Marcus glanced at his friend as they crossed to the elevator that was reserved for security use this evening. "It took you long enough to confirm it was an honest mistake."

"I noticed you weren't complaining."

Dave was probing and Marcus knew it; hejust smiled and ignored the comment. The family grapevine would love to hear news that he had met someone he liked. Ie didn't intend to feed it even unintentionally, They wanted him to be happy, and every couple years his social life became a hot topic behind his back on the family grapevine. It would settle down when someone else in the family became more interesting. Family, He had to love them. Dave was fitting right in.

Shari fit what he was looking for at the moment. She was someone he could relax with for a few minutes in the midst of a pressure-filled weekend. Ie had learned to seize those unexpected moments in life.

Over the security net came word Justice loosevelt was ready to come down. Separating the conversation he was having with the security net conversation he was monitoring was habit after all these years. Marcus completed a sentence with Dave and made a request on the security net with barely a pause in between. Ie got back confirmation from the three agents securing the area into the ballroom that they were ready, Satisfied with his own inspection of the area, he gave the go-ahead. "Send his Ionor down."

Dave watched the elevator numbers start down from the nineteenth floor. "Going to find an excuse to meet her again?"

There were some things that couldn't be kept a secret in this tight knit security community and in this instance Marcus didn't even try. "We're having coffee in the morning."

"Can I tell that to Kate?"

If Dave mentioned it tonight, Kate would likely find an excuse to drop by the hotel in the morning. "Save it for when you need to dig yourself out of the doghouse for something," Marcus replied, drawing a laugh from his friend.

Connor Gray sat at table twenty-two and twirled his fork as he listened to Judge Whitmore's speech. He listened and his hate grew; his target was now in sight.

His older brother was dead because of this judge. For twelve years the death penalty appeals had wound through the system and no one had stopped the sentence given by this man. It had been carried out.

Now he would return the favor.

He had thought about it, as he had promised his brother he would do. He had thought about it for nine months. He had almost decided to let it go as Daniel had asked, until rumors of the Supreme Court nomination had surfaced.

Connor had gotten hold of a copy of the brief floating around. It was good. Very good. It laid the road map for a senate confirmation of Judge Whitmore. The president was known to be heavily weighing that reality as he made his decision; it wasn't going to be easy to get a conservative justice confirmed. The brief tipped the ultimate decision strongly in favor of Judge Whitmore. There was no way Connor would allow this judge to sit on the Supreme Court.

He could get away with the murder. He knew what it would take to convict him, and they wouldn't have it. He had planned with a logic his brother would have been proud of. The mistakes others made had been eliminated. Witnesses. Evidence. He knew what it would take to create reasonable doubt. He had more than just alibis in place.

And he knew the value of the character card at trial. He had been forced to become the good son, to pay for the sins of his brother. As a result he was a man who didn't even have so much as a parking ticket to his name. He could claim the best schools; he had a lolodex of the right friends, a distinguished career.

He was being forced to act sooner than he had planned. Judge Whitmore wasn't on the president short list yet, but Justice Department sources said the judge's name would be added soon. Once he was on that list, reaching past security to get to him would be impossible.

As it turned out, even that change in timing had worked out to his benefit. He was here, within sight of his target, and no one suspected what he had planned.

Connor excused himself as Judge Whitmore speech concluded.

Shari was safely back at table six. Marcus saw her seated there as he scanned the room. He stood behind Justice loosevelt: listening, watching, attuned to any movement in the crowd, staying relaxed, ready to react. An older couple, a second look confirmed they were her parents, sat to Shari left. Joshua sat to her right. A nice guy, her brotherl young but protective. Not many men would have made that direct a silent challenge to him.

As an older brother himself, he had accepted the silent challenge with more amusement than personal irritation. Shari was frankly too open with strangersl she needed a Joshua in her life watching out for her.

He was going to enjoy having coffee with her. He liked her willingness to admit with self-directed humor to being directionally challenged. he liked the confidence in her gaze when she met his. She carried herself with the ease of someone comfortable with who she was. He smiled just thinking about her comeback regarding sharing secrets unilaterally, Someone who could laugh at herself was rare and very appealing.

