by Brenda Novak
What the hell was she supposed to wear? This wasn’t a date ... it was a professional meeting. But a suit didn’t seem appropriate. What would get Hart to talk to her? To be comfortable? Without thinking that she wanted to date him? That would be ... awkward, to say the least. She didn’t picture herself as the next Mata Hari.
She shivered. Mata Hari had been executed as a spy. Bad comparison.
She snapped her fingers. Alex knew exactly what to do. Sexy, but professional. She slipped on her lone push-up bra, an white lacy camisole, then a long black skirt and a short-waisted black jacket with white piping.
She didn’t own a lot of dress-up clothes because she never had a need to dress-up. But she’d bought this for a Christmas party a couple years ago and had only worn it to a few functions her dad insisted she attend.
Alex ran back to the bathroom and put a few loose curls in her hair, fluffed it with hair spray, and figured she looked presentable. Even her father, who’d once lamented that he’d had three boys instead of the girl the doctor promised him, would be impressed.
The buzzer downstairs rang. She pressed the intercom and responded, “I’ll be right down.” She didn’t really want Hart coming up here, so she slipped on black flats—no way was she wearing heels—sprayed a bit of perfume around her, and took the elevator down, her heart racing.
Calm down. There’s no reason to be nervous. It’s not like you have to sleep with the guy to get information.
By the time the elevator hit the lobby, Alex was calm.
Travis Hart wore a different suit than he’d been in earlier. “You changed,” she said.
“So have you,” he responded with a grin. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” She glanced out to the street. “Where’s the CHP?”
“I hired a driver for the evening.”
“Is the driver a licensed bodyguard?”
He hesitated. “No, but this dinner isn’t on my schedule.”
Be yourself. If she were serious about taking the job with Hart, she would be furious that he was so reckless. As it was, she was angry because his disregard for his own safety meant she truly was on duty, so-to-speak. Someone had to watch his ass—and her own. “Mr. Hart, you want to discuss security with me tonight yet you aren’t taking your security seriously. Someone tried to kill you yesterday.”
He bristled at her tone. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Truthfully, with the suspect dead, I don’t feel like there’s a threat anymore.”
“Do you know why he wanted you dead?”
“No, but—“
“Which means you don’t know if he was acting alone and killed himself when he failed, or if someone else was behind it and killed him because he failed. Until the police know the motive for the shooting, you need to be extra cautious.”
“I stand corrected, Ms. Morgan. I will talk to the CHP in the morning and accept their offer for assistance.” He smiled. “Unless, of course, you start working for me tomorrow.”
He was about to open the door for her, and she stopped him. “For tonight, do as I say. If you can’t, then we’ll have a problem working together.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m getting the door.” She waited until Hart was safe in the back before sliding in next to him.
Hart took her to Mulvaney’s, an upscale restaurant in a converted 19th century firehouse, only a few blocks from her apartment. It was one of her father’s favorite places. The food was delicious, but Alex always felt out of place—she preferred pizza and beer.
Hart was about to order a bottle of wine, but Alex declined a glass. “You’re the one who didn’t bring security,” she reminded him. “I’ll have water,” she said to the waiter.
“I can see you will be a stickler for details,” Hart said with a half smile.
“I take my job seriously.”
“Do you really think there is a continuing threat?”
“I honestly don’t know—what did Detective Perry say?”
“I haven’t spoken to him since this morning.” Hart sipped his wine. “I was hoping you might have heard?”
She shook her head and nibbled on warm, fresh baked bread. One taste and she remembered that she’d skipped lunch. She forced herself to eat slowly.
“Full disclosure,” she said. “Jim and I used to go out. We split up about a year ago, so he’s not really inclined to share anything with me.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“That’s beyond the scope of this job interview.”
He laughed. “Is that what you think this is?”
“It’s not a date.” She wasn’t going to lead him on. Hart was attractive and smart—two big pluses in her book—but he could be corrupt. Plus ... she wasn’t attracted to his slick style.
Not to mention just thinking about Matt Elliott’s kiss that afternoon had her squirming in her seat.
“No, but I told you I want to hire you.”
“I assume you know why I left the force.” Might as well get the conversation over with. Hart must have some clue as to why she walked off the job long before retirement age.
He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “Alex—I can call you Alex, right?”
“Of course.”
“I was prosecutor for more than a decade. I know how difficult it is for a cop to turn in another cop. I’ve run up against some less than ethical cops when I was in the D.A.’s office. I lost a case once because of an illegal search. Nothing I could do about it, but believe me—I do not like to lose, especially because of the incompetence of others. Or, in this situation, an over-zealous cop. All I really know about your case is that your partner shot you because you were going to turn him in for doing something illegal. The newspapers weren’t kind, as I recall, but it seems to me—because I do understand how the system works—that you were the victim.”
“I appreciate the understanding.”
