The Target

33

BY THE TIME everyone had all the answers he or she wanted, Ramsey was feeling human enough to walk down to see Emma. She and Virginia Trolley were sitting in a corner of the cafeteria, their heads close together.

Emma looked up and saw him. She let out a yelp and dashed to him, wrapping herself around his leg.

"It's all right, Emma," he said, patting her head. "See? I'm walking. It's for real. Nobody's holding me up.

It was just another little bullet to a big macho guy like me. Now, let me pick you up so you can give me a proper hug."

"No, let me do it," Savich said and hoisted Emma up to eye level with Ramsey. She reached out and hugged him. He kissed her ear. "You smell good, Em. What is that? Oscar de la Renta?"

"No, that's the soap from the hotel." Then Emma drew back and said, "Was that a joke, Ramsey?"

Molly said to Sherlock, who was looking fit and quite beautiful and watching her husband with new eyes,

"Ramsey loves her so much. Maybe someday he'll even love me."

"The man's found Nirvana and he knows it, Molly,"

Sherlock said in a matter-of-fact voice, still looking at her husband holding Emma, a besotted look on his face. "I've always liked Ramsey. Now that he's got you, everything will be just fine. What do you think, Molly? Does Dillon look like a natural holding Emma or what?"

THE orderly had brought two cots into Ramsey's room the night before. The whole family was together.

They were sound asleep when the door suddenly burst open and Lieutenant McPherson ran in.

Ramsey was out of bed in an instant, ready to fight, and he nearly passed out cold. He fell back against the bed, breathing hard. "What the hell's wrong?"

"No, it's all right, Judge Hunt," McPherson said, panting. "I was just worried that something could have happened to you as well. Here, let me help you back into bed."

"What are you talking about?" Molly said, helping Ramsey herself. Emma was halfway to Ramsey's bed, intent, he knew, on protecting him.

"It's Dickerson," McPherson said. "They think somebody put something, maybe potassium, into one of his FVs. He's dead."

"Bur there are staff all over the place in the ICU," Virginia Trolley said, shaking her head, still looking utterly incredulous even though McPherson had been talking about it for a good ten minutes. She'd thrown on clothes and rushed to his hospital room when Ramsey had called her. Ramsey had never seen her without makeup before and her hair uncombed and her red blazer wrinkled. She looked cute. He'd never tell her that, of course, because she'd knock him out.

"How could anybody get in there," she continued, "stick a needle into the IV tube, and get out again, all without being seen by anybody? There weren't any guards on him, why would there be? He wasn't going anywhere on his own and no one ever thought he'd need protection. We've spoken to security and they've sealed off the hospital, but good luck on that. They're checking videotape right now to see if there's anything suspicious."

"Lieutenant McPherson said a nurse saw someone dressed in hospital whites," Molly said. "But that's no big deal. It's a little like wearing a uniform at the Pentagon. Nobody gives you much of a second glance if you appear to be someone who's supposed to belong."

"She's right," Ramsey said. "It's the only reasonable answer. Actually I don't think it's all that reasonable, but hey, this is a hospital, not a top-security area. The hospital staff weren't alerted to keep an eye out."

He closed his eyes a minute. He was exhausted, his rib hurt, his shoulder ached like the devil, and he was ready to call in the cavalry for a pain pill.

He suddenly felt Emma's hand slip into his. He turned his head to see her studying him, knowing that he hurt, not knowing what to do about it. It was a lie, but he said cleanly, "I'm just fine, Emma. But I like you right here holding my hand."

He also felt incredible relief. Dickerson was dead, long gone, no more threat to anyone. Emma was safe.

Lieutenant McPherson cleared his throat. "I also ran in here, Judge Hunt, because, to tell you the truth, you're the best suspect."

"I'm not moving too quickly right now," Ramsey said. "I nearly hung it up when you burst through that door. I think stealing a white coat, finding some potassium, since I don't carry any around with me, and walking nonchalantly into the ICU just might have been beyond even my abilities, astounding though they be."

"That was a joke," Emma said to Lieutenant McPherson.

"I know. I'm glad all of you were here. It makes things easier."

Not an hour later, when the three of them were finally alone again, though they could see news vans below them in the street, they discovered they were all still too hyped to go back to sleep. The phone rang. Molly answered it, then, with a strange look on her face, she handed it to Ramsey. "I don't understand. It's my father. He wants to speak to you."

Ramsey thought briefly about pressing the speaker button. No, Emma was here. He picked up the phone and identified himself. It was indeed Mason Lord. He said, "I'm much better and I understand that you'll survive as well, Ramsey. Oh yes, I'm also given to understand that there will be no more problems with that animal who was after Emma, and shot you."

