Gray is My Heart

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

IF THIS WAS the police officer’s idea of a vacation, he’d have been better off staying at home. The safe house, a small, detached two-storey home in Petersburg, didn’t get any stars from me. Drab green paint peeled from the siding, revealing an equally ugly shade of brown underneath. A poor man’s camouflage. In the threadbare front lawn, even the weeds looked sickly. My room overlooked the back where a rickety garage took up most of the yard, the two wooden doors hanging open an inch and sagging on their hinges. The remaining space was slabbed with pitted concrete, which served as a home for the two trash cans, neither of which had been emptied recently judging by the fast-food cartons spilling out of them.

It was a dull, nondescript house on a street of equally dull, nondescript houses. If I had to spend much time there, I’d be tempted to shoot myself sooner rather than later and save the hitman the trouble.

I lay back on the lumpy mattress, staring up at the ceiling. The shades were permanently drawn, and the single bare bulb hung slightly off-centre as if whoever built the house hadn’t bothered to measure up properly. A cobweb rippled in the draught alongside, its resident mercifully absent. Even the spider had gone in search of better digs elsewhere.

The door creaked as one of the cops peered in. “Everything okay?”

Oh, sure, just perfect. I’d been shot at, I wasn’t allowed to speak to my family, and I couldn’t go home.

“Fine, thank you.”

“I’m making coffee. You want a cup?”

I didn’t need caffeine; I needed sleep. I’d been awake for the last twenty-four hours. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the waiter lying dead in front of me, his brain spilling across the marble floor.

“Have you got any Ambien?”

“Sorry, can’t let you have that. We need you alert in case of any incidents.”

“You really think something might happen?”

His shrug wasn’t at all comforting, and little beads of sweat popped out on the back of my neck. I wanted to believe this wasn’t real, and yet…here I was.

“We haven’t had any specific intelligence, but we can’t rule it out.”

“You’re going to catch him soon though, right?”

“We’re doing our best, ma’am, but you may be here a while.”

“Can I speak to my father yet? Or my husband?”

“The line isn’t secure.”

“What about clothes? Toiletries? Underwear? I need some of my things.”

He looked fresh out of cop school and blushed when I mentioned underwear.

“If you write a list, I’ll have somebody pass it to your family.”

As his footsteps receded along the hallway, I thunked my head back on the painfully thin pillow, fighting back tears. How could this be happening? I went out of my way to avoid confrontation, yet someone still wanted me dead. During Daddy’s time as attorney general, we’d been rushed out of the house twice in the middle of the night, but nobody ever fired a shot. Could one of his haters still be out there, bearing a grudge?

Or what about Douglas’s enemies? After all, he’d been involved in several controversial projects recently. Two months ago, we’d had a protest outside the house over his involvement in plans to build a wind farm on land occupied by a family of eagles.

I’d always done my duty and stood behind both of them. Had I upset someone by taking that stance? I mean, the only other option would have been a public disagreement with my family.

I had plenty of time to think over that question the next day. The trouble was, I didn’t come up with any answers.

On day three, a Monday, the young policeman dragged the largest suitcase from my matching Louis Vuitton set upstairs, filling most of the available space in front of my window. I’d been allocated what a realtor would describe as the third bedroom, but in reality, it was more of a cupboard containing a single bed, a tiny closet, and a wobbly chair.

When I saw my luggage, it felt as though Christmas had arrived. At least I could spend the day reading the spy thrillers I’d requested and get lost in somebody else’s woes instead of my own. Or so I thought. A groan escaped my lips the moment I threw back the lid. With all the drama, I’d forgotten that Manuela, our maid, was off yesterday. Douglas must have packed my case himself, and once again, he’d proven how little he understood women in general and me in particular. Half the clothes were for summer and the others were more suited to formal occasions. I dug down farther and found the complete works of Jane Austen, a cookbook, and a handy guide on French for beginners.

Thérèse, my nanny between the ages of six and ten, had been an excellent teacher so I had a fairly good grasp of the language, a fact that had clearly escaped Douglas. Hardly surprising, since on our only visit to France he abandoned me in a hotel in Paris while he spent almost the whole time in one incredibly important business meeting or another. The cookbook wasn’t going to be much use either seeing as the most nutritious thing I’d found in the house so far was a Pop-Tart.

So, in the afternoon of day three, I found myself sitting on the wooden chair with Mr. Darcy for company. I’d wedged the cookbook under the shorter leg, which was perhaps the best use I could find for it. One of the policemen lent me a jacket to put over my sparkly Versace top and crinkled linen pants, and I wrapped the blankets around my legs for extra warmth.

I was beginning to despair of ever going home when the grumpy policeman who’d brought the pizza last night walked in.

“Your father is insisting on speaking to you.” He held out a chunky looking phone, looking distinctly unamused. “He sent a secure phone.”

I snatched it off him and pressed it to my ear. “Daddy?”

“Hey, Twinkle.”

