Aim to Kill Read online

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “No shit.” The scent of her own blood turned her stomach, and she was trying to ignore the throbbing pain. The wail of approaching sirens told her the cavalry had arrived.

  The CHP escorted her back to the main hotel entrance. Three Sacramento PD squad cars skidded into the roundabout, facing the wrong direction.

  “An ambulance is on its way,” one of the cops said to her. “Why don’t you sit down inside?”

  A blast of cool, artificial air hit her as the doors swooshed open. Her damp silk blouse clung to her skin and chilled her when just a minute ago she was overheated. She subconsciously shivered.

  “I don’t need an ambulance,” she said. “Just a first aid kit.”

  They ignored her comment. She would have, too, if she were still cop.

  While two of the CHP officers went to brief the other cops, she allowed the third to escort her to a leather seat next to the valet stand. She’d grown increasingly dizzy.

  “Was anyone else hurt?” she asked.

  “Negative,” the cop said.

  “Good.”

  “Excuse me for a minute,” he said.

  Relieved that she had been left alone to regroup, she watched both uniformed cops and detectives spread around the perimeter and invade the hotel. An unmarked car pulled up behind the patrol cars, and Detective Jim Perry jumped out. He flashed his badge. She didn’t have to hear him state he was the lead detective on the case, his body language said it all.

  She knew him well. Too well.

  Jim and his partner listened to the first responders as they walked briskly into the hotel without a glance in her direction. Alex thanked God she had a moment to gather her wits before she had to face Jim and her former colleagues.

  She scanned the crowd, impatiently brushing aside a lock of brown hair that had escaped her French braid. The first responders had acted fast—the area was roped off, the reporters and spectators far from the scene of the crime. She didn’t see Hart or his entourage anywhere.

  As the adrenaline subsided, the dull pain in Alex’s arm increased proportionally. When she finally concentrated on her arm, she winced at the blood. Just looking at it made the pain worse.

  The CHP officer returned with a first aid kit and stack of towels. “You’re still bleeding,” he said. “Do you mind?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m Mike Lane, by the way.” He looked down at his notepad where he’d copied the information from her ID. “Alexandra, right?”

  She cringed. Only her father called her by her full name. “Alex.”

  “I need to cut off your sleeve.”

  “Just do it,” she said.

  He cut around her shoulder, then slid the sleeve down her own. The material tore at the hole in her arm. It started bleeding more.

  “Shit!” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry. The ambulance will be here in two minutes. I just want to get this bleeding stopped.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  He raised an eye. “You didn’t say you were a cop.”

  “I’m not.” Not anymore. “I was, up until last summer.”

  “Hotel security?”

  She almost laughed. “Trying.”

  “You’re a little young to be retired.”

  She shot him a side-long glance. Too old to be a rookie. “You new?”

  “I was in L.A. for ten years, rotated up here for Capitol duty last month.”

  So he didn’t know anything about her. For some reason, that was comforting. The pressure he put on her arm hurt and felt good at the same time.

  “It looks like you’ve lost quite a bit of blood, but I don’t think the bullet is still in there.”

  “Good. A couple of stitches and I can go home.”

  “You shouldn’t have run after the perp.”

  “Instinct,” she said. “And it’s a flesh wound. Last time I was shot, it hurt a hell of a lot more.”

  She didn’t want to go to the hospital. In the back of her mind she thought of ways she could talk the paramedics out of it. She watched as Mike Lane put a thick wad of gauze over where the bullet had taken a chunk out of her arm. Yeah, she’d need a couple of stitches. But better stitches than a dead politician. Or a dead former cop.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jim finally look over at her while he spoke to Lieutenant Governor Hart’s plainclothes security. She couldn’t read his expression. He’d always been hard to read—except when he was angry with her. Which, during the last few months of their relationship, had been pretty much all the time. Moving in with him had been one of her biggest mistakes.

  Steve Jefferson on the other hand looked both surprised and happy to see her, and he gave her a thumbs up sign when he caught her eye. She hadn’t talked to Steve since she'd resigned from the force. Steve had been Jim’s partner, Jim’s friend—when everything went to hell, she’d forgotten he’d also become her friend.

  Nothing she could do about that now.

  Jim walked over and squatted next to her. Concern and anger clouded his pale blue eyes. She didn’t want his pity—or his rage.

  “You’re a hero.”

  Or his sarcasm.

  “Spare me. I was in the right place at the right time.” She grimaced at the thought of how the press was going to spin this debacle in tomorrow's papers. The ironic thing about it, if she were still a cop, they probably wouldn't write anything more than Local Cop Thwarts Assassination Attempt. Now, she was a damn hero. The last thing she wanted, or needed.

  With her luck, the headline would be more like, Cop Who Resigned Under a Cloud of Scandal Interferes with CHP During Assassination Attempt.

  “Hart?” she asked Jim.

  “Had the wind knocked out of him. Hotel gave him a room. No injuries, but I haven’t interviewed him yet. His security sucks. Of course, he’s the fucking lieutenant governor, who’d even think he’d be a target?” He said to Mike, “How’s her arm?”

  “Upper bicep. The bullet went in, went out. She lost quite a bit of blood chasing down the perp, but I think it’s stopped.”

  Jim turned back to her. “Why were you here?”

  “Interview.”

  He stared at her as if he didn’t believe her. “What?”

  “I need a job. I was here for a job interview.” This had proven to be one of the most embarrassing days of her life. She’d been a decorated cop and she should have had at least twenty more years on the force. Now she was practically groveling to work hotel security. And she wouldn’t even make it to their long list. Why had they even called her in for an interview, anyway?

