by Brenda Novak
She thought of the flowers, and the enclosed card. If you need anything ...
Matt continued. “And talked to your dad. He’s going to invite Hart over for dinner or drinks to discuss his campaign.”
She couldn’t have heard him right. Her dad? A political campaign? She wrinkled her nose.
“Hart has been building endorsements from law and order independents like your dad,” Matt continued. “Andrew said Hart’s campaign already reached out to him, and the fact that you were shot protecting him is a good excuse for Andrew to call.”
“I can not believe you’re dragging my dad into this. And Hart wasn’t even the target.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Get a copy of the report,” she said. “I’m not a cop.”
“Dammit, Alex! How many times do I have to apologize? I feel like shit about what happened last summer. I’m upset that we couldn’t get Rykov, but more than anything I’m furious that you were hung out to dry by the department.”
“It’s my own fault,” she said. “I agreed with Hooper that it was best to keep the FBI out of it. If they have a chance to stop that bastard, I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You were nearly killed.”
“That’s on my partner,” she said flatly, “and he’s in jail.”
“Then why haven’t you talked to me in eight months?”
“Why would I? It’s not like we’re friends.”
“That’s not true. Alex—we are friends. At least, I thought we were.”
Maybe I don’t want to be friends.
“It was my decision and my responsibility.” She really didn’t blame Matt, but seeing him hurt. It reminded her of that difficult time. Working undercover. Lying to Jim and her friends. Getting shot. Losing her job.
She was going to start feeling sorry for herself again. Before Matt could say anything else, she turned the conversation back to the shooting. “I think his legislative aide or consultant or whatever—Eric Huang—was the intended target. I analyzed the angle the shooter had, and Hart was blocked by a display of flowers. Good snipers want a clear shot. If he moved five feet to the right or left, the angle would have been completely different and he’d have had a clear shot of Hart. But from where he was, at the time he fired, Hart was blocked and Huang was visible. I told Jim all this and I’m sure he’ll look into it.” Except, she didn’t think he agreed with her.
She put her empty beer bottle down on the coffee table and got up. Matt stared at her. “Sit down, Alex.”
“Don’t order me around.”
“Sit.”
She stared at him. He stared back. She really wanted to get out of this room. With all this talk, these damn, conflicted feelings resurfaced.
“Please,” he said quietly.
She sat on the edge of the ottoman.
“I didn’t think that it would take the FBI this long to build a case against Rykov. If I had I would never have urged you to agree to keep the real motive quiet. I thought the FBI had more than it did. So did Dean. Dean feels like shit, too, and he tried to make it right—but you turned him down.”
“You mean the job in Washington?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was like I was running away. Though now ... I probably should have taken it. At least then I’d have a job.”
“Except your family is here.”
She nodded. Matt did understand. He was close to his sister; she was close to her dad, her grandma, her brothers. Taking a position so far away felt more like a punishment than a reward.
“It’s still there for you, if you want it.” He paused. “To be selfish, I’m glad you didn’t take it. I don’t want you three thousand miles away.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. She could scarcely comprehend what Matt was saying.
I don’t want you three thousand miles away.
What did that mean?
“Talk to me,” Matt said.
“I—” She had nothing to say. She was stunned into silence.
Matt rose from his seat and walked over to her. He reached out to touch her and she turned her face away. Intellectually, she realized that he might have felt something of what she’d felt when they’d worked together last year. The attraction. The raw lust. But emotionally, she wasn’t ready for any of this.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she found herself saying. “I need to sleep on this.”
“Okay.” He hesitated, as if waiting for her to say something. She didn’t know what to tell him. She was so physically and emotionally exhausted all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for twelve hours.
Finally, he said, “I’ll let myself out.”
She watched him leave, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Six
Jim Perry sat at his desk Monday night finishing up his report.
There wasn’t much to go on.
The video surveillance in the hotel covered the entire lobby, the elevators, the staircases, and each entrance. They had a few shots of the shooter coming and going, but nothing showed him standing at the railing. They determined that he’d come in through the convention center entrance at 11:35 and used the far staircase—the same staircase Alex had used fifteen minutes later—to go up to the second floor. At 11:53, immediately after the shooting, cameras caught him exiting via the door to the parking garage. Alex was less than a minute behind him. But he gained speed running down the staircase to the street. The only image they caught after that was a glimpse from a 12th and K Street security camera.
The coverage didn’t extend much beyond that, and while they suspected he’d crossed J Street, they couldn’t determine which way he’d gone, even after canvassing the neighborhood.
The shooter could have had a car, a getaway driver, changed his clothes, hopped a bus, or gone into a house for all anyone knew.
Steve hit Jim on the arm. “We got something. Ballistics came back an hour ago. The gun was used in the murder of a Russian prostitute three years ago.”
Jim scowled. This entire case was becoming far more complicated than he would have liked. “Why would the Russians go after Hart?”
“He was a prosecutor. Maybe he pissed off someone. The D.A.’s office is helping us pull his cases—it might speed things up if we pull only cases with a Russian connection.”
