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Hearts in the Crosshairs

By Susan Page Davis

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Governor Jillian Goff pulled on dark knit gloves as she walked across the lobby of the Statehouse flanked by the president of the Maine Senate and two Executive Protection Unit officers. Another security officer opened the door, and she stepped out into the bright but cold January day. The sky overhead, between the Capitol and the state office building, shone a vivid blue. Several hundred people had crowded into the limited space. Jillian waved as she walked across the paving stones to the microphones, touched that so many had come out to see her just minutes after she took the oath of office.
She smiled and looked into the television camera with the red light. “I want to thank all of you, the people of Maine, for choosing me as your new governor. The past few months have been hectic, but they’ve been good preparation for what’s ahead. Together we can bring Maine into a productive new era. I look forward to—”
A muffled crack made her freeze. Something zinged past her ear, and a small, sharp object struck her cheek.
Someone seized her shoulders from behind and shoved her down behind the bank of microphones.
“Steady, ma’am. Keep still for a minute until we secure the area.”
Security. She’d only been governor for fifteen minutes, and an officer from the EPU was holding her head against the cold stone pavement before the door of the Capitol. Her right cheek stung. People shouted and scrambled about. A puff of white vapor formed in the January air each time she let out a shallow breath. Her pulse thudded in her temples, and her knee hurt, folded beneath her on the freezing stone.
She turned her head, but that wasn’t much better. Her cheekbone contacted the icy pavement and she shivered. “W-what happened?”
“Shooter. Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Jillian swallowed hard and tried to squeeze smaller. This morning the chief officer of the Maine State Police, Colonel Gideon Smith, had urged her to wear a bullet-proof vest beneath her coat during the press conference, and she had laughed at him. “When was the last time a Maine governor was attacked?”
“I take your safety seriously, madam,” Smith had replied.
I should have listened to him.
Another man came and kneeled beside her head.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I think so.” The cheek that was pressed against the stone still stung.
“We’re going to help you up and get you inside. We’ll take you right up to your office. When we’re certain it’s safe, we’ll escort you home. Do you understand?”
She nodded. She could hear the surge of the crowd and shouts in the distance.
“All right, then.” The weight on her back lifted as the man who had hovered over her straightened, and she struggled to her knees. The two of them pulled her up.
“Quickly, now.” The officers urged her toward the main door. A few photographers ran alongside and snapped pictures. Inside, a dozen people huddled against the walls, staring at her. Policemen walked before her, beside her, behind her. Plainclothesmen of the EPU, uniformed state troopers, and Capitol Security officers rushed to protect her. A dozen or more officers surrounded her, but still she felt exposed. Anyone could have walked into the building before the press conference and still be concealed nearby. She looked ahead, searching for things out of place, for people who didn’t belong.
Six officers squeezed into the elevator with her. The rest headed for the stairs. So far, the emergency plan functioned just as they’d laid it out to her a few weeks earlier.
“You’re bleeding, ma’am,” said one of the female detectives.
Jillian pulled off her gloves and touched her right cheek gingerly, then drew her hand away and looked at it. Her fingertips were stained with blood.
“I don’t think it’s serious.”
“We’ll have your doctor come look at it immediately,” the tall detective on her other side said.
When they emerged on the floor above, Colonel Smith waited by the elevator, panting.
“Governor Goff! I’m so sorry.” He took her elbow and guided her swiftly through the outer office and into the inner sanctum. Her private office. She’d only been in it a few times, during the last governor’s term. Half a dozen EPU members and four uniformed troopers followed and took up positions at every door and window. Several more were ordered to stand guard in the outer office. The main door closed, and Smith locked it.
“Have a seat, ma’am. We’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible, but we don’t want to take you into the open until we’re sure it’s safe.”
“I understand.” Jillian’s chest tightened as she walked toward the huge walnut desk. At least her calf-length skirt and wool coat covered her trembling knees. She sank into the padded leather chair behind the desk and lowered her head into her hands. She winced as she touched her cheek again.
Smith held out a clean white handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Governor. That looks superficial, but we’ve called for your physician. She’ll be here momentarily.”
Jillian raised her chin. “I’m fine, Colonel. Just find out who did this.”

Copyright 2009 by Susan Page Davis
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. All rights reserved.

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