Twenty-nine years and I hadn’t managed to outgrow the nickname he’d given me as a baby. “What’s going on? They said someone’s trying to kill me and brought me to this house, and nobody will tell me anything. I just want to go home.”

“I know, but that’s not a good idea right now. You’re in the best place.”

“So they haven’t caught the shooter yet?”

“Not yet, but everyone’s looking as hard as they can.”

“Well, what have they found? Fingerprints? A vehicle? Have they matched the bullet to a gun?”

There was a long pause, and I knew the news wouldn’t be good.

“None of that. They’re still looking for his position, but if the sniper shot from the treeline, that’s almost five hundred yards away, which leaves a lot of ground to cover. No witnesses. So far, it looks like the perpetrator got away clean. Every agency is looking into…possible motives.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

That brief hesitation told me he was holding something back.

“It’s not important.”

“Yes, it is.”

Another pause.

“Daddy, I need to know.”

He sighed deeply. “I’ve been involved in a senate subcommittee on domestic terrorism. Last week, we all received letters threatening our families. The FBI didn’t see it as a legitimate threat at the time, but obviously they’re rethinking that.”

“What about the waiter who died? Is there no way the shooter aimed for him intentionally?”

“The police don’t think so. He’d worked at the club for three years, and there’s nobody in his background who could afford a professional hit. His only family was a wife and a two-year-old son.”

I’d kept it together up to that point, but when I thought of the tiny child who’d never know his father, the dam broke. Tears rolled down my cheeks until the policeman hovering in the doorway handed me tissues to wipe them with.

“That p-p-poor man. It should have been me.”

Daddy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m thankful it wasn’t.”

“Can you help his family?”

“Douglas has already offered whatever assistance they need.”

“How is Douglas?” I even missed him, and that rarely happened.

“Worried, like we all are. I spoke to him this morning, and he’s praying you’ll be home soon.”

At least now that I had this phone, I could call him.

“He’s not the only one.” Another sniffle escaped. “Daddy, I’m scared.”

“I know, Twinkle. I’m scared too. But I promise I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe.”

“Can you tell Pippa what happened?” She was my best friend, my only real friend. “She’ll be worried.”

“I’ll call her.”

We talked for a few more minutes, mainly about Daddy’s new boat. I knew he was only trying to take my mind off the shooting, and although it didn’t work, I appreciated his efforts.

“We’ll go out for a sail as soon as you get back, how about that?”

“Sure, Daddy.”

“Keep your chin up, Twinkle. I’ve got meetings for the rest of the day, but if you need me, call my secretary and she’ll put you through.”

As soon as he hung up, I dialled Douglas. Hearing familiar voices settled the nerves fluttering in my stomach.

“Is that you, Georgia?”

“Yes, I’m on a different phone.”

“Thank goodness you’re okay. We’ve all been terribly worried. And I can’t find my airplane cufflinks. Do you know where they are?”

Cufflinks? He was worried about cufflinks? “I think they’re in your travel bag.”

“Oh. I didn’t look there. How are things in the, er, safe house?”

“A little dull. Would you be able to send me more of my things?” Like all the stuff I asked for in the first place.

“I’ll be away for a day or two, but I can ask Manuela to pack another case tomorrow.”

“You’re still going to New York?”

“I can’t afford to pass up speaking engagements. Not before the election. You said you understood that?”

“Well, yes, but…” We’d had that conversation weeks ago, when he announced we’d have to skip our annual skiing trip. Yes, I could understand his campaign being more important than a week in Aspen, but taking precedence over…this?

He huffed a little, and I pictured him pursing his lips. “I’ll only be gone for a few days, and from what your father said, you’ll still be away. We’ll be lucky if you’re able to accompany me to the Hearts and Minds charity soiree at the end of the month.”

That was two weeks away. I’d go stir-crazy if I was stuck here for that long. “I hope I’ll be back by then.”

“So do I. It’ll look poor if I have to attend on my own. Not to mention all the papers calling to interview you. If you’re away for too long, they’ll move onto another story, and that’ll be a big opportunity lost.”

When he said things like that, I wanted to throttle him. “Douglas, a man died. It’s not all about me. Or you.”

“I’m well aware of that. I’ve already met the guy’s wife and son. Now, that made a great photo op.”

“I’m going now.” Before I threw the phone against the wall.

“Call me tomorrow, as long as your new bodyguards will let you use the phone.”

“Sorry? What bodyguards?”

“The ones your father hired.”

“He hired bodyguards? I already have the police here.”

“Exactly. I tried to tell him how bad it would look if we were seen to undermine local law enforcement, but he insisted.”

Why did Douglas always have to be so negative? “You know what, I’m glad he did. At least someone cares.”

“Georgia, I know how stressful this is for us, but there’s no need to take that tone.”

“Stressful for us? Us? You’re not the one stuck in a no-star jail cell.”

“It’s not easy for me, either. Manuela called in sick today.”

That was it. I hung up.