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“Drinks?” Grayson asked.
All three declined, which was for the best. He’d have to send Anastasia to get them, and he didn’t want to see the look on her face when he asked her to do some menial task like offer their guests refreshments. Besides, his heart was pounding in his chest, and it was nice to have a familiar—if not welcoming—face close by.
“Is your wife home?” Davenport asked after Grayson sat in a chair opposite his assistant.
“She’s upstairs. Sleeping.” Grayson hadn’t been able to console her, and so he’d left her to cry herself to sleep. “I’d rather not wake her.”
Davenport nodded, then gestured to the men on his right. “You remember my colleagues?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t recall your names.”
“Agent Robert Mannis,” the older one said. He gestured to his colleague. “And my partner, Agent Christopher Viotto.”
“Thank you.” Grayson meant it. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m afraid we have some bad news.”
Grayson’s pounding heart sent the blood rushing to his ears. He felt his vision swim and gripped the arms of his chair to keep him grounded. “Is it about my son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You found him?”
“Yes, we did.”
Grayson swallowed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so, Senator.”
Even Anastasia had the sensitivity to put down her tablet. Grayson couldn’t decide where to look. He hated the pity in his publicist’s eyes. The apology in the eyes of the two agents. The mild interest on the face of the detective.
“How?” The word was rough in Grayson’s mouth. “Why?”
“We’re still working through all of that.”
“What can you tell me, then?” He needed a moment to absorb the information. “I want to know.”
Davenport nodded to Mannis, who leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. He still looked apologetic, but experience must’ve taught him that voicing his sympathy wasn’t the right course of action. “We found your son a few blocks away from his abandoned vehicle. He was at the back of an alley.” Mannis paused to alert Grayson that some hard news was coming. “He was shot in the head. There were a few bruises on his arms and legs.”
“He was shot?” Grayson’s mind raced. “Do you know why?”
“Not yet. That’s what we were hoping to talk to you about.”
Davenport took out a pad of paper. “Do you have any enemies?”
Grayson laughed and immediately regretted it, but the damage was done. “Of course. I’m a North Carolina State Senator. A lot of people hate me.”
“Do you have a list of your most vicious contrarians?”
“I can send it to you.” The entire room looked at Anastasia when she spoke. She was wearing blood-red again, but she had kept her nails black. Grayson hadn’t noticed when she’d picked up her tablet again. “I have a list of about twenty who have caused serious problems, but I have additional names if you need them.”
“Appreciate it.” Davenport let his eyes linger on her for a few more seconds before turning back to Grayson. “Did your son have enemies?”
“Not that I am aware of, but I’m sure you’re familiar with the headlines, Detective. He’s gotten into some trouble in the
past.”
“Drugs and hacking,” Davenport said, and Grayson wasn’t sure if it was for clarification or to inform his colleagues. “He didn’t talk to you about any recent trouble he might have gotten into?”
