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Setting her bag down, she perched on the edge of the sofa. She was surprised when he sat down beside her. Drawing a fortifying breath, she turned to him, dread and anxiety twisting her stomach into tight ribbons. “Just tell me. He’s dead, isn’t he? Why else would you be here?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, she saw something in his light green eyes that might have been pain. Then his expression grew shuttered, and he shook his head. “No, your father’s alive, but just barely.”
Relief swamped Caroline, so strong that for a moment, she went weak and covered her face with her hands. Immediately, Jason put an arm around her shoulders and gathered her close, lending her his strength. She allowed herself to lean into him, if only briefly. He smelled exactly as she remembered, like something woodsy and dark, and she had to resist the urge to burrow her face into his chest. Instead, she pulled away and dragged air into her lungs.
“What happened?”
Jason considered her, as if assessing whether or not she was strong enough to hear what he was about to say. His eyes were so bleak that for an instant, Caroline wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.
“He was shot while answering his front door last night. I’m sorry.”
Caroline closed her eyes briefly as her chest constricted painfully. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. She’d imagined him having a heart attack, either at home or at his office. But to be shot on his own front steps... The image that sprang to mind was so graphic she had to push it away.
Her father had spent his life giving to others and striving to make the world a better place. Jason Cooper was living proof of William Banks’s goodness and generosity. But Caroline also knew that as a Supreme Court judge, his rulings on controversial issues had likely gained him enemies. Still, when she thought of his bright blue eyes, full of shrewdness and humor, she couldn’t imagine that anyone would hate him enough to attack him in his own home. She recalled him always being so full of life and so active. When she was growing up, there’d hardly ever been a day when they didn’t have visitors or when her father wasn’t meeting someone for lunch or dinner. The knowledge that he was now fighting for his life left her feeling dazed. He was all she had left, and she didn’t know what she would do if she lost him. He’d been both mother and father to her, had been there for every important event in her life. He’d gone prom dress shopping with her, had hosted more slumber parties than she could recall and had sat up late with her on countless Saturday nights, watching romantic comedies and eating ice cream. He was everything to her, and the thought that she might lose him made her feel sick with both guilt and grief.
“Who would do such a thing?” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “And why?”
“We’ll find the person who did this,” Jason assured her. “We already have a team working it.”
“We have to go. Now.” She rose quickly, feeling a little panicky. “I need to book a flight. He’ll need me there with him.”
“Already done,” Jason said, standing also. “We depart from Richmond airport in two hours. Do you need to go home and pack anything?”
“Yes.” Her mind whirled with all the things she should do before she left, but there was no time. She needed to get to her father’s side. She could make some calls on the way to the airport. She’d talk to Patrick Dougherty and recommend another attorney for Devon Lawton. Then she’d call Arthur MacInness, and explain what had happened and let him know she’d likely be gone for several weeks. The rest would have to wait until she reached San Francisco.
“I’ll drive you to your house, and then we’ll head to the airport.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed. “Did you— Have you seen him?”
Jason shook his head. “No. I got the news just before midnight. An hour later, Deputy Marshal Black and I were on the red-eye from San Diego.”
Caroline could hardly believe her ears. “Why?” she asked. “Why would you come straight here, when you could have gone to San Francisco to be at my father’s bedside?” A small part of her—the part that still held on to girlish fantasies—wondered if he might have come directly to her because, on some level, he did care for her. But in the next instant, those childish thoughts were banished.
“Caroline,” he said patiently, as if she really were no more than a child, “the U.S. Marshals Service is charged with providing protection for federal judges.”
“Yes, I understand. But my father is a judge in San Francisco, and your district is San Diego. Are you saying that you’ve been assigned to protect him?”
