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ChapterTwenty
Reese
Now
Sheridan is deathly quiet on the drive to Henry’s home. He’s locked on a thousand-yard stare, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tight they might snap.
Henry lives in Bethesda, in a home with a yard and a garage and triple the space I have for less than half the cost. The last time I was here—
Sheridan doesn’t break the silence until I pull into Henry’s driveway. “It’s nothim. That’s not Henry, I know it’s not.”
He wants me to agree with him. He wants to hear me say it isn’t Henry so he’s not alone as he clings to his desperate hope.
“Please don’t make me say which man I don’t want to be dead.”
Sheridan wilts, exhaling like a popped balloon. He doesn’t say anything, just flings himself out of the SUV, and the vehicle rocks left and right after he slams the door. No easy feat, since these up-armored SUVs weigh over six tons. I move in behind him as he storms up the drive to Henry’s front door.
There’s always been something out of reach with Sheridan. I don’t understand these dark whirlpools that knock me off-balance. There’s something inside him that he keeps hidden, that I only ever get glimpses of.
I freeze when he pulls his keys from his pocket, then shoves one into Henry’s front door. The dead bolt slides back.
“You have a key?”
Sheridan speaks to the door, as if facing me is too painful. “I moved in months ago. At first, he said I could crash here anytime I needed, but after Thanksgiving, I moved into his spare bedroom. My apartment was in Gaithersburg, and my lease was up, and I was putting in extra time at the White House…”
Commuting from Gaithersburg to the White House is like trying to transit the distance between heaven and hell. But that’s where junior government employees usually end up, thanks to their modest paychecks.
Of course Henry would help Sheridan. How dare I not notice, or step in to help like Henry did. I would have helped Sheridan find a new place, or helped him with his move and a deposit if he needed one.
Sheridan has moved the earth for me. The least I could do was help him find a new apartment.
“Since this is technically also your house…” I give him a nod. He lets me enter first.
We’re plunged into shadows.
The front door opens to a dark foyer and a half flight of stairs going up to the main floor of the split-level home. Up those steps, there’s an open living area and kitchen with a glass wall overlooking Henry’s backyard. He keeps his blackout curtains closed during the day, especially when he has to sleep off night shifts at the White House.
Three bedrooms are up another set of stairs, on the second story. Down is Henry’s garage.
We’re here because Henry was the agent in charge of Brennan’s SUV when it crashed. I don’t want to do this, but it’s procedure. We need to turn Henry’s life upside down, because when this all gets out, everyone’s fingers will be pointing at the Secret Service and at Henry. We’ve got to protect him, and to do that, we’ve got to show the world who he really was.
Sheridan falls in step behind me. He’s far too close.
“Turn on the light,” I snap.
“It’s not working.”
I take three quick steps away from him, toward the stairs—
There’s a lamp lying on its side, dangling over the top step. The shade is torn and half collapsed, as if it was thrown down. I pull my weapon and hiss, “Sheridan.”
I feel him move in the darkness, hear him pull out his weapon.
My back hits the wall silently. We creep up the stairs in tandem, our steps synchronous. We pause before the top, and there’s barely enough light bleeding through a narrow slit in the curtains to see Sheridan crouched across from me.
The minimal light misses his eyes.
“Cover me.”
