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McGill didn’t want to get into a debate. He asked Costello, “Did you notice anyone taking an interest in the job you were doing? Anyone who didn’t look North Shore?”
    Costello laughed harshly. “You mean rich, white, and to the manner born?”
    “Yeah.”
    “No. A few boaters eyed us for a while. You could tell they were interested in what we were doing. Like maybe this was some new status symbol they had to have, too. But every last one of ’em looked real North Shore.”
     
    An hour later, just before sunset, McGill took his boat out onto the lake. It was a small aluminum skiff with a ten-horse outboard. His dad had given it to him so the two of them could go fishing on the Chain O’ Lakes. He’d never had it out on Lake Michigan. As he chugged along, he made a conscious effort not to venture out any farther from the shore than he thought he could swim — and he scolded himself for not bringing a life jacket. He came to a point just east of where he estimated the Grants’ new barrier to be, turned toward the beach, cut the engine and raised the motor out of the water. Momentum eased the little craft forward.
    The skiff didn’t draw much water, and with only one man in it, McGill wanted to know if it might skim over the newly installed —
    A steel beam hit the aluminum hull far sooner than McGill expected. The jolt almost knocked him into the water. He had to grab the sides of the skiff to regain his balance. When he did, he thought he could see Andy Grant in a second-floor window at the left corner of the house. Then a high-intensity spotlight illuminated his boat. McGill squinted and shielded his eyes. He could make out a man on the beach holding a scoped rifle. The guy brought the weapon to his shoulder.
    That was when McGill realized he didn’t look North Shore. Not in his jeans, T-shirt, and humble small watercraft. Be a helluva thing to die in a case of mistaken identity.
    McGill did the only thing he could. He pulled out his badge and held it in front of the eyes he now squeezed shut. After the longest three count of his life, he took a look. The marksman had lowered his rifle and moved his spotlight slightly to McGill’s right.
    McGill could see that the man was yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear the words. The distance was too great and the pounding of his heart was too loud. Still, he doubted the man was thanking him for testing the Grants’ new defenses.
    He turned the skiff around and headed back to the launching ramp.
    Believing the lake would not be the avenue of attack.
    Just to be safe, though, he called every marine copper he knew from Milwaukee to Gary and let them know of his worries and to ask that they call him if they spotted anyone suspicious.
     
    Congresswoman Grant cast her vote opposing the Support of Motherhood Act. It failed and … nothing happened. A month went by. Patti came to believe she’d been right. The threat had been a bluff and nothing more. She began to find the presence of a large number of security men in and around her home intrusive.
    She spoke to Andy about letting them go.
    “I’ll talk to the chief, see what he thinks,” her husband said.
    He did and reported back. The Grants discussed the matter in their kitchen as they prepared a light supper to eat outside.
    “Chief McGill thinks we should move. Temporarily. But without notice. Or publicly revealing where we’ve gone.”
    “That’s preposterous.”
    “He says it only makes sense for attackers to wait until the defenders relax. But if we take the initiative, change the place we live, we might force them out into the open.”
    Patti’s eyes narrowed. “In other words, he hasn’t been able to find any evidence that the threat was ever real.”
    “No, and it’s eating him up. Because he’s positive the threat is real.”
    Congress was in its summer recess. It would be a natural thing for the Grants to take a vacation trip, then … simply not come home. At least not for a while.
    “I