Ramsey said very quietly, though he could feel the blood pounding through him, "How did you know, sir?

Surely there hasn't been enough time for it to be on the news yet."

Mason laughed softly, then said, amusement lacing his voice, "I have friends everywhere, Ramsey. Of course I find things out very quickly. Actually, one could almost say that I find some things out almost before they happen."

Had it been Gunther who killed Dickerson? Or had Mason hired local talent for just this one assignment?

Now that he'd had a second or two to think about it, he wasn't at all surprised. He didn't say anything.

Why bother? What was there to say anyway?

"Now Emma doesn't have to be afraid, nor do you or Molly. I will expect the three of you here for Thanksgiving. That's my favorite holiday. No one expects extravagant gifts, just a great meal, which Miles always delivers."

"Yes," Ramsey said. "We'll be there." Slowly, he placed the phone back in the receiver. He looked at Molly and shook his head. She frowned a moment, then he knew she understood. She made a big deal out of yawning. "I'm ready to fold my tent. How about you, Em?"

"I'm sleepy too, Mama. What did Grandpa want, Ramsey?"

"He wanted to make sure we were all right. Nothing more."

"He was nice to call," Emma said, kissed Ramsey, and let her mother tuck her in.

Ramsey leaned back and closed his eyes. His shoulder was hurting like the devil. His fingertips tingled.

His head ached. Now this. Molly leaned down to kiss him. He whispered, "He had Dickerson killed.

What am I supposed to do?"

"Tell McPherson the truth. It won't matter, you know it won't. No one will ever take down my father. In fact I'll bet my father wants you to tell the cops. He's probably laughing right now, imagining it."

He suspected she was right. He called out, "Good night, Emma. Sleep well. You too, Molly."

It was all over, Ramsey thought, as he walked up the stairs of their San Francisco home, Emma at his side. All over. He was thinking about Dickerson's mother in Duluth. She had paid for his cremation.

Ramsey had actually gone, Savich with him, just to be sure, just to see the man before he was reduced to gray silt.

"Mama's asleep," Emma said. "She was really tired. I don't think she slept well last night."

That was true enough. He hadn't either. Emma had said she'd wanted to sleep in her own room, which was the reason neither of them had slept much. It was odd, but he'd missed her cuddling against them, at least in the morning he had.

"I hope she's not still asleep," Ramsey said. "I want to see her smile. She's done a lot of that since we got back home yesterday."

He stood in the doorway of their bedroom. Emma had left him, running down to her bedroom to fetch one of her toys. Molly was lying on her side, her back to him. She was wearing only a pair of white panties that were high cut on the sides. Her bottom leg was straight, the top leg was slightly bent. There wasn't a more seductive pose for a woman. He swallowed. Her hair was a glorious mess, tangled over a beautiful expanse of white flesh that made him want to walk right over there and begin kissing her back, starting at the base of her neck downward, until he could pull her panties away. They'd made love three times the previous night. He suspected there would have been a fourth time this morning, but Emma had had other plans.

"Mama kicked off the blanket," Emma said matter-of-factly beside him. She walked to the bed and gently raised the blanket to cover her mother. Molly stirred. She fell over onto her back and opened her eyes.

"Emma," she said, and raised her hand to cup her daughter's face. "Have you been taking care of Ramsey?"

"Yes, Mama. He's a lot better. He promised his shoulder only hurt a little bit. The best thing is he's not worried about me anymore."

"Emma, I'll worry about you until you're ninety years old. Now if we could just get rid of the press then everything would be fine and dandy," Ramsey said. "I'd really like to take you guys down to meet all the people in my office. We've also got a dynamite view." He sighed. "But you can bet the press is hanging out there." He walked to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Molly's nose. "You have a good sleep?"

She gave him a long lazy look that made him start to get hard again. "Yeah, no bad dreams, just oblivion.

It's nice for a change. I'd best call my mom before it gets too late in Italy. She was concerned about Emma, and I promised."

Later in the kitchen, Molly put through the call, while Ramsey stood at the counter chopping some carrots and broccoli. Emma was setting the table.

Molly smiled into the phone, balancing it between her neck and shoulder as she stole a carrot. "Yes, Mom. How are you?"

"Fine, dear. Is everything all right?"

Molly told her, in a highly edited version, how the man had been captured. She finally told her that he'd been murdered in the hospital.

Her mother was silent for just a heartbeat, then she said, with affection, "Your father was always very efficient. Did he call you shortly after the man was dead to tell you that you were safe?"

