The Guardian

  “I’ve got broad shoulders,” he replied, willing to take whatever pressure he could off her. She had put up a wall between herself and the rest of the world as a way to deal with the crisis, and he had no desire to push her out of that safe security. “You really do need to get some rest though, at least catnap for a while. I’ll wake you the instant there is news.”

  Since she was yawning, she didn’t protest again. She stretched out on the couch, tucked her arm under her head. “Would you pray for my family?”

  Her request surprised him, and put him in a hard position. He had believed, a long time ago, but now . . .

  She noticed his hesitation. “You’re not a believer.”

  It was more complex than that, but—“No, I’m not.”

  “I won’t apologize for embarrassing you. You should be.”

  No apology, no backpedaling. A woman not afraid to keep to her position and believe she was right. He found that frankness refreshing. Even if he knew she was wrong. “I’ll be glad to ask those I know who do believe to pray.”

  “Thank you. I would appreciate it.”

  He heard the warmth in her reply, she meant that, and he added another nugget to what he knew about her. It didn’t bother her when someone didn’t agree with her. That was rare.

  Lisa was like that. Confident of her positions, willing to swim upstream to defend them. Kate staked a position and frankly didn’t care if anyone agreed with her as long as she knew she was right. Jennifer wanted everyone to agree with her but would stand alone if she could convince no one else to stand with her. He smiled. The family never let that happen.

  He watched Shari drift to sleep.

  The only sound in the room was the muted passing of people in the hall outside. He needed to go talk to Quinn. It was after 3:00 A.M.. and the manhunt should have seen some results with the sketch, but he found himself reluctant to move.

  He had noticed that when Shari spoke about the terror, she had not mentioned the fact the shooter had tried to kill her. What she had mentioned was that she hadn’t done enough to help her family. While he understood that, he would do anything for the O’Malleys, he also knew the silence spoke volumes, for it was signaling that was the one fact she couldn’t cope with and so hadn’t yet processed.

  The harshest night of her life and the only thing he could really do was make sure no one tried to kill her again. It was a bleak assessment to live with.

  He hoped she would sleep until morning but knew that was doubtful.

  He reached for his phone and punched in the numbers to page Jennifer. It was one thing he could offer Shari. He had seen her reaction to entering the recovery room. He didn’t want her facing the maze of medical questions and doctors without someone there to interpret what was said. And no one had a better bedside manner than Jennifer. Having spent a short time with Shari and knowing Jennifer, he suspected the two would strike it off as friends.

  * * *

  “Show me where you lost him, Quinn.”

  Marcus followed Lisa and Quinn into the stairway. Listening to them when he was functioning almost totally on caffeine was not a smart move. Lisa was peppering Quinn with questions that had no answers.

  Marcus had worked cases with Lisa before; he knew how good she was. Not only did she approach cases differently, her mind simply didn’t work like most people’s. She saw connections others missed. Her curiosity only got her in trouble when someone let her get out into the field without a chaperone. He didn’t think Quinn would be letting that happen in this case.

  Lisa paused and rubbed her thumb across the scar in the concrete where the bullet had been removed. “You fell down the stairs.”

  “Guilty,” Quinn replied. “I was looking down the stairs thinking he had gone that way when he shot at me from above. I wasn’t worried about saving my pride, just getting out of the way.”

  “I wasn’t implying it was funny. I’m glad you didn’t break an ankle.”

  “The last I saw him was . . . there.” Quinn pointed. “After I stopped tumbling and worked my way back up the stairs, he was gone. So where did he go? The agents coming down from above had him pinned below the fourteenth floor.”

  Lisa walked up the stairs and disappeared from sight. “For him to have gotten a shot off at you—” her face reappeared—“he had to be here. Then he turns . . . ” She hit the wall with her hand. “As soon as I reach for the stairway door, I drop out of your line of sight. He could have gone out of the stairway as soon as he fired.”

  “Do it. Exit the stairway at the tenth floor and let’s see if we can hear you,” Marcus asked.

