim turned away. He really distrusted politicians. Especially men like Travis Hart.
Melanie Thorne was still upset, but after Jim talked to her, he realized she knew less than Hart about what happened. She’d been talking on the phone when they entered and wasn’t paying attention.
Then Jim talked to Eric Huang. The legislative consultant was a tall, skinny Asian kid with glasses and a suit. He looked young, but his driver’s license indicated that he was thirty. He seemed cagey, nervous, and his hands were shaking. He’d noticed everything that Hart noticed, but more. He had seen Alex pushing through the crowd before jumping onto the table. He’d also seen the shooter standing at the railing on the second floor landing.
“Did you see a gun?”
“No—I just remember when the woman climbed onto the table, I looked at her and I saw a man standing at the railing. He wore a dark hoodie and seemed out of place. The woman yelled to get down, and I dropped immediately. And then everything happened fast.”
Huang also heard two gun shots, and when Alex got up he, too, was ushered with his boss into another room, and then they all came upstairs.
“You seem nervous,” Jim said.
“Nervous? I’m scared.”
“Why are you scared?”
Huang’s dark eyes widened. “Because someone shot at my boss. It could have been me.”
“Do you have any enemies?”
“Me? Of course not.”
“Maybe someone who blames you for not getting a bill through?”
“The Lieutenant Governor doesn’t have much to do with legislation,” Huang said.
“But you’re the legislative director.”
“Yes—he takes positions on legislation, speaks to groups generally in support of the governor’s agenda, so I prepare position papers, make sure that I can answer any questions he may have, identify proponents and opponents, make sure he’d informed. He also sits on several committees, such as the Coastal Commission and an economic development commission, which often take positions on legislative issues.”
“Any positions that have been unpopular?”
“This is America, Detective. Politicians don’t get killed because they take an unpopular opinion.”
Jim needed to push Huang a harder. If he knew something, anything, he needed to spill it now. “If it’s not professional, maybe it’s personal.”
“I don’t know much about Mr. Hart’s personal life.”
“But you know about yours.”
Huang opened his mouth, then closed it. “Detective, I—I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“Is there anything in your personal life that I should know about? Someone who has threatened you?”
“Why—why would you think this has anything to do with me?”
Did he look worried or was Jim reading fear into his expression?
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“No, nothing at all. I do a good job for Mr. Hart, just like I did for Mr. Goodman.”
“The previous lieutenant governor?”
“Yes—I worked for him for nine years—six in the State Senate, and nearly three years in the LG’s office, until his heart attack last year. Mr. Hart kept all of Mr. Goodman’s staff, though I’m the last one remaining. Everyone else found other jobs, but it was gracious of Mr. Hart to keep us on for as long as we needed.”
“But you stayed.”
“Mr. Hart asked me to, because I know this job inside and out. I know the lobbyists and the issues and the committees and what his duties are. He seemed to appreciate that. I don’t see why this is relevant.”
“And no one has a grudge against Mr. Hart. Any threatening letters?”
“Yes, we get a few, but we send those to the CHP. We don’t get many. There are only six staff members, and one of those is a part-time intern. In fact, Mr. Hart’s campaign for governor has more paid staff than his legislative office.”
“The campaign,” Jim said, switching gears ... after all, this was a campaign event where Hart was shot at ... “what do you know?”
“Nothing—I work for the government. There’s a strict line I do not cross.”
“Yet you were at this press conference.”
“During my lunch hour. I don’t work on the campaign because I don’t want there to be any perception of impropriety. I was here to support my boss, and be available to him if he needed any information that related to business before the state of California. You can ask anyone. I never cross the line.”
“What about your boss? Did he ever cross any lines?”
Jim watched Huang’s reaction carefully. He seemed perplexed. “Mr. Hart has been a terrific boss. I don’t know what you mean about crossing lines. Mr. Hart is the utmost professional.”
***
Travis Hart had no privacy until he returned to his capitol office. He sent his staff home early. The CHP put an officer at the main door, so Travis closed himself in his office to ensure that no one could overhear his phone call.
This whole situation was fucked.
He pulled out one of three phones from his jacket—he had one for the campaign, one for state business, and one personal phone.
He had five missed calls on his personal phone, all from the same number.
He returned that call first.
“I’ve been busy,” he said immediately. “I can’t pick up the phone whenever you call. Why was that woman at the hotel? How did she know?”
“She didn’t. It was a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Travis said.
“I have already spoken to a trusted contact who assures me that Ms. Morgan was at the hotel for a job interview.”
“She’s a cop, what would she be doing there for an interview?”