Jim considered the option. “Let’s prioritize that angle, but grab all his cases. Do you want me to reach out to the D.A. tomorrow?”
“I’ve been working with the D.A.’s head clerk, I can do it.” He grinned. “Her name is Zoey. She’s hot. Have you met her?”
“Don’t think so. Ask her out.”
Steve snorted. “She’s outta my league. Smart and sexy with a stick up her ass. But damn, she’s hot.”
“So what, she might say no? You tried. Besides, didn’t your last girlfriend call you a stud muffin?” Jim grinned and Steve hit him in the arm.
“Don’t start with me.” Steve leaned back in his chair. “So, what do you think of Alex’s theory?” Steve asked.
Jim rubbed his face. “Alex is smart, so I’ve given Eric Huang a solid look. But there’s nothing. Nada. Zilch. He’s thirty, never married, worked in the Capitol since he graduated from college, no arrests, no misdemeanors, one parking ticket that he paid promptly. Doesn’t live above his means, everyone seems to like him. He was jittery when I spoke to him, but I think he was nervous about the shooting.”
Jim glanced at the ballistics report. Definite match to the shooting three years ago. The lead detective on that case was John Black. They’d had no suspects, no evidence, nothing to go on with the hooker. Dead end. Maybe Jim would close both cases as soon as the shooter turned up. With the high-profile attempted assassination of a state elected official, the guy would turn up sooner or later.
Steve said, “Alex seemed pretty adamant.”
“She gets an idea and runs with it, sometimes blindly. After I interviewed Hart, I went back to the lobby and inspected the landing on the seco
nd floor. The flowers were only partially blocking the shooter. He could have been waiting for Hart to step forward, but when Alex acted quickly, he fired hoping to hit Hart . Or he was startled.”
“A good sniper isn’t going to be startled.”
“No,” Jim concurred, “but a good sniper isn’t going to let some flowers interfere with his target. The first bullet went between Hart and Huang—they were standing only a foot apart, and from the trajectory, the analysis is inconclusive. Most likely, Hart was the target but when Alex jumped in the way it shifted everyone slightly and the shooter was already prepared to fire. And Alex was shot with the second round, as she was pushing Hart down, which suggests that the bullet was meant for him.”
“Sounds plausible,” Steve said. “And he could have been a street thug. The Russian gangs are violent, but they’re not necessarily training their gunmen.”
“Exactly. So you agree?”
“That Hart was the target? Yeah. Though I think we should talk to Huang again, after his nerves are settled.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow—I have to see Hart again anyway.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Actually, I was hoping you could follow-up with Alex.”
“Why?”
Why indeed. He shouldn’t have to explain it to Steve. “It was—awkward today.”
“Right. Sorry, buddy.”
He shrugged. It was part of the job, a part he didn’t particularly like, but there you were. “I think she’ll be more comfortable talking to you. Have her review her statement, make any changes, sign it—ask if she remembers anything else. You know the drill.”
“Sure.” Steve took the file off Jim’s desk, flipped through it. “Is she okay?”
“I called the hospital. They said she was released late this afternoon. Wouldn’t tell me anything else.”
“Then she’s fine.”
“Steve—why do you think Alex was really at the hotel?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know—job interview? Really?”
Steve shrugged. “I talked to the manager myself. She had an interview this morning.”
“She’s not hotel security.”
“You know how this place is,” Steve said quietly. “I get that she had to do what she did, but there should have been a better way.”
“She wasn’t talking to me back then.” And that’s what really bothered Jim. Before Alex had taken down that idiot Tommy Cordell, she’d closed him out. He’d pushed hard—accused her of things he knew weren’t true—to get her to be honest with him. And she clammed up. It upset and angered him. Still did.
“Alex was a good cop. You’d think that with her dad she’d get a job in any jurisdiction.”
“Then you don’t know Alex,” Jim said. “She’d never take help from her father, especially for a job. Look, I’ll call you after I talk to Hart tomorrow then we’ll compare notes. Get out of here, one of us needs his beauty sleep.”
“That would be you, buddy,” Steve said, but he gathered up the files and left.
Jim went back to his report. He took his time, in no rush to get home. And even at night, there was a steady bustle in central command.
Fifteen minutes after Steve left, dispatch called him at his desk.
“I’m off-duty,” he answered. “Just working late. I think Ham’s on call.”
“Detective, I was asked to contact you. Two officers have a DB in Discovery Park who matches the description of your shooter from this afternoon. White, male, five foot eleven, approximately one sixty. Single gunshot wound to the head. They’ve secured the scene, coroner en route. Please advise.”
This just got a whole lot more interesting. Maybe he really would clear two cases by tomorrow. He sure as hell hoped so, because dragging this investigation out was in no one’s best interest.
“Tell them I’m on my way.”