  He looked at Quinn as they both heard the metal door close. “I don’t know, Marcus. By the time I stopped falling and could hear again, the door could have already clicked closed.”

  “Could you hear it?” Lisa called down.

  “Yes. Go up to eleven and try it there. And run up the stairs.”

  They could hear her on the stairs. “I’m sure I heard him on the stairs, Marcus. I remember it sounded like a clatter; Lisa is wearing tennis shoes and it was more distinct than that. I don’t think he got off on ten,” Quinn said.

  The sound of a stairway door closing was audible but much fainter. “It could have been eleven,” Marcus realized.

  “Yes.”

  They walked up the stairs to join Lisa at the eleventh floor landing. “What do you think?”

  “Eleven, twelve, or thirteen,” Quinn confirmed.

  “You said you heard his shoes?” Lisa asked.

  Marcus recognized that vaguely unfocused look on her face. “What?”

  She shook her head and looked at the stairs going up. “Start back at ten and look hard at the steps for anything that looks like a print, a scuff. The technicians were through here once but came up blank, and that was a surprise.” She started walking up.

  Marcus and Quinn shared a look. They had just been dismissed to doing tech work. “You can almost see the idea percolating,” Quinn remarked.

  “She’s a bulldog.” They started down the stairs. “Where are we at with the sketch?”

  “We’re getting decent coverage: the hotel guests and staff; officers throughout the area—the airports, trains, and buses—they’re also running it by taxi drivers, giving it to tollbooth attendants. We’ve got officers canvassing the surrounding six blocks showing it around; we’ll repeat that at dawn.

  “All flights going out of O’Hare, Midway, Meigs, or Milwaukee before 8 A.M.. are being checked. We’re also tracking down every vehicle we can place in this area: the parking garage and area parking lots, pulling the drivers licenses.

  “The database guys promised to work a few miracles. By morning, several variations of this sketch will be on every law enforcement officer’s desk in the nation. I don’t think this is his first criminal act. Someone has to have dealt with this guy before.”

  Quinn’s experience showed. All it would take was a nibble somewhere along the line and this manhunt would spring forward. Quinn could be ruthless when he was hunting. “When do you want to release it to the media?”

  “Top of the hour. We should be ready to absorb the false leads by then.”

  “Have there been many claims of responsibility?”

  “At last count—nine. The two that seemed credible have already been eliminated. They are working to clear the rest.”

  “You have enough men?”

  “I’m getting whatever I ask for,” Quinn assured. “Washington was clear on that. What I need now is some luck.”

  “You’ll get it.”

  “Or Lisa will create it.”

  Marcus looked at his partner and smiled. “That she will.” He sighed and looked down at the stairs. “You know, it is a lot easier tracking someone outdoors.”

  “Give me a case that has open air, dirt, and mud any day,” Quinn agreed. They spread out to see what they could find.

  “Does this look recent to you?” Marcus asked several minutes later. There was a chip in the pain
t on the wall in the turn to the eleventh floor, about waist high. The gouge was angled, about half an inch long, and deep at one end. Loose plaster fragments were still in the crevices.

  “Yes, it does. His gun clipped the wall,” Quinn speculated.

  “That would be my guess.”

  “At least we found something. Which is more than Lisa can say.”

  “I heard that,” she called down. “When you get tired talking about a paint chip, you want to get Walter? And tell him to bring his full kit.”

  Walter was the best crime technician at the scene. Marcus glanced at Quinn, and the two of them moved up the stairs. “What have you found?”

  She was sitting on the thirteenth floor landing, in her stockinged feet, having sacrificed one of her tennis shoes to use as a doorstop. She had on latex gloves. She was studying the bottom edge of the door. “Does that look like shoe polish and specks of blood to you? It sure does to me.” She glanced up at them, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Your shooter was in a hurry to open the door. He pulled it open right into his highly polished and bloody shoe. At least I think so. The lab will be able to prove it.”

  “Very nice.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Quinn. “You call me ma’am, I’m going to push you down the stairs.”

