“Unfortunately, no. I came to give you a heads-up.”
He propped his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor, wishing a script had been etched there for him to follow. But there wasn’t. He had to come up with the words to tell her, and he figured the blunter the better.
“Neal’s been having me followed.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he said, “Wait, hear me out. That’s not the worst of it. He’s got pictures. I don’t know how long the surveillance has been going on, or how thorough it’s been, but I wanted to warn you that you might be featured prominently in some of the shots.” He nodded toward the three tall windows behind her desk.
“I don’t know for sure because I only saw a sampling. I’ve used these guys myself and know how resourceful they can be. If the tail saw me come up here last night, if he got pictures through those windows, then we’re blown. You and me together.”
Together up against the edge of her desk, his hands all but cupping her ass as they leaned into each other and crotch-bumped. Even a camera lens would have steamed up.
“At least we didn’t kiss,” he said. “He didn’t catch us in a lip-lock, but I don’t think anyone could mistake…well…you know.”
Their gazes held, then hers dropped to his mouth, then lower to the center of his chest. “Why did Neal have you under surveillance?”
He’d been expecting an accusatory outburst. Momentarily taken off guard by her question, he made a dismissive waving motion with his hand. “He’s got this notion that I was behind the courtroom shooting.”
“What?”
“Crazy, I know. But with my ruination in mind, he’s running headlong down a dead end. Meanwhile.” He told her about Otterman’s reaction to seeing the corpse. “Neal didn’t want to admit it, but he noticed it, too.”
“I’m not defending Chuck Otterman,” she said. “I don’t know him well at all. But that’s my point. Other than his modest contribution to my campaign, there’s no connection. I would tell you if there were.”
“I believe you. But it might be something you’re not remembering, or something you don’t even know. Maybe linked to the firm in Dallas?”
“I called to apologize for all the inconvenience this had caused them. I was assured that my safety is their primary concern. But in any case, Chuck Otterman has never had any dealings with any attorney there, past or present, including me.”
“Maybe they’re holding back because of privilege.”
“That occurred to me. I asked.” She shook her head. “I believe they would tell me. This is a murder investigation, after all.”
“Okay. But keep thinking.” He waited a beat, then asked, “What are you going to do about the other?”
“You mean the photographs?”
“I don’t know there are any of you. But if there are, they’ll be damaging.”
“I’m no longer hearing your case.”
“No, but it’s still a murky area. That asshole Sanders could turn it into the scandal of the decade.” He turned away from her. “Dammit, I should have stayed away from you. If I wind up costing you the election, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Will you forgive yourself for saving my life?”
He came back around. “What?”
“Crawford, I was compromised the moment you leaped over that railing and shielded me from the gunman. No matter what’s happened since, I could never have made an objective decision regarding the man who risked his life in order to save mine.”
It sounded a little too pat, an honest but well-spun answer she’d prepared in anticipation of being asked a sensitive question about him. “Did you come up with that, or did what’s-her-name?”
“I fired what’s-her-name this morning.”
That was surprising news. “How come? Her haircut?”
She laughed. “Reason enough. But we had a difference of opinion over how my campaign should proceed.”
His cell phone dinged, signaling a text message. “Hold the thought.” He opened his text page and stared in puzzlement at the still-frame picture of Georgia that appeared. He tapped the arrow to play the video.
Her giggles sounded throughout the chamber. He recognized the park setting, the familiar playground, the swing set. Georgia’s blond curls caught the sunlight at the apex of each arc of the swing. Her small hands were clutching the thick ropes, her toes stretching out in front of her to reach as high as they possibly could. She was laughing happily.
The video ran for thirty-two seconds, and it was the longest half-minute of his life. The caption accompanying the video: “You’re making this too easy.”
He bolted for the door and nearly ripped it from the doorjamb as he pulled it open. Behind him, Holly cried out, “Crawford? What?”
“Call 911,” he yelled as he blasted past her startled assistant. “Get police there.”
“Where?”