“And? I’ll admit, I am curious about what happened. I could find out on my own—I still have friends in law enforcement and in the D.A.’s office. But I’d rather hear it from you.”
She gave him the party line. “My partner was a good cop for the most part, but he had a thing for young girls. When I found out—when he was with an underage prostitute—I lost my temper. Told him I was going to report him. He shot me. I truly believe he just snapped, saw his career gone, realized he would lose the custody battle he was having with his wife over their daughter, and shot me without thinking.” A phantom pain burned in her lower right back as she remembered being shot. She’d been extremely lucky she hadn’t lost a kidney, or been paralyzed. Lucky, as well as having brilliant surgeon Gabriel Storm on call when she arrived at the hospital.
“You are quite forgiving.”
She shrugged. “Being a cop is stressful. People don’t generally like you. My younger brother’s a firefighter. Everyone loves firemen.” She smiled. “When the fire truck shows up, people are relieved. When a police car shows up, people are worried. Even law-abiding citizens get stressed when they see a squad car in their rearview mirror. We’re spit on, yelled at, accused of any number of things, most of which aren’t true. And we can’t do anything about it, just take it. I’m not justifying Tommy’s behavior. Or the behavior of any other cop who crosses the line. We have to be better than everyone else. We have to control our temper, not react to the threats and anger. Why do you think so many cops have drinking problems? A high divorce rate? Anger management issues? It’s not easy doing what we do and taking shit from the people we’re most trying to help.” She paused. “Sorry, I get on my soap box and sometimes forget myself.”
“Sac PD should be sorry they lost you.”
“Well, yeah. But it was my choice. I could have weathered the storm, but you know how the rumor-mill gets. So I took a good severance package and walked. I don’t regret it.”
That was a lie. She might have been able to weather the storm, but the
hostility had stressed her, and she didn’t know if she could trust a new partner once she returned from disability leave. If they ever let her work the field again. She didn’t want to be a desk cop, but that might have been the only option once she was cleared for active duty. She missed her job because she was her job, so in that she did regret leaving. Yet, she wouldn’t have done anything different. How could she? Turning a blind eye to Tommy’s gambling and working for the Russian mob was hard enough, but walking in on him with that girl ... she lost it.
“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”
“Not really. And truly, there are far more good cops than bad. It’s just the bad ones who get all the attention.”
“If it’s any consolation, I know how you feel. When I accepted the appointment by the Governor, I didn’t realize how much people hated politicians.”
She smiled. “I can imagine.”
The waiter brought their meals and Alex tried not to scarf it down. So she asked more questions. “How’s your staff handling the shooting? It must have been stressful for them. Your chief of staff, right? And legislative director?”
“Good memory.”
“You were a prosecutor, you probably have been threatened many times, dealt with some pretty shady defendants. But most people don’t get shot at.”
“They’re good. I offered them time off, neither of them took it. Both were in the office today, though I insisted they leave early.”
“Have they been with you long?”
“Both since I was appointed last year. Eric had worked for the previous LG, and Melanie I hired away from the Governor. She’d run one of his satellite offices, and I’d met her years ago. She was definitely underutilized by the governor.”
“It’s good that you have staff you can trust.” He glanced away, so Alex prompted. “Or, do you not trust them?”
“I do,” he said quickly. “I’ve been a little concerned about Eric. He’s had some ups and downs. Comes from a good family, is very smart, but had a bit of trouble from the friends he chooses.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“You’re sounding like a cop.”
She shrugged. “Can’t help that. But if he’s mixed up with some shifty friends, maybe what happened yesterday had something to do with him.”
Travis was surprised. “I can’t imagine that.”
“You don’t have to. You should tell Detective Perry—let him ferret out the information, figure out what happened. You need to give him the information so he can do his job.”
“Of course. I’m sure I told him everything, but when he calls me with an update, I’ll mention Eric’s friends to him.”
“If I join your staff, I’ll want to run deep backgrounds on all your employees, both in the capitol and on your campaign. Would you have a problem with that?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good.” She took another couple bites. The food really was delicious. “What exactly would I be doing for you?” she asked between bites. “The CHP will handle your day-to-day security in the Capitol, as well as home security and acting as escort, at least until the police wrap up this investigation. You said something about advance?”
“Let me ask you this. If you’d been working for me prior to yesterday, how would you have handled the hotel situation?”
She swallowed and considered. She didn’t have to spend much time thinking, because she’d already had an answer.
“I would have sent at least two people over to walk the event, from door to door. I wouldn’t have allowed the press to congregate in the lobby, and if they didn’t obey my directive, I would have brought you in through a different entrance. You hadn’t intended to hold the press conference in the lobby, did you?”
“No—we had a large meeting room set up.”
“If I told them to go there, they would have,” she said.
“One of the problems elected officials face is being accessible. We don’t want to close ourselves off from constituents. And truly, we never considered there would be a security risk like yesterday.”
“That’s the job of your security team—to consider every possible risk. Now that you know, you need to adjust accordingly.”