“She was a cop. We have already verified the information—she didn’t even schedule the interview, the hotel staff did. She was simply at the wrong place, wrong time.”
“I don’t like it.” Travis had lived his life planning everything perfectly, and he didn’t like any deviation from the plan.
“She’s not a problem. She’s been discredited with the police department, no one would believe her even if she suspected something was afoot, but if you act irresponsibly, you’ll draw attention to yourself.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His plan had been perfect, on so many levels. How could he have anticipated that Alexandra Morgan—or any cop—would be in the hotel at the exact moment as the shooter? It had been timed down to the minute.
“However, you now have a problem.”
“No, you have the problem.” Travis wasn’t going to take shit from this bastard, as if he worked for them. They had a business arrangement, as Travis liked to think of it. “You take care of it.”
Silence. But Travis was not going to be bullied.
“I will remind you, Mr. Hart, that you chose this method. You thought it would give you a what, a bump in the polls? I told you that it was too complex, too many things could go wrong, that simple is always better.”
“Don’t lecture me.”
“I will also remind
you that you’re the one with the most to lose. I believe you have become paranoid, and we need to let things settle down before we pursue another method. Next time, however, I will not be taking your advice.”
“Once this is done, there won’t be a next time.”
“I certainly hope your house is clean. Because if it’s not, next time it may be you who are in the wrong place at that wrong time.”
Hart fumed. “And I will remind you that we have a mutually beneficial arrangement. But if anything happens to me, the same will happen to you.”
“Do not threaten me.”
“It’s not a threat. You forget who I am.”
Silence. Again.
“I will never forget who you are, Mr. Hart. And I shouldn’t have to remind you that what I know about you will destroy you. If you live that long.”
Chapter Four
Alex had been sitting on a gurney in the emergency room for over an hour when she decided that going to the pharmacy and buying the biggest Band-Aid they had, then hitting the liquor store for her favorite tequila, would be just as effective as stitches. She would kill someone if she had to wait for the doctor any longer. There were people far sicker than her, people with heart attacks and strokes and broken bones. She was fine.
She stood up and pushed open the drape that separated her from the rest of the emergency area and almost walked into Doctor Gabriel Storm.
“Oh, God, not you.”
He smiled. “I’m not God, but thank you.”
She rolled her eyes and sat back down. She knew better than to argue with Gabriel. He’d been her surgeon last summer when she’d been shot, but she’d known him longer, ever since her best friend, Detective Selena Black, moved in with him last year. She and Selena had gone through the police academy together and worked in the same division until Alex was transferred to North Command.
“I hate hospitals,” she said.
“I know.”
When she first arrived, they’d made her take off her shirt and gave her a gown, but she’d long since taken it off. She wore a sports bra which could hardly be called sexy. She’d been raised in a house of men, had been a cop for twelve years, and while she didn’t walk around naked, she had no false modesty.
Gabriel took off the bandage and inspected her wound. “The X-rays were clear—no bullet fragments. But this is a nasty hole. You lost a lot of blood, the paramedics said.”
“No more than I would have donated at the blood bank,” she said.
He smiled. He had that way about him—annoying, sexy, calming. She could see why Selena was in love with him.
A nurse came in with a tray. “You can leave it,” he told her.
“Don’t you want me to suture the wound, doctor?”
“I’ll do it.”
That surprised the nurse, but she put the tray down and left.
“If you have something to do, go do it. I’m fine.”
“There’s no place I’d rather be.”
She have him a wrinkled-nose smile. “You’re going to hurt me with that needle.”
He had a two needles, in fact. “This is an antibiotic.” Then he injected it into her arm.
“That wasn’t too bad.”
“This is a local anesthetic.” He injected it close to the gunshot wound and she jumped.
“Fuck!” she exclaimed. Every nerve ending in her arm—on her entire right side—burned.
“You’re a baby,” he said.
“Just get it over with,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Every push and pull of the needle brought tears to her eyes, but she refused to cry.
“I banned the press,” Gabriel said, “but you might want to be careful when you leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You saved a man’s life. It’s news.”
“It’s news because he’s a politician.”
“That to.”
“And they’re not interested in any of that. They’re interested in what happened last summer.”
Gabriel tensed.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I know. I’m your doctor, remember?”
When she’d come in with a bullet in her back, Gabriel had been on duty. She didn’t know he’d saved her life until after the surgery. She’d always liked him—even though he could be very intense—but saving her life had bonded her to him like a brother.
“Don’t worry about me, Gabriel,” she said.
He clipped the stitches and put a loose bandage over the skin. “You should wear a sling, but I know you won’t so I won’t even give you one.”