  “I wouldn’t dare; ma’am.”

  Marcus put his hand on Lisa’s shoulder to keep her seated. Quinn still hadn’t learned. Lisa never made an idle threat. “Think you can track where he went once he got out on this floor?” he asked to distract her.

  “We’ll do a luminol test down the hallway carpet, see if we can pick up any more traces. I’ll need you to get the hotel to momentarily shut off the hall lights.”

  “I’ll get it arranged,” Marcus agreed. “Okay, half his escape route has been found. Quinn, let’s talk about the interviews being done. We need to talk to everyone on this floor. And I want to start a detailed look at those attending this conference or working in this hotel. Whoever did this was comfortable being here. Lisa, what about Carl’s hotel room door? Carl had his room key in his hand. So what did the shooter use? Was it a master passkey? A copy? Is there any way we can find out?”

  “I’ll take a look at the logs and the mechanism.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Find him for us, Sherlock.”

  “A guy did this. How hard can it be?”

  Marcus laughed.

  Quinn held out a hand to help her to her feet. “You solve it, I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “I solve it, I might even accept.”

  * * *

  The ICU was silent at 4:00 A.M.. Shari leaned back against the wall, watching her brother. She had been able to get an hour of sleep before the dreams came; she supposed she should be grateful. “Jennifer, Marcus mentioned when I first met him that he was planning to have a late dinner with his sister. Was that with you?”

  It was nice having Marcus’s sister here. Jennifer was comfortable around the ICU; the medical equipment didn’t intimidate her. And Shari found it very helpful to just have someone listen.

  “Kate and I,” Jennifer replied. “You had met Marcus before this happened?”

  “Earlier this evening. I got lost in the hotel,” Shari replied, feeling like it had been a year ago. A decade ago.

  “That was an interesting comment for him to have made.”

  “We were going to have coffee later this morning,” she said quietly.

  “Really? I’m sorry events overtook that.”

  Shari looked over, hearing the interest in Jennifer’s voice. “It was just coffee.”

  “Still, an unusual request on his part.”

  Beneath the fatigue, Shari felt a glimmer of curiosity. “Marcus doesn’t date?”

  “No. And Kate, Lisa, Rachel, and I have been trying to change that.”

  Four sisters? Shari smiled at that, wondering if Marcus felt it was a blessing or a curse. Probably a blessing. “You’ve got a big family.”

  “There are seven of us, but it’s not exactly a traditional family. We’re all orphans. We sort of adopted each other, became our own family. Legally changed our last names.”

  Shari had heard of many families breaking up but rarely of one so intentionally forming. That must have been a powerful pact. “Seven?”

  “It’s a great group. We are constantly stepping in and out of each other’s lives. Marcus is the oldest.”

  “A nice older brother to have. He’s protective.”

  “The guardian of the group,” Jennifer agreed.

  “Which are you?”

  “The youngest of the family—” Jennifer smiled—“everyone’s favorite.”

  “An older sister doesn’t get the same respect,” she replied lightly, amused, thinking about her close relationship with Josh.

  Shari crossed back over to a chair. Her body hurt and she eased herself down. Her spirit hurt worse. She could feel the dark depression creeping over her. In the middle of the night it was hard to hold on to optimistic thoughts. “From what you have said, Jennifer, I’m guessing—are you a Christian?”

  “Yes. Kate and I are both recent believers.”

  “I think I embarrassed Marcus when I asked him to pray for my family.”

  “Don’t worry about it. He needs someone to remind him he should reconsider his position. It’s hard, after losing parents, to hear Jesus say I love you and know He means it.”

  Shari could only imagine how hard that must have been, losing the security of loving parents. She also heard the reality—Jennifer hoped to someday change his mind. “Carl was a Christian. Joshua and Dad believe. I’m grateful for that, but it doesn’t take away the pain.”

  “The grief must be huge right now. Carl being in heaven doesn’t change the fact he was killed.”

  “It’s never felt this dark,” Shari admitted softly.

