Crawford wended his way through the media people already gathered in the cavernous lobby. Six floors overhead, sunlight was streaming in through the dome windows. One beam was acting like a spotlight on the podium behind which a building custodian was fiddling with the microphone, causing it to pop and screech.
Harry and Sessions were in what appeared to be a heated discussion with Neal while Nugent stood nearby, gnawing on his fingernail. When Crawford reached them, Sessions, an average size, average looking man with an above average IQ and jaw-dropping sharpshooting skills, brought him into the argument.
“Harry and I followed Judge Spencer here and into the building. Now he’s saying that we can back off, that he’s got it covered.”
Crawford turned to Neal. “First of all, they stay. The more uniforms visible, the better. Second,” he said with additional consternation, “none of us should be needed. What the hell were you thinking? Why didn’t you veto this plan?”
“Judge Spencer didn’t consult me beforehand. I knew nothing about it until the media began showing up. I delayed the start until we could get men into place, but if I had called it off, the negative PR—”
“Don’t talk to me about PR, Neal, or I’ll reopen your swollen lip.” He was gratified to see that it was twice its normal size. “What men? Who’s in place?”
“Policemen that Nugent and I had already screened and cleared of any involvement with the shooting.”
Crawford was dubious of anyone cleared by Nugent, but the screening itself would have put a dissatisfied would-be assassin on notice. He’d have to be crazy to make another attempt on Holly’s life in the courthouse when it was crawling with law enforcement officers and people with cameras.
But then, he’d have had to be crazy to do what he’d done two days ago.
At the barricade, uniformed officers were checking press IDs and searching handbags, backpacks, and camera bags before letting anyone through. But the atrium was open to every floor. Employees and visitors were moving along the circular galleries, either going about their business or watching the activity on the ground floor with avid curiosity. Officers were posted along the railings on every level, but in Crawford’s estimation, they were too few in number.
He turned to the other two Texas Rangers and said under his breath, “I don’t like it.” The look he gave them was a silent signal. They moved away and went in different directions to reconnoiter.
Turning back to Neal, Crawford asked, “Where is she?”
“Directly behind you.”
Crawford turned. Holly was making her way across the lobby toward them. She was dressed in a cream-colored suit with a snug-fitting jacket, thigh-hugging skirt, and high heels. She looked great.
He wanted to strangle her.
With her was a woman who was shaped like a bale of cotton. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut close to her scalp, and she walked as though going into combat. In his present mood, she virtually was.
As Holly approached him, her smile looked forced. “Good morning. I’m glad you’re here so I can introduce you to my campaign manager, Marilyn Vidal. Marilyn, this is Ranger Crawford Hunt.”
The woman thrust out a square hand with stubby fingers. As they shook, she gave him a once-over. “You certainly look the part.”
“Part of what?”
“The Texas Ranger. Square jaw, steely eyed glint and all.” She smiled, revealing teeth that looked like old piano keys. “But since you’re not in uniform, you could use a cowboy hat. I don’t suppose you have one handy? Preferably white. And maybe one of those gun belts that you wear around your hips and tie to your thigh?”
He subjected her to the glint she had admired, then said, “Excuse me,” and stepped around her in order to get nearer to Holly. “Judge Spencer, this is a really bad idea. You should have notified Sergeant Lester or me before scheduling a public event.” He pressed the last two words between his teeth.
“I’m a public figure in a political race. As I’ve told you, repeatedly, I can’t cower and hide.”
She was using that lofty judge tone that made him want to shake her and then remind her that, twelve hours earlier, her cool mouth had been hotly fused with his, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.
Instead, he said, “You don’t have to hide. But you’re making it too easy for any crackpot with a grudge or a cause.”
The campaign manager used her wide shoulders to wedge herself between them. “I don’t see any reason for concern. There are cops all over the place.”
“I’ll only be speaking for a few minutes,” Holly said.
“He only needs a few seconds,” he said. “As you of all people should know.”
By now Neal had joined the huddle. Ignoring Crawford, he said, “Judge Spencer, we’ve got the situation under control. But the sooner we get it over with, the better.” He motioned her toward the lectern.
Crawford was relieved to see that policemen had formed a circle around it, facing outward toward the crowd. Crawford sidled up to one. Pat Connor was a veteran of the department. Paunchy, a bit long in the tooth, Connor was now relegated to guarding the courthouse. But at least he was another pair of eyes.