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“Because of the extent of the tissue destruction, I can’t get an accurate height and weight. When I tried to form a dental impression, the teeth cracked and disintegrated. I tried DNA, too. Typically, even after a fire, the ventricles of the heart still contain liquid blood we can draw for a sample. Not this time. The heat inside that SUV was off the charts.”
“How soon can you know for sure who this is?”
“I need several hours.”
“Every second counts.”
“I’m doing everything I can.”
For the first time, Sheridan speaks. “But this may not be Henry?” There’s so much raw hope in Sheridan’s voice, it’s excruciating.
Ahn looks at him, her brown eyes saying more than she could put into words. Don’t hope.
“What can you tell me about the passenger compartment? Have you recovered any remains, anything at all, from the back seat?”
“No. We do not have a third set of remains.”
My knees buckle, and the world tilts, and I crumple until my forehead rests on the edge of the gurney. This close, the corpse stench is overwhelming. Seared flesh. Boiled blood. I’ll never eat steak again.
“We recovered two samples of DNA along the left rear passenger door and window frame. They’re too degraded for a complete profile, but both samples came back with a tentative partial match to President Walker’s. He may have been dragged out of the SUV through the window.”
Memories assail me. Henry and Brennan, side by side. Almost the same height, both tall, strong men. This body in front of me was found outside the SUV. An ejection, it was called on the scene, but after that much fire damage, there’s no way to tell whether it was an ejection or…
The thought I didn’t want to complete earlier roars back. My eyes flash to the heart on the dissection tray.
If this corpse isn’t Henry—
I’m going to be fucking sick.
I make it to the sink on the wall before I puke Gatorade and granola bar and bile until I’m dry heaving in cold sweat. Sheridan’s clammy palm lands on the back of my neck. He’s still shaking, standing inside my shadow.
When I return to Ahn, I can’t tear my eyes away from the corpse.
Is this my best friend or my lover?
“Have you checked President Walker’s X-rays?” My voice is hollow.
“No.” Ahn blanches. “I’ll need to request them from the White House. There will be questions. That’s bound to leak.”
“Go through the director. He’ll coordinate with the vice president. They won’t let it leak.”
She nods, and when she looks down at the disfigured corpse, she does so differently. More reverently, as if she, too, is now considering it.
Maybe more than just considering it. Maybe she believes this corpse is Brennan.
My gaze follows the exposed cheekbone, the collapsed eye socket. The skull is still lying on its side.
I have memories of Brennan lying exactly like this. Him on his side, his face half buried in the pillow. I was watching you sleep. He’s laid his cheek on my chest more times than I can count, and I’ve run my fingers through his hair and danced the tip of each across the line of his jaw and his temples.
If I curled my hand around this skull, would I hold it as I cradled Brennan? Would these bones fit my palm the way my lover’s did?
“There’s more,” Ahn says. “I recovered four separate bullet fragments from the two bodies. One was embedded on the inside of Agent Stewart’s right hip bone, and three were melted into the tissues of this man. Which, if your suspicions are correct—”
“We don’t know who he is,” I snarl. “I want to eliminate that theory, not prove it.”
I’m being an asshole. She lets it pass. “The bullet fragments from Agent Stewart’s hip match the bullet we recovered from the inside panel of the front passenger door. A copper hollow-point. Forty-five caliber.”
The .45 is not an issued Secret Service weapon. It’s not something either Henry or Stewart carried last night, which means it came from whoever attacked the motorcade.