“You’re a peach.”
He pulled over a stool and sat down. Gabriel had a way of looking at you as if you were the only person in the world. Hospitals were loud, crowded, and bustling, but all that fell away. “You didn’t call your father.”
“Oh, shit.” She should have called her dad. He would have wanted to hear that she was okay from her. Would it have killed her to give him two minutes? “Did you call him?”
Gabriel shook his head. “He heard it along with most everyone else—through the media.”
“I’m the world’s worst daughter. You told him I was okay, right?”
“Of course. He’s waiting in my office. I just wanted to make sure you were cleaned up and didn’t look like death warmed over when he walked in.”
“He’s here? I need a shirt,” Alex said. She rubbed her temples. Her head was aching. “And do you have some aspirin around here?”
“You can’t mix your meds,” Gabriel said.
She stared at him. “I’m not taking pain meds. What about Tylenol? Advil? Something over-the-counter-ish?”
“I’ll find you a shirt,” he said.
Gabriel walked out and Alex braced herself for her father.
Judge Andrew Morgan walked in a few minutes later. Worry etched his face, disappearing when he saw that she was okay.
“I’m so sorry dad.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. He rested his chin on her head a moment, then stepped back. “My clerk told me that you had been shot saving the life of Travis Hart. I didn’t know anything else.”
“I have no excuse for not calling you. I’m fine, just a couple of stitches.”
“Gabriel told me.”
She felt like shit. “I’m really, really sorry.” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. The last thing she wanted to do was worry her dad.
He sat down on the stool that Gabriel had vacated. “What happened?”
She told him everything, starting with walking out on the interview and ending with pursuing the suspect. He didn’t say anything for a long minute.
“Jim caught the case.”
Her dad seemed surprised. “Jim Perry.”
“Yeah, my ex. I know you liked him, sorry it didn’t work out for you.”
She was really bitchy right now.
“Alexandra, I liked Jim. But I love you.”
She always put her foot in it.
“He’s a good cop,” she said. “He didn’t like my analysis, but he’ll figure it out on his own.”
“What analysis?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Because she was stuck here until Gabriel came back with a shirt, she said, “From the shooter’s angle, I don’t think Hart was the target. But it doesn’t make any sense—why take out a staffer?”
“And Jim doesn’t concur?”
“There was a huge towering plant thing that blocked Hart from the shooter. But he if was good, he could have shot through it. Though good snipers aren’t going to put an obstacle between them and their target. Maybe he didn’t expect the plant to be there, but that means no recon. Since when does a sniper not case out his roost? But Jim’s theory also made sense.”
“Which was?”
“The shooter wanted to cause a scene, scare Hart, scare the press, whatever. That he didn’t intend to kill anyone, or didn’t care w
ho he shot.”
“He shot you.”
“I wasn’t the target.”
“Maybe not.”
“Maybe?”
“I mean, Jim’s theory is sound, but so is yours. Maybe Hart was the target. Or his staff. Let Jim do his job.”
And that was it. It was Jim’s job to investigate the assassination attempt, not hers. End of story.
Gabriel Storm came in with a sweatshirt. “It’s clean,” he said.
She pulled it on, wincing when her arm pulled.
“And, because I know you won’t take the pain meds even if I ordered you, here are two prescription strength Tylenol. Trust me—you’ll want them. Just to take the edge off.” He handed her a cup with the two pills big enough to choke a horse, and a bottle of water.
“Thanks for not making a huge production, Gabriel,” she said after swallowing the pills.
“You’ll want to bypass the reporters on your way out—there’s only a few, but all it takes is one jerk to ruin your day.” He handed her dad his hospital ID. “Drive your car into the physician’s lot. There’s a separate entrance from our garage. I’ll take Alex to meet you. That way you’ll slip away undetected.”
The judge shook Gabriel’s hand. “Thank you. Again. You’ve taken good care of my daughter.”
“It’s my job, Judge.”
Alex’s dad left to retrieve his car, and Alex said to Gabriel as they walked, “I’ll make you cookies.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Those peanut butter cookies you made for Christmas?”
“If you liked them.”
“They were amazing. Selena and I arm-wrestled for the last one.”
“Who won?”
“I did. But I split it with her.”
“True love,” she teased. She kissed Gabriel on the cheek and said, “Pass it on to Selena.”
A young man in a suit, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers in a vase, briskly approached Alex. “The nurse said you were Alexandra Morgan?”
Gabriel tensed beside her, shifting his body so that he was partly in front of her.
“You’re not authorized to be here,” Gabriel said firmly. “I will have security remove you.”