  Jim glanced away. Damn him, she didn’t want his pity.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she said.

  He snorted. “You don’t really have a choice.”

  She was about to argue that her brother could patch her up just fine—he’d been an Army medic. Then one of the reporters spotted Alex. The woman rushed over to the tape and tried to get Alex’s attention. A cameraman followed, then several other reporters. Their questions sounded like they were being shouted from the opposite end of a long tunnel.

  “Miss! Miss! How did you know someone was going to try to assassinate the Lieutenant Governor?”

  “Are you on Hart’s security team?”

  “Do you know who shot at him?”

  “What’s your name?”

  Steve Jefferson, all gorgeous glistening black six-foot-four inch former football muscle, turned to the reporters, a stern look on his face that had intimidated the most violent of criminals. “Clear the area or I will cite each and every one of you for interfering with an official police investigation.”

  “Officer, is there—” a reporter began before Steve held his hand up inches from the guy's face.

  “Timmons! Expand the ropes, get these people out of here.” Two officers quickly moved the crime scene tape farther out, blocking any access to and from the large lobby, except along a
narrow path on the opposite side.

  Alex tried to stand, and Jim pushed her back down. “Dammit, Jim.” She took a deep breath, calmed her racing heart. It was the reporters that had set her off more than the situation. Composed, she said, “I need to walk you through what happened. Better now, while it’s fresh.”

  “We have plenty of witnesses.”

  She stared at him. She shouldn’t have to explain that her training made her a better witness than any civilian.

  “Fine,” he said.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked as they walked to the opposite end of the lobby. “You should be happy that someone trained to observe was here.”

  “There are security cameras everywhere.”

  She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Whatever.”

  She and Jim had been involved for nearly eighteen months—the longest relationship she’d ever had. She supposed that really wasn’t saying much considering she was thirty-four, but it meant something to her. Ten months after they started seeing each other, she’d moved in with him. They argued a lot, but making up was always fun. They had a lot in common—country music and micro brew beer and skiing and a love for the Sacramento Kings basketball team, even when they were losing, which was most of the time. But what happened last year—it wasn’t something they could get over. It wasn’t something she could get over.

  Alex put on her cop face, because if she was going to get through this, she needed to be professional. She explained that she’d exited the third floor via this staircase, then she walked Jim along the path she’d taken, down the wide hall, past the reservation desk.

  “The reporters blocked my way, but I began to push my way through when something caught my eye,” she said. “You know how it is, in your periphery you get that little instinctive twitch when something seems out of place. I looked up. Saw the suspect. Hoodies always make me twitch, though they’re so common now. Yet ... the way he was looking down into the lobby, the way he was standing—it was suspicious. He was rigid. Waiting. I noticed he wore gloves. It’s too warm for gloves.”

  Jim nodded, taking notes.

  “I thought I saw a flash of metal, not really much of anything, a dull belt buckle maybe, but then as soon as the doors opened and the group came in and the reporters started talking and taking pictures, I recognized Hart. And I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That it was a gun.”

  “Did you see the gun?”

  “Yes. I looked back at the suspect and saw the gun in his hand. It wasn’t yet out of his belt—he didn’t have a holster, it was stuck in his pants. I shouted, jumped onto that table,” she gestured to the large round table, “in order to be heard over the reporters. I needed to catch their attention.”

  “You didn’t draw your weapon.”

  “Not until after I had the target covered. Protect, then pursue.”

  “And you put yourself in the line of fire.”

  “I didn’t think of it like that.”

  “You don’t think.”

  She snapped, “Really? You’re going to fuck with me now?”

  Jim rubbed his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Yes it is. I wasn’t being reckless, Detective, I was acting on my training. See a threat, neutralize it. I couldn’t get to the shooter, but I could get to the intended target.”

  “The target being Travis Hart.”

  “He’s the only one I recognized. Was there another politician with him?”

  “Just staff.”

  “I assumed the target was the politician. CHP said they’re pulling security tapes in and outside of the hotel. Don’t forget the street cams, and the new hotel across the mall has state of the art surveillance.”

  “I know how to do my damn job, Alex.”

  She ignored his comment. “He ran like he was young. Early to mid twenties. I didn’t get a good look at his face—he’s a white guy, light hair, skinny.”

  Jim added that to the description she’d given earlier. “The paramedics are here,” he said. “Go get stitched up.”

  She’d been ignoring them.

  “Don’t make me go to the hospital in a damn ambulance. I can practically walk there.”

  “Just do it, Alex.”

  Steve approached. “CHP has Hart secured in a room upstairs, the witnesses in a meeting room. How do you want to handle this?”

  “Grab a couple uniforms and you take the witnesses, I’ll take Hart.”

  Steve nodded, then said to Alex, “Good to see you.”

  “You, too,” she said absently. She stared at the table in the middle of the lobby, the one with the ugly vase and towering canopy of red and white flowers. She looked up at the railing and pictured where the shooter had been standing. At the angle she’d seen him his head had been just to the left of a wall sconce that was a few feet behind him.

  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—which was Hart’s left. “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, 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. Black, not silver. It just had a Glock 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 for
get.

  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.

  He stared at the screen as the camera replayed Alex Morgan leaping off a table and saving 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 Alex reminded him of how he royally screwed up any chance of having a relationship with her. 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 had 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. He wasn’t wanted or needed at the hotel.

  Dean came back on the line. “Sorry, Matt, as you can imagine things are hectic here.”

  “What’s going on with Travis Hart? We’re making progress on the investigation and then someone takes a whack at him?”