She was pretty; not classically beautiful, but pretty, When she'd walked into the Belmont room by mistake he'd captured details out of habit: brunette; blue eyes; five-feet-three; slender; midthirties; a small, white scar on the left corner of her top lip; teeth so straight she had probably worn braces as a child. A few minutes with her and she had his full attention. She reminded him of his sister Jennifer, someone who vibrated with life.

It was such a subtle sign, Shari reaching up to grasp her brother's wrist, but it shouted. In her world, family was close, special, and trusted. She had been given that gift by luck of birth; he had found it with the O'Malleys. They'd share at least one thing in common: love of family.

He wished he had bumped into her under different circumstances. This was bad timing. It wasn't like either one of them lived in Chicago; it wasn't like he would get a chance to see her after this weekend if he wanted to follow up coffee with a more substantive invitation to dinner. Unless...the back of Shari's photograph had given her name, listed her residence as Virginia.

He traveled constantly with work, was based out of Washington, but his apartment was in Arlington, Virginia, just across the Potomac River, north of Arlington National Cemetery. When he was in town, he took advantage of the hiking trails maintained on Roosevelt Island for his morning run. If Shari were interested, if she lived somewhere in his area of Virginia, maybe he wouldn't have to meet her once and then say goodbye...

"Movement on the right, yellow zone, subject unidentified."

Marcus turned his attention toward the threat without appearing to move. If someone unidentified broke the red zone, ten tables from the speakers' table, they would be forcibly stopped. The waiters were not all waiters.

Nothing had happened; it was the best kind of evening. Marcus stretched a cramp out of his right shoulder and rubbed his forearm. Ever since the O'Malley baseball game on the Fourth of July when he'd backhanded a throw to catch Dave out at first base, the muscles had been acting up. He smiled, remembering Kate's outrage when Dave had been called out. A sore arm was worth it.

Chairs fell with a clatter. Marcus turned to see two workers move to pick them up. The hotel crews were beginning to take down the decorations in the ballroom, rearrange the tables. In seven hours this room had to be reconfigured for a breakfast meeting for six hundred.

"Marcus, we've got a problem."

His partner Quinn was striding across the room toward him. "The evening was going so well. Justice Roosevelt?"

"Thank goodness, no. He's safely tucked back in his suite on the secure floor. Washington just called. The president added Judge Whitmore to his short list."

Marcus raised one eyebrow. "The president added him at this time of night?" He shook his head in answer to his own question. The decision had likely been made some time ago and they were only now hearing about it. His frustration showed in his scowl. "When are they going to realize they need to warn us first, before they take the names to the president for consideration?"

"Exactly. Be glad they didn't leak the name during his speech." "Is there a room free on the secure floor?" "The East Suite."

Marcus glanced at his watch. Kate would be here soon. "Let's go find the judge and get him moved to the nineteen floor. Did you pull his threat "It's being faxed over now. Apparently it's pretty clean."

"That will change as his name leaks out." They left the ballroom and moved through the lobby, skirting past guests to the private corridor. "Do we have a deputy we can assign?"

was thinking about Chuck Nance, Quinn replied. "He's covering the live television interviews in the Ontario loom; he'll be free within the hour."

"He's good; okay. get him assigned. I-Iow else is it going?"

"Besides a fender bender, a paparazzi trying to get a photo of Judge Frenston kissing the wife of Judge Burkhaven, and the hotel running out of imported caviar? It's just wonderful. You should have this job." "Burkhaven's wife?"

"Don't wor I was tactful when I suggested they might want to find some privacy."

"I wish I had been a fly on the wall."

"This keeps up, I'm going to ask for a reassignment. I hired on to chase bad guys, not be a diplomat."

"But you're so good at it," Marcus protested, chuckling at Quinn's scowl. Marcus saw Dave ahead of them, just stepping into an elevator. "Dave, hold the elevator."

Dave caught the door so they could join him. "What's up?"

"We've got a judge to move to the secure floor. Can you give us a hand?"

"Sure. Who?"

"Whitmore. loom 96I ," Quinn replied.

Dave pushed the button for the ninth floor of the hotel.

"Shari, you're pacing again." Joshua, stretched out on the couch, waved her out of his way so he could flip through the television channels looking for the late news.

"The phone is never going to ring."