Hart sipped more wine and nodded. “I see your point.”
She continued her assessment. “If the event was impossible to contain in an isolated and controlled area, I would have sent in an advance team a few minutes before you in order to assess the situation and determine whether it was secure. I would have enlisted hotel security to stand at strategic points in the building—including the balcony where the shooter was standing. Often, the presence of security is enough to dissuade a potential hostile.”
“Just like laws deter criminals.”
She shook her head. “Laws deter law abiding citizens. People who are generally good, if they think of doing something criminal, they don’t because they fear prison or embarrassment or getting hurt. Criminals just do it anyway because they don’t care about the laws—and when they get caught, they work the system. You know how it is, being a prosecutor. How often did you prosecute someone who had never been arrested before?”
He hadn’t been expecting the question. “I’ve never really thought about it. Not many, I suppose. A few felony DUIs, a homicide—crime of passion where the victim and killer had never had a run in with the law. A pedophile case.”
She nodded. “Because first time offenders rarely go to trial. They plead and clean up their acts and never do it again. People make mistakes. It happens. Everyone deserves a second chance. But the cases that go to trial are when someone repeatedly gets in trouble with the law. They get the plea once, twice, maybe more. Do small change in prison. But they keep doing the same things and land in the same position until they’re facing ten to twenty years and can’t talk or plead their way out of serious time. The laws don’t scare them, otherwise they would have changed after the first arrest.”
“I never thought about it like that,” Hart said. He smiled. “I see you liked the meal.”
She looked at her bare plate. “I was hungry. And it was really good.”
“Dessert?”
“I should say no, but I won’t.”
“Good.”
The waiter cleared their plates, brought out the dessert tray, and she picked the dessert that looked the most chocolaty—a double chocolate mousse with fresh raspberries, plus coffee.
“Caffeine at night?” Hart said. “I don’t think I’d go to sleep.”
“I’ve developed an immunity.”
He laughed. “So, will you take the job?”
“I need more information. I’ll consider it.”
“Information like salary? I’ll pay you twenty percent more than you were making at Sac PD.”
She didn’t know what to say about that. It was quite generous.
“Full benefits as well. It’s not a nine-to-five job, and therefore you should be compensated appropriately.”
“I promise, I will consider the position. I’ll let you know by the end of the day tomorrow.”
“Wonderful,” he said.
Their desserts were served and one bite was practically orgasmic. She almost moaned. “I have a thing for chocolate,” she said.
“Good to know.”
She took another bite because the mousse really was amazing. “I saw Detective Jefferson today, Jim’s partner, to sign my statement after the shooting. He had a list of your case files from the D.A.’s office. You tried a lot of cases during your tenure there.”
“That I did,” he said. “I have a copy as well. I started going through them this afternoon, but between meetings I didn’t have much time.”
“It’s important. The police will flag any cases where someone you sent to prison recently got out, but there could be something you remember from a trial that only you would know. A friend of relative of a victim or defendant. Something odd that happened. Though with that many cases going back what? Fifteen years? It’s a lot of work.
Solid conviction rate, Steve said.”
He didn’t say anything, but stared at his wine glass. Alex didn’t know what she’d said that upset him.
“Something wrong?”
“No, not really. We all have our crosses to bear. Thinking about the D.A.’s office reminds me that I’m not all that confident about this gubernatorial election.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I ran for D.A. three years ago and lost.”
“Oh. I guess I remember.”
“Your father supported my opponent, Matt Elliott.”
“I—“ She of course knew that, but didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry?”
He smiled, leaned back and sipped his wine. “I don’t hold it against him. Elliott had the support of the outgoing D.A., Sandra Cullen. She brought over most of the judges. And Elliott isn’t a bad D.A.”
“But?” she pushed. She shouldn’t. She should drop this subject, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know what Travis Hart thought about the race. Wasn’t it that race where Matt noted his ties to Sergei Rykov?
“We do things differently. You must know him.”
“Sure. I know a lot of the prosecutors and judges, through my dad. I testified on a couple of his cases. In fact, I think I might have testified in one of yours years ago, when I was still in uniform.”
“I would have remembered you.” But he looked at her again. “Maybe—you look different with your hair down.”
“I also went through a blond phase. Lightened my hair repeatedly until it was practically white. Big mistake. Cut it real short for a few years to let the mess grow out and swore off hair dye. Except ... I saw a gray hair the other day.”
“I have many.” He nodded. “You were the responding officer in a domestic violence incident. But there was a twist—it was the wife who took a tire iron to her husband for cheating on him.”
“Hell hath no fury, they say.”
“I tried to get her to plead, but she wanted to tell her story to a jury. Convicted, aggravated assault. Five years, though I think she got probation after three. She could have been charged with attempted murder.”
“You felt sorry for her?”
He shrugged. “Not particularly, but people sometimes do the wrong thing for the right reason.”
