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“You’ll be fine. You’ll tell the truth of what happened and be back on the job as soon as you’re ready.”
“I really hope so.”
Nicoletta sat in her cell,staring at the cinderblock wall on the far side, waiting for something she now realized wasn’t going to happen. Her son wasn’t going to fix this for her, and by now, the FBI had searched her office.
Her stomach knotted. That rat-faced lawyer certainly wasn’t going to save her, and she sure as hell wasn’t built for prison.
She had to get out of there.
Rising, she went to the bars. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Shut up, you old bitch,” a woman said from across the aisle. “People are trying to sleep.”
Nicoletta ignored her. “Is someone there?”
A sheriff’s deputy approached her cell. “What do you need?”
“I need to get out of here. I have things to do.”
“Don’t we all?” the woman across the aisle said. “What makes you special?”
“Your arraignment is scheduled for the morning,” the deputy said. “You can tell it to the judge then.”
“But I need to use the restroom.”
The deputy pointed to the toilet bowl in her cell. “That’s your restroom right there.”
“I can’t do that in front of everyone,” Nicoletta said with outrage.
“Then I guess you’ll have to hold it.”
The deputy walked away, leaving her to her misery. She turned, eyed the bowl with trepidation and wished she had this day to do over so she could’ve put on something more comfortable than her red silk robe, which was starting to feel slimy.
She went to the bowl, turned, lifted her robe and hovered above it before she wet herself. Her thighs burned from the effort to keep her skin from connecting with the toilet. In the corner of her cell, a camera was trained on her. She wondered if there’d be video of the president’s mother peeing in a jail cell posted online before morning.
This was all his bitch wife’s fault. Nicoletta had no doubt about that, and when she got out of here, she would make her life a living hell, if it was the last thing she ever did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The morning headlines on the TV news channels summed it up:
Joint Chiefs Plot to Overthrow Cappuano Administration.
Coverage was feverish on all the morning shows, and pictures of the highest-ranking military officers in the country in orange jumpsuits had sent the media into a feeding frenzy the likes of which Washington hadn’t seen since Watergate.
Sam came out from the bedroom wearing the white silk robe Nick had given her for Valentine’s Day last year and sat next to him on the sofa.
“Morning,” he said.
She kissed his cheek. “Morning. How bad is it?”
“About as bad as it gets. Plenty of people are calling the Joint Chiefs courageous patriots for trying to do what needs to be done, including the former secretary of State.”
“And I’m sure plenty are outraged over their disrespect for the Constitution.”
“Seems to be evenly split.”
“I’m sorry, Nick. It’s such a terrible betrayal.”