***
Matt was sitting in his dining room with a glass of wine reading over memos, reports, briefings, and plea agreements. The Sacramento County District Attorney’s office did far more than simply prosecute criminals. They worked hand-in-hand with the police in each of the six cities within the county, plus the Sheriff’s Department. Over 400 professionals worked within his organization, and he had a Chief Deputy District Attorney as well as an Assistant District Attorney to run the two primary divisions. Each of them had six people report to them who ran their own units, including an accredited crime lab that served all law enforcement in the county. Sacramento County had nearly one and a half million people and Matt worked six days a week, ten-to-twelve hours a day. It could be grueling, but he loved his job. Everything he’d done, from military service to law school to staff prosecutor to even running for State Senate had led him to this position.
Fortunately, he had a professional and extremely competent staff to help the institution run smoothly. The only thing he truly missed was prosecuting cases himself. He had too many other responsibilities that preparing for and prosecuting a trial wasn’t on his to-do list.
His cell phone rang and he noticed that it was nearly midnight. He grabbed the line.
“Elliott.”
“It’s Dean. Sorry it’s so late.”
“I’m still up. You got my email?”
“I don’t think I understand. Did Alex say that Hart wasn’t the target of the shooter?”
“Correct. She believes that his assistant, Eric Huang, was the target.”
“What do the police say?”
“I haven’t seen the final report, but so far they can find no reason that Huang would be a target. Alex walked the detective through the scene and noted that the shooters vantage point was blocked if Hart was the target, but his assistant Huang would have been in the line of fire.”
“I’ll run the guy, but truthfully, when a politician is shot at, he’s usually the target.”
“I trust her instincts.”
Dean didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ll see what I can find out. What did Alex say about helping us?”
“She’s sleeping on it.”
“That sounds like a no.”
“She’ll do it.” Matt didn’t feel good about it, but he suspected he knew Alex better than she thought he did. She might not like the idea, but she would help because she was in a unique position to help. “But it’s a long shot.”
“Matt—you’re not going to like this, so I’m going to be blunt. If we can’t find a solid connection between Hart and Rykov before the primary election, we’re shelving the investigation. I’ve spent far too much time working this case when we have so little evidence.”
Matt’s jaw tightened. He understood why Dean had to manage his limited resources, but he didn’t like it. “I have one thing that may change your mind,” Matt said.
“It’s not my mind you have to change. It’s my boss. Our budget is as tight as yours.”
“I asked to be copied into forensics reports for this investigation, and a couple hours ago the ballistics report came back. The gun used today matches a gun used to kill a Russian prostitute three years ago in the Arden area.”
“Can you get me a copy of that report?”
“I’ll email it now. John Black was the lead detective.”
“Black—good. I know him. Worked with him on a couple of investigations.”
Matt had known that, but didn’t say anything. He was counting on Black being able to keep the investigation moving forward with or without the FBI. “That ballistics report connects Hart to the Russian community.”
“It’s tenuous, but it’s definitely better than nothing. I’ll talk to Black tomorrow, check into this Eric Huang fellow, and call you.”
“Thanks, Dean. I mean it.”
“Matt—it’s hard to let things go when you know that some bastard is getting away with a major crime and you can’t prove it. But you need to prepare yourself that there might not be enough evidence against Hart.”
“There is enough on Travis Har
t,” Matt said, “the question is, are we good enough to find it.”
***
Alex was exhausted and sore, but she couldn’t sleep. The digital clock she’d had since junior high glowed 12:17. After midnight and she still hadn’t been able to sleep. The familiar sounds of the old house should have soothed her, but nothing helped. She stared at the ceiling of her childhood room and relived the past. Could she have done anything else? For months she’d wondered where she’d made her misstep, where she’d screwed up, how she’d gotten to this point in her life, but she didn’t see how she could have done anything different. Certainly, she had other options—but every option had its own pitfalls. Blaming Matt Elliott for what happened to her was easy, but it wasn’t his fault. She knew that, intellectually, but she felt like she was stuck, between then and now, not knowing which way to go. Every night she went to bed, hoping the answers would be in her head when she woke up, but every morning she woke up with the same questions.
If she can’t be a cop, what can she do?
Being ambushed, in a way, by the hotel interview panel reminded her that her past was public information and would haunt her if she tried to do anything in the security field. It was time to move on. Maybe she should have accepted the job offer Dean Hooper had extended her. But the idea of leaving her family brought tears to her eyes. They’d always been close, but after her mom died they’d pulled together in their grief. She couldn’t imagine moving to another city let alone three thousand miles away. Her grandmother was in her eighties ... Alex would never forgive herself if she wasn’t around to help if Mimi became sick.
She closed her eyes and hoped for sleep, but only remembered what had brought her to this point.
Two weeks before she’d been shot by her partner, Alex moved out of Jim’s house. They’d been together for just shy of eighteen months, had been living together for half that time, but she knew as soon as she walked out that their relationship was over. There was no fixing this—they’d both said things that couldn’t be taken back, and the guilt that ate at Alex for keeping secrets from her lover haunted her so much she could barely eat or sleep.