"Would you quit worrying? The call will come. Carl is not even back yet. He was still talking to the conference host when we left to come up."

Shari knew he was right, but still... She walked over to the desk where she had temporarily set up shop for these three days, looking for something to do to keep herself occupied. Patience was a virtue she would one day have to work on. "How long before dinner arrives?" They had settled on ordering Italian, Carl's favorite.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes."

She rummaged to find a pen and pad of paper, deciding she might as well do some work. She was working on a major school reform speech. The same day the speech was given, a detailed position paper would be released. Getting the two to meld together with clarity was a challenge.

The suite she was sharing with her parents was like many hotel rooms she had stayed in over the years, and as usual her things had sprawled. Abandoning the desk since it did not have room for her, she settled in one of the plush wingback chairs, and set her glass of iced tea on the side table.

She had always found it easy to get lost in her work, but tonight it was a struggle. When she realized she'd scrawled the name Marcus in the margin of her note page, she forced herself to turn the page. Marcus was tomorrow morning's distraction, and if it was one thing she prided herself on, it was keeping her focus.

Not that she had heard a word of Supreme Court Justice loosevelt's speech tonight, not with Marcus standing behind him on the stage. She was almost certain Marcus had looked her way more than necessary during the evening. She would like to imagine he had really winked at her, but she wasn't quite certain enough to risk asking him in the morning. Marcus got better looking the longer she had looked, and she'd sat there bemused for over an hour.

A cop. She was interested in a cop. She gave a silent chuckle. Given her profession, it was probably as good a choice as any. She'd love to have him at her side when the mud started to fly at one of the numerous social gatherings she attended as part of her job. She had a feeling politicians would temper their words around him.

Anne was going to enjoy hearing this news. John's deputy chief of staff, her longtime friend, had been encouraging her to get over Sam for months. Of course, it wasn't exactly going to be easy to find the right words... Anne, I bumped into this guy with a gun. She grinned. Yeah. That would work.

She glanced up when the sound of footsteps came her direction. Her dad had changed from his suit.

"Working on John speech?"

Dad knew her well. "Trying to." He had read the first draft yesterday.

"You've got a challenge making the intricacies of bond refinancing clear."

"Tell me about it. Ijust keep reminding listeners it money. Either pay now or pay more later. That always catches attention." A knock on the door interrupted them. Joshua got up to answer it. loom service had arrived with dinner. Shari set aside the work to help Josh clear the table so they could set it out.

"Is Carl back?" her dad asked.

Shari heard something from next door. "There he is now, right on time."

She walked across the suite to the connecting door with the adjoining hotel room, carrying one of the hot cheese-filled breadsticks Josh had ordered for an appetizer. The good news hadn't come yet, but this feast couldn't wait. She tapped on the door. "Carl, dinner's here." The connecting door had never been latched and it swung open under her hand. "Josh thinks your speech-"

The muted sound of a silenced gunshot echoed through Carl's room. Horror swelled inside Shari like a wave as she saw Carl crumble backwards to the floor, his face turning toward her. His eyes showed unspeakable fear, surprise, then a blank nothing. The breadstick dropped from her hand. The shooter stood to her left, less than six feet away. She had surprised him; that fact registered in the brief instant when she simply stood there.

He wore a dark suit, tailored, with a burgundy red tie, a white herringbone shirt, and black shoes polished to a high shine. His face showed angry determination, and his gray eyes as he turned to look at her were filled with intense hatred.

She tried to scream and when it came, it ripped from the back of her throat.

He was already firing as he swung toward her; the first bullet kicked up wood from the door frame inches from her face. Her hand flew up at the sharp sting.

Joshua hit her; it was a full tackle with no finesse, catching her low in the ribs and knocking her out of the doorway. She slammed into the side table, and the lamp crashed down with her as she tumbled over the couch. Her forearm hit hard wood, her right knee twisted, and her chin cracked against the floor, sending shooting pain through her face.

The shots went on and on, emptying into the room, and then it went deathly quiet. Shari could hear nothing but the pounding of her heartbeat. She lifted her head slowly from the carpet abrading her cheek, heard a door slam somewhere in the background, and turned her head, quivering.

