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Sheridan goes ash white and stills.
“How do you think Quinten gets his information?”
His mouth moves, but nothing comes out. Those big, wide eyes are so fragile I expect them to shatter in his skull.
“You give it to him, Sheridan.”
“No!”
“Stop lying. Stop pretending. Stop protesting. You’re not helping yourself. The best thing you can do is admit the truth.”
“This is a mistake. All of this, it’s a huge mistake—”
“Evidence isn’t a mistake.”
“This isn’t happening. Oh my God, this isn’t happening—”
“I have your phone records. You’ve called Quinten nine times since Thanksgiving. He gave you a phone number in that bar so you two could communicate, didn’t he? You’re a smart guy. You memorized it right away.”
“No,” he breathes. “I didn’t.”
“If you admit the truth and give us Quinten, you might be able to avoid the death penalty. But two agents are dead because of you. Four SEALs are dead because of you. Brennan is—” My throat closes. “Give me Brennan, and I’ll do everything I can to keep them from sticking a needle in you.”
He’s hyperventilating. His pulse is racing faster than I thought a heart could beat.
“How could you do this to Henry?”
Sheridan moans.
I grab his face and yank him forward until his wrists strain against the cuffs. “Stop the bullshit! Tu me fais chier! I have the evidence, Sheridan! Hard evidence, so stop with this fucking charade! I have you meeting Quinten on camera. I have your phone calls to him. You were in the Situation Room when Brennan ordered the SEALs to rescue Captain Wilkes.”
He flinches, and his eyes fall away from mine.
I force him to look at me again. “You’re passing Brennan’s secrets to Russia in exchange for… what? Money? Did Kirilov set you up with a fat bank account overseas? Something you think we can’t track and trace?”
His tears run over my fingers and down my arm before dripping to the floor. There’s a river building in the cracked tile beneath his knees.
I shove him away. “Did you think you could buy yourself a new conscience? Or do you not have one to begin with? You told me you loved me, but that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Sheridan makes a sound that isn’t even human. He lunges for me as far as his cuffs will allow, until he looks like a man hung by his wrists. His teeth are bared, eyes bloodshot, desperate keens falling from him.
“Let’s see what you and Marshall have been texting about.”
When I open their conversation, I see a lot more exchanges than I expected. And even though I know Sheridan has betrayed me, it’s sickening to read what he’s written. Theriot has no idea what’s going on. He’s got nothing. We’re going in circles.
“Merde, what is this?” I’d thought I couldn’t feel worse, but I was wrong.
“I was trying to protect you.” Snot falls from Sheridan’s nose all the way to the tile, one long strand of misery.
“How the fuck is this protecting me?”
“It’s like what you said this morning: if I wasn’t involved, I could survive. Well, if the vice president thought you didn’t know anything or do anything, then how could he hold you responsible, either?”
I laugh, because if I don’t, I’ll start punching walls. “Try again, Sheridan! Marshall just told the world I murdered Brennan!”
His shoulders quake as sobs tear out of his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t want your sorrys,” I roar. “I want Brennan! Where is he?”
