She shook her head and looked down at the lobby.
The flowers shooting up from the top of the vase completely blocked the center of the main doors. But from this angle, whoever was on the right—walking on Hart’s left side—was completely visible. She’d need a complete reenactment to make sure she was right. She stood on her tippy toes to make herself closer to five foot ten. It didn’t change the angle; the flowers were still blocking line of sight.
“Hart wasn’t the target,” she said.
“You can’t know that.”
“From here he wouldn’t have a clear shot. He’d have to aim through the flowers.”
“Maybe he thought he had a chance. Or maybe he just wanted to scare him.”
Possibly, Alex thought. Possibly. “Who was next to Hart?” She closed her eyes and pictured the scene. Woman on the left, man on the right. “It was a man.”
“His chief of staff Melanie Thorne and his legislative consultant Eric Huang.”
Steve said, “Hart has made a lot of enemies over the years. He was a prosecutor for years, then a corporate lawyer. Now he’s running for Governor—this was a press conference to announce some big campaign shindig or endorsement or something.”
“Aren’t you all political,” Alex teased.
Steve grinned. “I read the news.”
“You need to consider that maybe this Huang guy was the target,” Alex said. “Because if I was trying to take someone out, I’d damn well make sure I had a clear shot. Especially with a handgun—” She snapped her fingers. “It was a Glock. And it wasn’t the gun I saw the flash of, it was his belt buckle. The gun I saw when he pulled it from his waistband.”
“You could tell it was a Glock from—” Jim looked down, “that’s about thirty feet down? And fifteen feet over?”
She hesitated. “Semi-auto handgun. You’re right, I can’t say with certainty it was a Glock, it could have been a Sig, something similar. It just had that feeling to it. Again, gut impression.”
“Alex, just go get the damn stitches and let us do our job.”
She glared at him. Her temper was flaring, but she also felt woozy. Trying to keep her voice pleasant, she said, “Let me know what you find out.”
“As much as I can,” Jim said. “Remember, you’re not a cop anymore.”
Like she could ever forget.
Jim’s phone rang before she could comment. “I have to take this,” he said and turned his back on her.
It was better this way. She went back down the stairs where the two paramedics seemed more concerned than warranted. “I’m fine,” she said.
“You’re bleeding again,” one of them said.
She looked down at the bandage that Officer Lane had put on her. Sure enough, it was red.
“I give in,” she said. She pointed to the gurney. “But I’m walking to the ambulance, or I’m not going.”
Before they could argue with her, she left the hotel and sat on the ambulance bumper, hoping and praying that the reporters didn’t know her name.
If they don’t know, someone will tell them. Brace yourself, Alex. The shit storm is going to hit you – again.
***
District Attorney Matt Elliott had the news muted while he called FBI Agent Dean Hooper. Dean wasn’t just any FBI Agent, he was one of three Assistant Special Agents in Charge of the Sacramento FBI.
Dean answered the call immediately. “Hold on, Matt,” he said and put the phone down. Matt heard voices in the background of Dean’s office.
He stared at the screen as the camera replayed Alexandra Morgan leaping off a table in the center of a prominent hotel and save the life of the Lieutenant Governor. He didn’t see her get hit, the cameraman was on the ground and the film was at an odd angle, but he saw the blood on her arm as she ran past the camera a few seconds later.
Seeing her reminded him of how he royally screwed up any chance of having a relationship with Alex, before it even started. Seeing her risk her life to save someone else reminded him why he’d fallen for her in the first place.
Matt had fielded a half dozen calls in the last thirty minutes, but he had few answers. All he’d learned was that Hart was safe, the shooter was at large, and Alex was the only injury.
Twice he’d gotten up from his desk with the intention of going to the hotel to check on Alex personally. Twice he’d sat back down and picked up the phone to learn more about the shooting.
Dean came back on the line. “Sorry, Matt, as you can imagine things are hectic here.”
“What’s going on with the Travis Hart investigation? We’re making progress on the investigation and then someone takes a whack at him?”
“Honestly, Matt, I don’t know—there has been no chatter about this, our intel doesn’t have a hint that someone was after him. The CHP and Sac PD are taking lead, I can’t go in and muck things up. If I do, Hart will know we’re investigating him.”
“We need something solid, Dean.”