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lawns, drawn by the excessive number of police officers and news reporters. She knew from experience that this was a quiet neighborhood. Nothing exciting ever happened in Sea Cliff, unless it was a black-tie dinner party and the governor was invited. To have a prominent and respected member of the community gunned down on his own front steps was beyond shocking.
    As Caroline noted the residents who stood watching, she realized that what the police officer had said was true. She could easily spot the housekeepers and nannies who had come out to the street to watch, conspicuous because of their uniforms.
    She’d never considered it odd to have hired help while she was growing up. As a child, they’d had a live-in cook and a woman who came to the house twice a week to clean. There was a man who took care of the landscaping and another who took care of their swimming pool. Her father had an assistant who spent most of his time at the house. Even when William had been at work, Caroline had never been alone.
    But what must that kind of lifestyle look like to a guy whose career was in public service? Caroline didn’t blame the officer for what he’d said. From his perspective, it probably did appear that the residents of Sea Cliff were incapable of caring for themselves.
    After a moment, Jason came around to the driver’s side. He’d taken off his sports coat at the hospital, and he made no effort to hide his gun, which he wore in a shoulder holster. She wondered if he was sending a deliberate message to anyone who might be watching the house, or her. She admitted to finding this new Jason a little intimidating. He’d always been the strong, silent type, but combined with a don’t-mess-with-me attitude and a firearm, he was positively forbidding.
    He started the car and then turned in his seat to look at her. “I’m sorry about what that officer said. You shouldn’t have to listen to that. Everyone has the right to earn a living, and the people in this neighborhood provide good jobs and income for a lot of families. Sure you’re okay?”
    “Yes, I’m fine. And he has a right to his opinion. That woman—” She stopped, feeling foolish.
    Jason waited, expectant. “Yes?”
    “Your men interviewed her?”
    “Both the police and the FBI did, yes.”
    “I see. I was wondering...have they already interviewed my father’s housekeeper? And gardener? I mean, they’d have opportunity. They know his schedule, right? They know when he’s home alone.”
    “The police and the FBI have spoken with his housekeeper. Her name is Consuela Garcia, and she’s about seventy years old. She’s worked for your father for almost five years, and she has a rock-solid alibi for last night. He also has a gardener, who happens to be Consuela’s husband.” He paused. “They’re good people, Caroline. You don’t have to worry. They’d do anything for your father, and they’re devastated by what happened to him.”
    “Thank you. I’m sorry to sound so suspicious.” She flashed him an embarrassed smile. “I know this is what you do and that your men have everything under control. I guess I’m just feeling a little paranoid.”
    “That’s good. That means you’re on alert and you’ll be more aware of your surroundings. Once we get to the hotel, we’ll go through some safety guidelines.”
    * * *
    T HE HOTEL WAS only blocks from the hospital, and Caroline wasn’t surprised to discover that Jason had sent one of his men ahead to register and retrieve the room key. The Fairmont was one of the most exclusive hotels in San Francisco, and their room was located in one of the luxurious towers. If they hadn’t just come from the scene of her father’s shooting, she might have thought Jason was being a little dramatic in how he carefully surveyed their surroundings as they made their way to the room. She found herself reassured, both by his vigilance and his strong, steady presence.
    Colton Black opened the door at Jason’s curt