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“Roger, sir. I’ll let the director know.”
Sheridan is at my side, rubbing his muddy palms on his suit pants. His eyes are ruby red as he grinds out, “I’ll drive,” and jogs to the driver’s side of my SUV.
It takes seven minutes to clear a path out of the park. Sheridan flips on the sirens as soon as we’re past the perimeter, and he gets us back to the White House almost as fast as he got us to the scene.
He takes us down to the basement, parking the soot-stained SUV in the drop-off zone next to the No Parking sign. I’d chide him, but the presumptive president and the director of the Secret Service are waiting for us two floors overhead.
Still, I take a moment before opening the door. “Sheridan…”
“Yes, sir?”
I shouldn’t take him with me. He looks like his whole world has collapsed, far from professional or inspiring for our bosses.
But we’re walking into an inquisition, and I’m not strong enough right now to face that alone. I’m unbalanced, about to slide into a gloom so bottomless I may never find my way out.
So I’m keeping Sheridan with me.
Selfish, yes, but I don’t give a shit.
He may be my anchor through this storm, or the last tie I’ll sever before I follow Brennan, wherever he’s gone.
“Stay with me.”