  “Jesus can find you in the darkness.”

  Those sounded like words from personal experience.

  Life had shattered, and none of this made sense anymore. Shari looked at Josh. She let her hand touch the bandage on her cheek. A few more inches and she would be the one in the hospital bed . . . or dead. Marcus, please find the shooter. I’m afraid of him.

  Chapter Six

  “Joshua, do you remember Carl meeting or calling anyone?” Marcus asked. The sky had begun to lighten outside the ICU window. He had confirmed what he feared, Joshua hadn’t seen the shooter. Shari remained the only eyewitness.

  “Not that I recall. We had a quiet Thursday and Friday. He was working on his speech with Shari, playing backgammon with Dad.” Josh worked his good hand, pain etching his face at the simple movement. “How’s Shari?”

  “Hopefully still sleeping. She saw you in the recovery room about 3 A.M.. You were out of it.”

  “Not entirely. She’s right. The nurses are pretty.” He gave a glimmer of a smile, then grimaced. “They told me Dad was in the recovery room. Is there any more news?”

  “They’ll be bringing him down to ICU soon.” Marcus hesitated, but accepted it would be better if the news came from him rather than Shari. “It’s not good.”

  Josh stilled. “What are the surgeons saying?”

  “His blood pressure isn’t stabilizing.”

  He was silent for a long time. “He’s a fighter, like Mom.” He looked over and held Marcus’s gaze. “Where are you at in finding the shooter?”

  “Shari was able to give us a good sketch.”

  “I almost wish you hadn’t said that. Security is with her?”

  “Tight. She doesn’t realize she’s got a permanent shadow.”

  Josh nodded. “Thanks. Keep it there, and if she raises a fuss, let me know.”

  Marcus recognized the worry of not only a brother but an assistant DA. “Will do.”

  “Has my extended family arrived yet?”

  “They should be arriving shortly after 10 A.M.. I suggest you get what rest you can before then.”

  Josh gave a reluctant laugh, then groaned. “The und
erstatement of the year. I love them all, but there are a lot of them.”

  Josh’s expression firmed, and Marcus recognized the burning anger in the man. “I can’t protect Shari right now; I can’t help her. And she has a nasty habit of assuming she can handle a stressful situation on her own without leaning against someone. Be careful with her. She’s had a hard few months and she’ll shatter if she gets pushed too hard.” He gave an irritated grimace. “And whatever you do, don’t let her get near the press. She’ll consider it her professional obligation to get out there and answer their questions.”

  “You can relax a bit, Josh,” Marcus replied. “You haven’t told me anything I haven’t already suspected. And I’ve read the press clippings on her from the last few years. She’s stubborn, but I’m more so. I’m not letting her get in the midst of this press swarm; they would eat her alive. I like her too much for one thing, and second, she happens to be our only witness at the moment. If she gets annoyed with me, it won’t change things. I don’t plan to budge.”

  “Good. Let her hit a brick wall. I owe you.”

  “And I’ll collect if I need it,” Marcus warned.

  “Fair enough.”

  * * *

  Shari twisted her wrist, moving the cellular phone receiver away from her mouth so she could sip at the hot coffee. “No, Chris,” she interrupted, pulling the phone back down. “There won’t be press coverage at Carl’s visitation. I want something private and by invitation only.”

  John’s press secretary was a good friend, but she wasn’t letting him sway her on this decision. She understood his point of view, but solving the press pressure wasn’t her problem. “John is giving the eulogy at the funeral, but there is not going to be press coverage there either. That’s assuming we bury Carl at the church next to his parents—we’re still talking about Arlington National Cemetery with the military honors he’s due as a decorated veteran. It’s been offered.”

  She drank another sip of coffee, feeling much steadier after a second catnap. She had woken up, found a pad of paper, and got to work. She didn’t want to grieve yet, and the only way to handle the emotions was to ruthlessly deny them any room to emerge. There would be time to cry later, when she had some privacy. She had the nasty suspicion once she started to cry, she would cry for a long time.