67

Iowa City, Iowa

Senator Gina Hayes’s eyes were open to the night sky.

That crescent moon, curved and plump, almost orange, was a Cheshire cat smiling down as the world collapsed.

Two Secret Service men covered her body with theirs. Three more flew off the stage like night creatures taking flight. A second bullet flew. Police swarmed toward the source of both shots. They reached the shooter in five seconds, a full second after the Secret Service, but they could have taken a minute, or ten, or an entire day, because the shooter would not get off another round. Two civilians in black-and-gold Hawkeye jerseys held him face-down, three fingers on his left hand broken in the effort it took to wrest his gun from him, his left arm hanging queerly from where they’d chicken-winged him.

All of this took place in a vacuum, suspended in time and space.

The world, watching via live video stream, held its breath.

And then the sound came rushing back.

“Get her offstage!”

“Has she been shot?”

“Move the camera closer!”

Senator Hayes was carried off by the Secret Service agent who’d initially pushed her down, Theodore, her first line of protection since she’d declared her candidacy.

“Theodore,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded, “I can walk. You don’t need to hold me like an infant.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He didn’t put her down.

A phalanx of men in suits appeared alongside him, shielding her as much as possible. Through their shoulders, she spotted Charles, his face raw with worry. She heard Matthew issuing commands, ordering back the media, her soldier to the end. Theodore didn’t slow until he reached her car, which he tucked her into before sliding next to her. He gently pushed her head down, below window level. The passenger door opened and another Secret Service agent slid in on her other side, and two more in the front. They sped away.

“I haven’t been shot.”

“I know, ma’am. The bullet passed three inches above your right shoulder, through the recording wall behind you, and hopefully lodged itself in the stadium wall.” He kept his hand on her back so she wouldn’t sit up. Both he and his partner in the backseat were scanning the world sliding past, their muscles thrumming with adrenaline. The driver was doing the same. The agent next to him was on the phone, talking in a low voice.

Senator Hayes smoothed her pant legs as much as possible from this bent position. How were her hands not shaking? “I need to let my husband know I’m all right.”

“Protocol, ma’am. We have to remove you from the scene and transport you to a safe location.”

She felt the back of her head. She’d have a nice goose egg where Theodore had thrown her down. Her right shoulder was tender, as well. She was damn lucky. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“My job, ma’am.”

They drove in silence for another minute. “Theodore, we’ve been together for what, almost a year?”

“Eleven months and fourteen days, ma’am.”

“So you can guess what I’m going to say next, can’t you?”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, and handed it to her without taking his eyes off the passing crowds. The faintest of smiles tipped his mouth. “Call a press conference and then get back to work?”

She took his phone and punched in Matthew’s number. “Damn straight.”