Molly stared at the phone. "Yes, that's exactly what he did. The police still haven't located the person who shot potassium into Dickerson's IV."

"They won't either. Not a chance. Your father always hires reliable help."

"Yes, I suppose so. But I'm still very worried for him. He's been nearly killed, twice. That Rule Shaker doesn't seem like the type to give up."

"No, he never was. I doubt he's changed."

Molly jumped up from her chair, nearly pulling the phone off the wall. "What do you mean, Mom? Do you know Rule Shaker?"

"Certainly, dear. I knew him a very long time ago, when both he and your father were just getting started in their businesses. They were excellent friends, way back when. Our two families did everything together. I very much enjoyed his wife, Lorna, poor woman. She died in an automobile accident some fifteen years ago. I always believed Rule Shaker was responsible for that."

"But, Mom, they're bitter enemies now. It was Rule Shaker who blew up Louey, when Ramsey, Emma, and I were the actual targets. It was Rule Shaker who murdered a fanner in Colorado. He's tried twice to kill Father."

"These things happen, Molly. Just a moment." Molly heard her mother switch to her musical Italian.

"What, Maria? Oh yes, just put my tea on the table. That's fine. Do go to bed." Her mother returned, switching back to English. "Yes, dear? What were we speaking about?"

The good Lord give me patience, Molly thought, looking upward. "We were talking about the fact that my father and Rule Shaker are trying to kill each other. Why didn't I ever know about this? Why don't the police know about this? What happened between them?"

"I don't know about the police, dear. Surely they know. The split was no secret. As for you, why would you have ever known? The split happened when you were a little girl. Just before I left your father, actually. It was only a year later that Rule's wife left him."

"Do you know, what happened?"

"Yes, dear. I don't suppose it matters now. You're all grown up with a daughter of your own. Rule Shaker wanted me to sleep with him, but you see, I was in love with your father. Too, I didn't really care for him. Rule looked like a gangster, if you know what I mean, the kind of gangster Hollywood put on the screen if they wanted no sympathy for the character, the kind who smokes. Your father never did look like anything but an aristocrat. He still does, in the photos I've seen of him over the years."

"But what happened?"

"Your father walked in on us. Rule Shaker was trying to force me, actually, and in a very crude way.

Being a man, your father blamed me as well as his friend. It was the end of our marriage and the end of their friendship and business dealings. It was a very difficult time."

"I remember we went to Italy," Molly said slowly. "That was just after this had happened?"

"That's right. But it's a long time in the past, twenty years. Now, Molly, let me speak to Emma. I would like all of you to come to Italy for Thanksgiving. No worry about giving anyone a gift they won't like, just a very good meal. Our cook here, Magdalana, is just excellent. She'd never cooked a turkey in her life until she came to me. Will you come?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that, Mom."

"Oh, yes, I did see a photo of your father in Time magazine, with his wife. It appears he's going to live, yet again. Well, I suppose that's good. After all, he did remove the threat from Emma."

"He had Dickerson murdered, Mother," Molly said, then realized she was a damned hypocrite and said quickly, "Although I wanted to kill him myself. You're right. No matter what else Father is, he did save Emma from a horrible experience in the courtroom, at the very least."

"Well, he still should be careful, don't you think?"

"Naturally," Molly said. "I don't think Rule Shaker is the kind of man to give up. I'm sure Father knows him well enough to realize that as well."

"Oh yes, he'll think he's being careful, but it isn't Rule I'm talking about. I just hope your father knows what he's doing."

"Doing about what?"

"Well, dear, it's his wife. I hadn't realized whom he'd married. In fact, it seems incredible to me that he would marry her, but evidently he didn't see any harm. Men are strange, don't you think? They think with their penises. That's what my mother always told me."

Molly shook her head. "I don't understand, Mom. What's strange about Eve? Admittedly she's younger than I am, but many older men have trophy wives, and yeah, I'd probably agree that most men do think with their dicks."

"Molly, dear, that's such a crude word. Now, that isn't what I meant. There was so much bad blood between your father and Rule Shaker and it just kept getting worse. They went after the same deals.

Sometimes one would win, sometimes the other, but the rivalry has just gotten stronger over the years.

That's why this is such a surprise."

"What's such a surprise?" Molly rolled her eyes toward Ramsey, who raised a black eyebrow.

"Your father's wife, dear. Eve. There was an excellent photo of her in Time magazine, just after your father was shot that first time. Didn't you know, dear? She's Rule Shaker's eldest daughter."