"Josh!" He lay partially over her lower legs, crumpled to the floor with his arms outstretched. He wasn't moving. She tried to slip free without her high heels hitting his face.

As soon as she was clear, she turned and scrambled back toward him on her hands and knees, seeing a spreading pool of blood staining his white shirt around his right shoulder and his upper back. The sight terrified her. All her life she had watched him be the adventurous one, the athlete, and now he lay crumbled with his eyes closed as if all the strings had been cut. She turned him awkwardly so he wasn't lying on the wound.

She heard her mother moan and looked around, then froze as she watched her mom try to lift the limp body of her father into her arms. A streak of blood along the wall showed where her father had been flung back by the bullet's impact; he had crumpled there. He couldn't be dead. No! He couldn't be dead.

It registered and yet it didn't; disbelief was overriding what her eyes were telling her. Someone had killed Carl; tried to kill her; and shot her brother and her father.

It hit so hard she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't pray. Words weren't connecting. Joshua's eyes flickered open: blue, dilated. Almost immediately they began to glaze over. He made no sound, but his eyes...

Her thoughts cleared. Her mind sharpened. The moment crystallized. An icy calmness settled across her.

"mom, lay Dad flat. Get pressure on the bleeding," she said, hoping it wasn't too late for him.

She pressed her hands tight against Josh's shoulder, feeling them grow slick with his blood. "Hold on, Josh. Just hold on." She could see her hands shaking but couldn't feel it. "You're going to be all right."

He struggled to breathe. It was a frightening sound.

The table was on its side and she yanked the fallen phone toward her by the cord. She had to hang up the receiver to get a dial tone back. She hit zero, leaving a bloody fingerprint.

"There's been a shooting in suite 963. We need medical help." She was stunned at how clear her voice was. She was so tense her muscles were going to break bones, but her voice was calm. Joshua and her dad couldn't afford it if she panicked.

"Ma'am-"

"My name is Shari Hanford. Someone just shot Judge Whitmore. My dad and brother were also hit. I need help, now! Suite 963," she repeated.

"It's "

on the way She had rattled the reception desk attendant. "Stay on the line-"

Shari dropped the phone to the carpet, not hanging up, but needing both hands for Joshua. "mom, bow's Dad?" She swiveled around on her heels and saw her mom's face. If she wasn't already having a second heart attack, she was on the verge of one. Her mom was one of the strongest ladies Shari knew, but not in her health. A heart infection after surgery ten years ago had made her vulnerable, and a mild heart attack two years ago had worsened that outlook. A shock like this could kill her. "mom, where are your pills?" Shari asked urgently "I'm okay for now. Stay with Josh."

Shari looked at Josh, then back at her mom, a sense of panic taking hold. Help wasn't going to arrive in time. Jesus, I need You more now than I've ever needed You before. Please, send help quickly]

"Shots fired! Suite 963. Repeat, shots fired, suite 963!"

Marcus, Quinn, and Dave flattened against the side walls of the elevator, realizing with a startled and then grim glance between themselves that the elevator doors were opening on floor nine at that very instant. Marcus hit the emergency stop button, relieved they had silenced the alarms during the security preparations. Guns drawn, they moved out of the confined space, covering for each other.

The elevator opened into a small alcove. A gold plaque on the facing corridor wall showed rooms 930 to 949 and stairs to the left, rooms 950 to 969 and vending to the right.

A glance up showed none of the guest elevators were moving. The shooter hadn't gone out this way. "Freeze the southwest elevators," Marcus quietly ordered the control center. "Three officers now on the floor."

Dave slipped a small four-inch mirror from his pocket and used it to check both directions of the corridor. "Empty."

The only sound was the faint one of the ice machine down the hall. It didn't mean much. Marcus knew these hotel rooms were nearly soundproof, having more than once opened the door to his suite to find that Quinn had the television blaring so he could listen to the news as he shaved.

Marcus touched Quinn's shoulder and pointed left toward the stairs. Quinn nodded and moved that direction.

Marcus tapped Dave to help him investigate suite 963.

The vending area at the end of the hall worried him and he kept his attention on that danger point as they moved down the hall. A guest room door opened and they both pivoted, guns aimed, only to immediately check their movements. Dave waved the horrified guest back inside his FOOm.