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“Not a single one,” Alex says, his voice soft but strong.
The nurse leaves and I look around, waiting for the two Chevrolet Suburbans from the Bluestone Group to take this brood home. I still have my service weapon on my hip.
Just in case.
I lock the wheels of the wheelchair and go around and take a knee by Alex. I give him a hard look and say, “How are you doing?”
His bright smile is a relief. “Achy and shaky, but I’m ready to go home.”
He frees his right hand from Bree’s and holds it out, and I give it a good squeeze. I’m thrilled at how strong his return squeeze is. Alex says, “I owe you a lot, John, for keeping my family safe.”
“You’d do the same for me,” I say as Willow comes up behind me and wraps her small arms around my thick neck.
“And the nation owes you a lot too. You and Ned Mahoney. And Elizabeth Deacon. How’s she doing?”
I nod in the direction of the hospital. “Still in a coma, but she’s stable. The next few days will make the difference, the docs say.”
“Sounds like a good woman.”
“She is. I plan to come back here later today for a long visit.”
“Good,” he says, still smiling, but I note something in his eyes. I say, “Give it up, Alex. What are you thinking about?”
His voice is somber. “I’m thinking about getting back to work.”
Thank God Bree didn’t hear that—she’s talking to Jannie—because I’m sure that sentence would have resulted in a slap upside Alex’s head, no matter his condition.
“What work?” I ask. “Alex, Ned and the FBI and others are going twenty-four/seven, rolling up those terrorist networks. The president went on the air yesterday to announce that the threat of future terrorist attacks is now over. Tomorrow, General Wayne Grissom is going to be buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery after being shot by gunmen during his mission to personally protect the president.”
Alex smiles. “How long do you think that cover story will last?”
“Long enough for me to stay in the DC Metro Police and go out on full pension without embarrassing questions being asked of me in front of Congress.”
“You can’t fire a hero, right?”
I say, “That’s right. But let’s get back to what you just said. What do you mean, getting back to work?”
Ali calls out, “They’re here!”
I see two Suburbans approach, and their license plates match the letters and numbers I memorized earlier; the SUVs belong to Bree’s employer.
Alex shifts in the wheelchair and says, “Colonel Carla Kendricks.”
“Grissom’s aide, shot down right after she killed him.”
“But who killed her?” Alex asks. “And why so quickly?”
“Somebody from the National Guard unit standing nearby,” I reply. “That’s what I’ve been told. After Kendricks fired the shot, somebody returned fire instinctively. The National Guard is conducting its own investigation.”
He nods. “I’m sure. But was she killed because she posed a threat, or was there a modern-day Jack Ruby among the National Guard, someone who killed her so she couldn’t talk, couldn’t be a witness? That needs to be checked out. We’re going to do that, John.”
I shake my head and straighten up, my arm around Willow, who is leaning into me. “Damn it, sugar, can’t you take at least one day off?”
Hegrins. “Okay. I promise. I’ll take off the rest of today. Meet me at the house tomorrow, eight a.m.”
“Nine,” I say. “You need your rest. And I’ve got to drop Willow off at school.”
The Suburbans stop in front of us, the doors swing open, and Bree calls out to the security operators from Bluestone. “Tim and Carlos, come over here and get Alex inside.”
