Catherine Coulter – FBI 3 The Target

“We had to tell her. She’s not stupid.”

“Yes, I know. This is her escape,” Ramsey said, his voice pitched even lower than before. “First chance we have, let’s call Dr. Loo again.”

“He’s not dead, Ramsey.”

Ramsey didn’t say anything. He kept lightly rubbing Emma’s back. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. They’d just gotten over the jet lag of flying to Ireland when they’d gotten word. Now they’d get to do it all over again.

He wanted to get married.

He wanted Emma to know he’d always be with her, as in forever, as in she was his now. The woman who would be his wife as soon as it could be managed was two feet away from him. He didn’t know what to say to her either. He wondered what the hell was going to happen now.

“Ramsey?”

“Yes, Molly?”

“We’re going to have to wait until things are sorted out.”

He looked over at her and said, “Well, hell.”

29

DETECTIVE O’CONNOR WAS waiting for them at the Lord mansion. Miles was there, but no one else. Gunther and Mrs. Lord, Miles told them at the front door, were at the hospital. “Do come in. Mr. Lord is holding his own. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s holding steady. I’m sorry, Molly.”

“Thanks, Miles. This is hard on everyone. Thanks for being here to hold down the fort.”

“Hello, Judge Hunt, Mrs. Santera,” Detective O’Connor said, stepping out of the living room and walking toward them. “I’m sorry you had to come back to this. It’s unexpected. No one quite knows what to make of things. I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Santera, that I waited for you here?”

“No, Detective, not at all.” Molly went down on her haunches in front of Emma. “You want to go with Miles to the kitchen and have a goodie to eat?”

“I made some chocolate-chip cookies just for you, Emma,” Miles said. “They’re still warm, right out of the oven.”

Emma gave her mother a long, patient look. There was such weariness in her eyes that Molly wanted to fold her up against her and cry. “Your grandfather is in the hospital, Emma. He was hurt. We told you that. Now Detective O’Connor needs to speak to Ramsey and me. He wants to know what we think about things.”

“All right, Mama, I’ll go with Mr. Miles.” “Thanks, Em. I’ll be in to see you soon. I want one of those cookies myself.”

She got another long-suffering look. She didn’t get back to her feet until Miles had taken Emma’s hand in his and they were walking toward the kitchen, Emma holding her piano close against her chest. She rose and sighed. “Do come into the living room, Detective.”

“It was verified,” Detective O’Connor said. “The bullet was a 7.62 mm sniping round.” He turned toward Ramsey. “You probably know that this bullet is heavier, to give it more energy and a flatter trajectory. That’s particularly important over a long distance.” “Any sign of the shooter?”

“We went to the Ames Building, to the roof, which is the top of the fourth floor. We found a couple of cigarette butts, a to-go coffee container, and, wonder of wonders, there was this small wet spot.”

Molly blinked at the detective. “Wet spot? Why is that a wonder?”

“He spit, Mrs. Santera. The shooter spit. That means DNA, if we’re lucky. That means if and when we catch the guy, we’ll have indisputable proof that he’s guilty. The forensics folks think he’s a smoker with a bad hacking cough. His vices might end up bringing him down.

“Since Mason Lord is a very powerful man, despite his more questionable associations and business practices, this case is very high profile. The press is starting to understand there isn’t much to see around here. But they’ll start showing up again at dawn, you can count on it. I’m glad you made it back so early. They’ll find out soon enough that you’re back, Judge Hunt.”

“What do the doctors say about Mason’s condition?”

Detective O’Connor checked his watch. “It’s nearly midnight. I told his surgeon that you’d be arriving about now. He said you could call and he’d give you the latest word.”

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