“Okay,” Josh said. “What about me? Help me decide what to do next.”
“You’re good at security, have a cool head and don’t panic,” Nelson said from behind the wheel. “You could always train to be a cop.”
“I don’t think Ashley will need her Plan B, which means I’ll be shuttling back and forth between Wellington and Auckland for the next three years.”
“Personal trainer,” Gerry suggested. “Self-defense classes too. Or you could run classes to prep youngsters wanting to join the army.”
“You could write a book, the topic being the first lady of New Zealand politics,” Ashley chirped.
Their laughter provided an escape from the growing tension.
“Thanks.” Josh groaned. “I can imagine the teasing now. My brother and sister and my mates won’t let me forget this.”
“You can always change your mind and walk away,” Ashley whispered.
“Not a chance, sweetheart. You. Me. A Fijian beach. Count on it.”
Ashley prayed Josh was right because she wasn’t worried about the election results. It was the damage Stephen Blackwood might exact that nagged at her most.
* * * * *
Stephen found it laughably easy to enter the hotel ballroom. He limped to the security line and waited his turn. His walking sticktap-tap-tappedon the hardwood floor. Kind of like slow-motion rifle fire. A man waved a wand over his person, and as Stephen had expected, the equipment didn’t issue a single beep.
Next, a perky brunette, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt bearing a Labor party badge, examined his invitation and compared it to her list. An older man scanned the pilfered driver’s license that Stephen handed over along with his invitation. The man’s gaze studied his face then the photo on the driver’s license before giving both back.
“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Landish.”
“Thank you.” Stephen intended to enjoy the hell out of his attendance. In fact, he’d take a safe wager he’d make this gathering memorable for everyone.
* * * * *
Nelson’s phone buzzed, signaling an incoming call. A second later, Gerry’s phone played a riff from a popular song. Ashley exchanged a glance with Josh.
Gerry answered. “Wakefield. What? Yes. Keep us informed.” He hung up. “They’ve discovered a beachside property, formerly owned by Stephen Blackwood’s paternal grandmother. The surname on the property title is different, which is why initial searches showed nothing. We have a team checking. They’ll let us know what they find.”
“So this might be over soon?” Ashley asked.
“We should still stay alert,” Josh said. “It’s not over until Stephen Blackwood is in custody.”
Ashley nodded even as her stomach muscles tightened. This was the biggest day of her life, and Stephen Blackwood was spoiling it for her. A beat later, guilt struck. Robert was dead, and here she was having a pity party. Not cool. She lifted her chin a fraction, her woe-is-me attitude replaced with anger on Robert’s behalf. He had deserved none of this. He’d been so happy, thought he’d found his one.
Her phone rang from the depths of her clutch, and she fumbled with the clasp to get the call before it diverted to voicemail.
“Ashley Townsend,” she said.
“It’s Geoffrey.” Her political colleague heaved out a breath.
“Geoffrey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He gasped in another audible breath before he pushed out slow and unsteady words. “I’m at Allen Landish’s house. I’d told him I’d pick him up to take him to the hotel tonight. He’s d-dead.”
“How?” Ashley’s breath caught, her throat tightening as tension slid through her. Allen had helped her during her younger days as a fresh-faced politician. A blunt man who didn’t suffer fools, but one who held such knowledge and wisdom.
“Gunshot to the h-head.” Geoffrey’s voice trembled and he swallowed hard. “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.”
“Just a moment, Geoffrey. I’ll mention it to my DPS officers.” As she spoke, she lifted her head to Gerry. “Geoffrey is at the house of one of our long-term supporters. Allen is dead. Geoffrey has called the police. He’s waiting for them now.”
“Let me speak to him,” Gerry said.
