The Target

They'd said very little. Life had spun out of control again. Molly felt numb, nothing else, just a numb blankness that had taken over both her brain and her body. She supposed she should be grateful for it.

Finally, Molly said quietly, so as not to awaken Emma, "I'm having a hard time accepting it. I keep thinking it's a mistake, that someone really screwed up, that Eve was utterly wrong."

"I know."

"Will they get Rule Shaker now?"

"I don't know. We'll find out exactly what happened when we get to Chicago. Listen, your father's not dead yet. God knows how he's managed to survive so far, but he has. That's a good sign."

"Maybe he's already been able to tell the cops who shot him." She stopped, staring at the blank movie screen directly in front of them. "Or maybe by now it's over and he's dead."

Ramsey started to pick up the phone on the armrest. "No," she said, placing her hand over his. "No. I don't want to know, not just yet. For the moment, I want to think you're right. He's told the cops who shot him. It will all be over by the time we arrive at O'Hare."

But Ramsey knew this wasn't likely. In fact it was well nigh impossible. He said quietly, "Remember I told you it was a distance shot, from a good seventy-five yards away, given the trajectory. The assassin probably fired from the roof of the four-story building just across the street. Mason never saw his attacker. Savich said the preliminary ballistics report was that the bullet, a heavy 7.62 mm, was from a sniping rifle, like a SIG-Sauer SSG2000. That's a popular military rifle." He didn't tell her that the bullet had ripped through Mason Lord's chest, hurling him into a car parked at the curb. The impact had smashed the driver's-side window of a new blue Buick Riviera.

"Gunther was just a single step in front of your father. He wasn't touched."

Emma groaned in her sleep. Ramsey reached over and gently began to rub her shoulders and back. She pushed against his hand, then quieted.

"We had to tell her. She's not stupid."

"Yes, I know. This is her escape," Ramsey said, his voice pitched even lower than before. "First chance we have, let's call Dr. Loo again."

"He's not dead, Ramsey."

Ramsey didn't say anything. He kept lightly rubbing Emma's back. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. They'd just gotten over the jet lag of flying to Ireland when they'd gotten word. Now they'd get to do it all over again.

He wanted to get married.

He wanted Emma to know he'd always be with her, as in forever, as in she was his now. The woman who would be his wife as soon as it could be managed was two feet away from him. He didn't know what to say to her either. He wondered what the hell was going to happen now.

"Ramsey?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"We're going to have to wait until things are sorted out."

He looked over at her and said, "Well, hell."

29

DETECTIVE O'CONNOR WAS waiting for them at the Lord mansion. Miles was there, but no one else. Gunther and Mrs. Lord, Miles told them at the front door, were at the hospital. "Do come in. Mr. Lord is holding his own. He's not out of the woods yet, but he's holding steady. I'm sorry, Molly."

"Thanks, Miles. This is hard on everyone. Thanks for being here to hold down the fort."

"Hello, Judge Hunt, Mrs. Santera," Detective O'Connor said, stepping out of the living room and walking toward them. "I'm sorry you had to come back to this. It's unexpected. No one quite knows what to make of things. I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Santera, that I waited for you here?"

"No, Detective, not at all." Molly went down on her haunches in front of Emma. "You want to go with Miles to the kitchen and have a goodie to eat?"

"I made some chocolate-chip cookies just for you, Emma," Miles said. "They're still warm, right out of the oven."

Emma gave her mother a long, patient look. There was such weariness in her eyes that Molly wanted to fold her up against her and cry. "Your grandfather is in the hospital, Emma. He was hurt. We told you that. Now Detective O'Connor needs to speak to Ramsey and me. He wants to know what we think about things."

"All right, Mama, I'll go with Mr. Miles." "Thanks, Em. I'll be in to see you soon. I want one of those cookies myself."

She got another long-suffering look. She didn't get back to her feet until Miles had taken Emma's hand in his and they were walking toward the kitchen, Emma holding her piano close against her chest. She rose and sighed. "Do come into the living room, Detective."