“UNIT SEVEN TO UNIT ONE. We need backup!” Vince Russo’s voice barked in Harlan’s ear as he watched the governor readying herself to climb the shallow steps of the riser holding a delicate brass podium from which she’d speak in a minute or two.
“Unit Seven, what’s the situation?” He stepped back into an alcove, not wanting to raise alarm among the guests gathered on the ballroom floor.
“Black bloc action on the protest front. They’re overrunning the perimeter guards. We need at least three or four more bodies to get them back in line!”
Harlan radioed the other checkpoints that had multiple guards and peeled off three agents to head for the south gate, where the governor had provided a cordoned-off protest area.
He kept a close eye on the ballroom as he did so, not liking the timing of the sudden eruption from the protestors. He couldn’t pour all his attention and resources into quelling the protestors-they could be a decoy designed to draw his attention away from the governor.
He headed toward the governor. “Ma’am, we have a situation.” He told her what was happening. “I think we need to consider evacuating the guests from the ballroom.”
“Surely you’re overreacting-”
“Harlan!” A high-pitched, unmistakable voice rose over the murmur of the crowd, drawing Harlan’s attention away from the governor. He scanned the crowd for a face he knew couldn’t possibly be there.
But there he was, only a few yards away, looking tiny and rumpled in his pajamas with the yellow ponies galloping over a blue field. Zachary spotted Harlan and crossed the floor as fast as his slipper-clad feet would take him.
“Unit Two, Unit Six, cover Cowgirl,” Harlan said into the headset, referring to the governor, as he hurried to meet Zachary halfway. The fear in the boy’s eyes made his gut twist.
“You said to find you if Mommy needed you,” Zachary said, out of breath. “I ran all the way here to look for you.”
“Where’s your mama?”
“At home. You have to come.”
Three fast cracking noises split the air. Around them, people started screaming and running.
Gunfire.
Chapter Seventeen
Curling himself around Zachary to keep the child from being hit by gunfire or trampled by the crowd, Harlan located the governor’s position. Parker McKenna was blocking her body with his, while Nolan Law was covering Bart Bellows in his wheelchair as the agents hustled them both out the side exit, probably to the armored SUV parked outside for just such a contingency.
Relieved on one point, Harlan scanned the gallery above. The shots had come from that direction.
There. He saw movement behind one of the columns. A man dressed in all black, his face covered with a ski mask.
“All units, gunman on the second floor gallery, west section.” He picked Zachary up and carried him beneath the overhang created by the second floor walkway, below the gunman’s position. A doorway nearby led into the governor’s office. He dug the keys to the office from his pocket and took Zachary inside. “Zachary, listen-you know how important promises are, right?”
Zachary was crying, but he nodded.
“Promise you’ll stay here until I come get you. Promise?”
Zachary nodded again.
Zachary kissed the little boy’s forehead. “I love you, little man. Stay right here and I’ll be back to get you. I promise.”
“Promises are important,” Zachary said on a soft hitching sob.
“That’s right.” Harlan slipped out the door on the opposite side of the office, locking it behind him.
Listening to the radio chatter to get his bearings, he tried to anticipate where the gunman might go now that he’d been thwarted in his quest to shoot the governor. But all he could think about was what Zachary had said to him just before the shots rang out.
When was the last time he’d seen Stacy? When she headed to the guesthouse to check on Zachary and the others?
“Unit Ten, this is Unit One.” Unit Ten was Jeff Appleton, the deputy in charge of guarding the guesthouse. He’d talked to Appleton right before Stacy left so he’d know she was coming.
Had he talked to him since?”
“Unit Ten, please respond.”
Nothing.
Fear settled in the center of Harlan’s chest, heavy as lead. “Unit Seven, Unit Ten is not responding.”
“Unit One, can’t check. All hell’s broken loose out here.”
“All units, Unit One going to check on Unit Ten. Keep looking for the gunman.”
He headed for the side exit, keeping an eye out for the gunman who’d opened fire in the hall. Panicked guests were being herded out of the ballroom doors a few yards to the north, while other security units were scouring the ranch house in search of the shooter.
How the hell had the man in black gotten past the checkpoints to get inside? They had metal detectors set up at all the main entrances-any weapon should have been caught on the scan.
He set that question aside and concentrated on making a quiet approach toward the checkpoint outside the guesthouse. It was empty, he saw to his surprise, but he heard a soft moaning sound coming from somewhere to his left.
Sidetracking, he nearly stumbled over something lying on the shadowy ground beneath a tall cottonwood tree. Flashing the penlight on his key ring onto the ground, he saw Jeff Appleton lying on his side, bleeding from his head. His eyes were fluttering, as if he was trying to regain consciousness.
His sidearm was missing.
“Appleton, it’s McClain.” Harlan crouched by the man, scanning the area to make sure he wasn’t being lured into an ambush. There were no strange sounds, no sign of any furtive movements around him. “Can you hear me?”
Appleton’s eyes flickered open. “McClain.” He winced, touching his hand to his bleeding head.
“Who hit you?”
“Got me from behind.” He blinked hard and tried to sit up, groaning at the effort.
“Don’t move-I’ll call for a medical unit.”
“Wait.” Appleton grabbed Harlan’s arm. “Trevor Lewis.”
Harlan frowned at him. “What about Lewis?”
“Before I got knocked out, I spotted Lewis heading for the house. It was just after you radioed me to tell me Stacy was coming.” His grip on Harlan’s arm weakened. “He had…a key…” His eyes fluttered shut. He was still breathing and still had a strong, steady pulse, Harlan saw with relief. He eased the man to the ground and radioed in his position.
“Unit Ten is down. Need medical assistance.” His gaze slid to the quiet facade of Stacy’s home, his heart pounding a cadence of pure terror. “We may have a hostage situation at the guesthouse.”
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Stacy fought to keep her voice low and calm, even though panic screamed through every cell of her body. Where was Zachary? She’d seen him for a split second when she came into the house, before Trevor locked her son and Jeff Appleton’s little girl, Abby, in Zachary’s bedroom and told them to stay there.
She’d heard Abby crying inconsolably off and on for the past half hour, but not a peep from Zachary.
How would a kid with Asperger’s react to something this unexpected and strange? Shut down and pretend it wasn’t happening? It was possible.
