Catherine Coulter - The Target

"They already did. You got shot in the leg at the cabin and when my daddy blew up your back got hurt, too."

"Just minor stuff. A big guy like me can take lots of minor stuff. Don't worry, Em. Please." She leaned down to pick up her piano. Her security blanket, he thought, wondering what the hell to do. "You know something, Emma?"

She lightly stroked her finger on middle C, not looking at him. Afraid to look at him, he thought.

"I think when we're all a family and everything's okay again, we're going back to Ireland. Shall we all spend our honeymoon at Bunratty Castle?"

She gave him a small smile. She turned away from her piano and pressed herself against his chest. "I don't know, Ramsey. Will Mama be happy?"

"I can make her delirious, just ask her."

Emma raised her head and stared at her mother. "Mama, do you think we can keep Ramsey safe?"

This was a wallop in the gut, Molly thought, smiling at her daughter, whose piano was slipping off Ramsey's lap. She nodded. "Yes, I think we can keep him safe. You see, Em, he's right. He's big and strong. We're not as strong as he is, so we'll be thinking more. We'll be the brains of the operation. Yes, we'll keep him safe."

Emma nodded slowly. "Who shot Grandfather?"

"We don't know yet," Molly said. "But he's alive, Em, and they're taking care of him at the hospital."

"Look at the time," Ramsey said. "We've got to get going or we'll miss your appointment with Dr. Loo."

"I hope we can avoid the media," Molly said, worry lacing her voice as she looked down at Emma.

They did manage to lose the press, and in Dr. Eleanor Loo's office thirty minutes later, Emma said, "Dr.

Loo, Ramsey and my mom are going to get married. What do you think?"

"I think," Eleanor Loo said, fascinated, "that I need to have my secretary go buy us a bottle of champagne. You, Emma, can have a Sprite, is that all right?"

"I'd rather have a Dr. Pepper, Dr. Loo."

"That's great." Dr. Loo got on her phone for a moment, then turned back. "In half an hour, we'll have a toast. Congratulations to both of you. Now, Emma, tell me why you're worried."

"Because Ramsey could get killed like my daddy."

'That's true," Dr. Loo said slowly. "But you see, Emma, anything can happen to anybody in the world at any time. I'll never forget when Princess Diana died so tragically. I'll never forget the shock of it, the realization that none of us has any guarantees on anything. Life is one day at a time and trying to enjoy each day we're given. You've got to discover the knack for doing that. Do you understand?"

"That was different," Emma said. "Bad people are after us. It isn't just bad luck."

"You understand all too well," Dr. Loo said. "Okay, let's look at it this way. Ramsey and your mom want to give you a home. They want the three of you to be a family. They love you and want you to know that they'll always be there for you."

Emma sighed. She looked for a very long time at Ramsey, saying nothing, just studying him. Then she looked at her mother. Then, she turned back to Dr. Loo, and smiled. "I think Ramsey will make me a good papa. He already loves me bunches."

"He does, does he?"

"Yes. He went crazy in San Francisco when that bad man grabbed me again."

Molly had told Dr. Loo on the phone what had happened on the beach.

"Were you scared?"

"Yes, but it was over so fast. Ramsey said I saved myself again."

"What did you do?"

"The man hit me real hard, but I stayed awake. I bit him through his shirt, in the side. He's kind of fat around his stomach. I bit him real deep. He jerked and I got unburied by his coat. Ramsey saw me and the man had to drop me." She turned to Ramsey. "I wish you could have caught him."

"Me too, kiddo."

Dr. Loo spoke alone to Emma for a while and then they drank champagne, Emma drank her Dr. Pepper, and they all accepted congratulations from the staff there and two waiting patients.

One of the patients, an old man with a severe eye twitch, said, "I saw a blurred photo of you, Judge, in one of the rags. You were hugging a little girl."

"No," Emma said loudly, holding her piano really hard to her chest, "he was hugging me. He was upset."

"No, I didn't see anyone," Mason Lord said to Detective 0'Connor. He paused, sucking in his breath with a sudden twinge of pain. He shot a hit of morphine into his vein by pressing the medication button.

Detective O'Connor waited until he saw the pain clear from Lord's eyes. "No shadows, no warning, nothing?"

"No. Gunther and I were just coming from a friend's office. We'd had a little chat with him. A good fellow, a politician."

"His name, sir?"

"State Senator Quentin Kordie. Don't worry about him, Detective, he wouldn't try to shoot me. We're simply friends, that's all."

"Very well. Now, sir, who knew where you would be?"

It was obvious to Molly that her father had thought about that. She hated the calculation in his eyes, the drawing of pain as he sorted again through the few people he believed had known where he would be at that particular time.

Finally, Mason said, "A number of people knew, but, of course, only people in my organization." He paused, pumped another hit of morphine into his vein, and said, "If I've got a traitor in my midst, I'll deal with it, Detective."

"No, Mr. Lord, this is a police matter. It's called attempted murder."

"Then you know who's behind it, Detective. Rule Shaker." He shook his head in bewilderment. "He's never been frankly stupid before. The moron."

Detective O'Connor rose from his chair. "It seems to me, Mr. Lord, that if indeed Mr. Shaker was a moron and did try to kill you, then you've got a big problem. You seem to be well protected for the moment. Naturally, I assume that Rule Shaker has heard that you're still alive. If you're right, I can imagine what he's saying right now."

RULE Shaker wasn't saying anything. He was standing close to the huge glass window in his office that looked out over an endless stretch of desert. He hadn't ever wanted a view of Las Vegas. He lived in a city of kitsch. He wasn't about to look at it unless he had to.

The desert was clean, the air pure, so hot that all life sheltered during the hottest part of the day. Including people. He couldn't see a single soul in that vast expanse. He turned slowly as Murdock said, "Rudy's still hanging out at that motel in Oak Park, waiting for orders."

"Let him continue to wait. I hear that Lord is getting stronger every day in that hospital. He's going to live."

"That's the word," Murdock said, uncrossing his legs. He'd gained weight since he'd gotten back from Germany. He hadn't liked following Louey Santera around, but that's what Mr. Shaker had ordered him to do and that's what he'd done. Now he was home and could eat all the KFC he'd missed in Germany.

He'd put on six pounds since he'd returned.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do, sir?"

"I'm thinking about it, Murdock. For the moment, we'll just let him lie in his bed, feel lots of pain, and think about his transgressions."

"Mason Lord doesn't believe in transgressions," Murdock said. He studied his boss, the man who'd taken him out of the street six years before and trained him to be one of his forward men. Yes, he was one of the FM now, a group everyone important had heard of. He was respected and admired. He should get the six pounds off.

Mr. Shaker wasn't tall and aristocratic-looking like Mason Lord. Nature had shortchanged him, topping him off at a mere five foot seven inches. But he was a fit little man, hard and lean. He dressed beautifully, mostly in handmade English suits from Savile Row. But he was cursed with a swarthy complexion, flat black glass for eyes, scary eyes that made him look like a Middle Eastern terrorist or a religious fundamentalist, and a five-o'-clock shadow that started at nine o'clock in the morning. Actually, he looked like the Hollywood stereotype of exactly what he was: a crime boss. For all that, the man had more women than he could reasonably keep up with. Murdock suspected it was danger that brought the women. For all his smallness, Shaker looked like danger. He'd heard that Shaker had serviced two women the night before, and he was fifty-eight years old. Amazing.