Page 6

The distinctive tick-thumpof a suppressor reached Cameron’s ears seconds before a sharp, piercing wail erupted from somewhere deep within the garden. The loud, pulsing calls of whip-poor-wills, spring peepers, and katydids cut off.

Kayla?

He pushed away from the exterior brick wall, rushed across the veranda, and plunged down the garden path.

Another scream. This one choked off suddenly.

“Kayla!”

After she had exited the French doors for her meeting, he’d waited a full minute before following. Seeing the tiny white lights framing the dome of what he assumed was a gazebo and Kayla’s meeting place, he’d positioned himself in a shadowed alcove, where he’d had a perfect line of sight on the garden path. He wouldn’t let her slip away again before she’d answered his questions.

Within seconds, the now darkened gazebo appeared. He removed his Glock from his shoulder holster, keeping his forefinger on the outside of the trigger guard. “Kayla?”

No response.

The unnatural silence seemed to amplify his footsteps against the gravel path.

As he approached the gazebo, he heard a shuffling sound from within. Then, about a foot above the floor, a pale, slender arm speared through the opening, frantically waving him forward.

The hairs on the back of his neck woke up, and his gut tightened. After a quick scan of the garden, he bent low, entered the structure, and turned in the direction of where the disembodied arm had disappeared.

Kayla sat huddled against the low wall, tears coating her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Aunt V-vicky—the governor.” She pointed a shaky finger toward the back of the gazebo. “Dead.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “Gunshot.”

His head snapped back to her. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.”

Tension he didn’t realize he’d been harboring eased its grip around his chest.

“Did you see the shooter?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even hear the gunshot.”

Unlike in the movies, suppressors didn’t completely silence a gun’s report. However, if she’d never heard one before, the sound might not register.

“Do you have your phone?” he asked.

“I dropped it and haven’t been able to locate it in the dark.”

“Here.” He handed her his. “Call nine-one-one.”

When he pivoted on the balls of his feet, she grasped his arm. “Where are you going?”

“To check on the governor.”

“I told you. She’s g-gone.”

“I understand.” He motioned toward the phone. “Make the call. I’ll be back in a second.”

For a moment, her eyes pleaded with him to stay. Then she blinked, and some of her normal mettle returned.

Staying low, he rushed to where the governor’s body lay on its side. She looked almost peaceful, except for the vacant stare and the hole in her head. He checked her pulse to be sure.

Nothing.

Judging by the size of the entrance and exit wounds, the shooter had used a 9mm handgun or a pistol-caliber carbine rifle.

Making his way back to the lobbyist, he asked, “Are the police on their way?”

She nodded.

“Sure you’re okay?”

Another nod.

An electrical current buzzed in the back of his skull, urging him to sweep the garden, to make sure the threat was gone. But another part of him couldn’t leave her alone, unprotected.

Sirens blared in the distance.

“Did you see anything?” he asked, keeping his attention on their surroundings. “Hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“No, nothing.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“The governor texted me, requesting that I meet her here.”

“How did she seem when you arrived?”

“Anxious.”

“Why did she want to meet you?”

She hesitated for a brief moment, then said, “She wanted to tell me something.” Her eyes filled with tears, though they never fell. “But she didn’t get the chance.”

“Any idea of what she wanted to share?”

Another hesitation, followed by a negative head shake.

He would drill into that topic later. Right now, he wanted to get Kayla to safety.

“The sirens have likely scared off the shooter. We need to get you inside.”

“I don’t want to leave her.”

He had no way of knowing if the governor or Kayla was the shooter’s intended target. No doubt both women had made enemies on their climb to the top.

Cameron heard the rapid footsteps a second before a tall, distinguished gray-haired gentleman, hemmed in by two men in near-identical black suits, rushed toward them. The older man appeared to be vying for the lead position and having little success.

He rose to a standing crouch, using a thick support beam as cover. “FBI. Stay right there.”

The trio skidded to a halt.

“Glenn Ziller.” The suit in front lifted his hands in the air, one held a gun. “My partner Ford and I,” he jerked his head toward the other suit bringing up their flank, “are part of the governor’s security detail. My creds are inside my jacket.”

Cameron motioned the man to proceed with his gun. “Slowly.”

“Kayla!” The distinguished gentleman’s voice was breathless with fear as he tried to push past Suit Number One, but the younger guy simply held out a muscular arm, barring his way.

“Daddy?” Kayla scrambled to her feet and, before Cameron could stop her, she ran into the older man’s arms.

Gordon Krowne hugged his daughter close. “Are you all right, Pepper?”

With an odd combination of relief and envy, Cameron observed how her father’s endearment seemed to calm her.

“Fine,” Kayla said. “Where’s Mama?”

“Entertaining our guests. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew more.” He cocked his head, listening to the sirens. “A decision I will pay for shortly when the police arrive on our doorstep.”

Cameron checked the creds of each bodyguard, though he kept his handgun aimed at Glenn’s center mass. “Where were you while the governor took a bullet?”

“Bullet?” Gordon echoed.

“Aunt Vicky’s d-dead,” Kayla said, her voice breaking.

“My God.”

Ford cursed, and the two guards shot forward.

“Stop, or I’ll blow you into the rosebushes.” Cameron widened his stance. “Answer my question.”

Ford’s already chiseled jaw turned to granite. “The governor ordered us to take a restroom break.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t blame them, Agent Blackwell,” Kayla said. “Governor Stokes would’ve given them hell if they’d done otherwise. She liked her privacy.”

Cameron lowered his arm, and the guards attempted to push past him. He stepped in front of them. “I confirmed she’s dead. No need for more people trampling the crime scene.”

The sirens were loud and close.

“Wait here,” he said to Kayla. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“Perimeter check. I want to make sure the shooter is gone.”

“No, please don’t.” She latched on to his arm. “Let the police search the property.”

For a moment, he thought her concern might be for his welfare and warmth spread into his chest. Then he brushed the thought away, realizing the more likely scenario was that she had less faith in him than the police.

Or did she have something to hide?

He detached his arm from her grip, signaled for Glenn to follow and pushed into the darkness.