The Target

happened. One other thing, Dr. Otterly. I got a gunshot in my left thigh some two weeks ago. Do you think you could take a look at it?"

    "Here I thought that a judge's life was pretty staid. Drop your pants, Judge Hunt, and let me take a look."

    When Dr. Otterly was done prodding and probing, he said, "You're just fine. Whatever you did, it worked. The flesh has grown together nicely, not even much of a scar. Have you got full strength back yet in the leg?"

    "Not all of it."

    "Another week or so and you'll be running again. I wish you luck, Judge Hunt. Call me if there's any sort of problem." He nodded to Mason Lord.

    Ramsey thanked him again and held himself still while Miles helped him on with a clean shirt. It didn't hurt.

    Thank God Emma had escaped being hurt. Only she hadn't escaped, not really. It was another blow, a really big one.

    Ramsey walked slowly with Mason Lord to the living room where Eve was answering questions for the police until they got there. Ramsey was relieved that Mason Lord hadn't put up much of a fight about their coming, had even agreed to speak to them. Not even he could try to kiss them off through his lawyers after a homicide. Neither Ramsey nor Molly had seen the police yet. He wasn't surprised that Molly had gone straight upstairs with Emma to try to keep her from the police. He just wished he could have gone with her, too.

    Three plainclothes officers sat on the edges of their chairs, looking uncomfortable, as if they had hemorrhoids, amid the stiff opulence and, naturally, in the company of Mason Lord's gorgeous young wife. All three of them rose when Ramsey and Mason walked into the living room.

    Mason introduced himself, nodded coolly to each of the three men, then sat down beside his wife. He looked down at his fingernails and began to swing his leg.

    Immediately, one of the men turned to Ramsey. "Judge Hunt? I'm Riley O'Connor. It's a pleasure and an honor to meet you, sir." Detective O'Connor was at least fifteen years older than Ramsey, skinny as a one-sided board, and bald. His dark eyes glittered with intelligence and humor. "We're very pleased that you're all right." The two men shook hands. Detective O'Connor introduced the other two officers, Sergeant Burnside and Detective Martinez.

    Mason Lord cleared his throat. "Do you have all the information you need, officers?"

    Detective O'Connor arched a very black eyebrow. "No, sir, we've actually just gotten started. We've got a murder on our hands, a particularly violent murder. Mrs. Lord hasn't really had time to tell us much. And you just got here. However, I'd like to speak to Judge Hunt first. Then perhaps you'd be free, sir?"

    Mason gave Detective O'Connor an infinitesimal regal nod, rose, and walked to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy.

    "Fine," Ramsey said. "Let's go to Mr. Lord's study. Is that all right, sir?"

    Mason didn't look happy. But he had no choice. He nodded. The other two detectives rose to go back out to the burned-out Mercedes, to join the forensics team combing the remains. Ramsey overheard one of them say, "I heard there isn't much left of him, after the blast and fire."

    Detective Martinez said to Sergeant Burnside, "The three of them were lucky beyond belief. This is a weird one, Tommy, really weird. That guy, Gunther, didn't tell us a thing. I've got this feeling that we're not going to find out anything at all from anyone who works here."

    "Yeah, and I wonder what Judge Hunt is doing here, with a guy like Mason Lord? Talk about a straight arrow."

    Ramsey couldn't make out any more words. A straight arrow, was he? He rather liked that.

    Beside him, Riley O'Connor laughed. "This is really something for us, Judge Hunt. I'm really sorry, but it's all going to come out now, everything about the kid's kidnapping, you guys being followed all over the West, and now this. Yeah, both fact and supposition. But I guess you know firsthand what the media spotlight can do. You can be a devil or a saint, depending on the reporters' likes and dislikes, and how nice you've been to them. As for the photographers, I'll bet you've wanted to slug some of them."

    "Oh yes," Ramsey said, remembering the paparazzo outside hiding in his bushes, the final straw that had sent him to the Rockies where he'd found Emma and discovered that he really hadn't had any problems worth a damn. "On the other hand, this does need to come out. I want the press to have a field day. I'll personally cheer them