I don’t care what Harry says.”
“You’ll do what you’re told, which is what you always say to me when I’m in this place.”
“Hate when my own words come back to haunt me. How’s Scotty?”
“Feeling much better and worried about you. He said it’s hard when you care about someone else more than you care about yourself.”
“Did he now.” Nick sighed. “Wow.”
“I knew that would get to you.”
“Right here.” He rubbed his chest. “Now, how about you fill me in on what happened yesterday? It was only yesterday, right?”
“Yeah, it was. Feels like a lifetime ago, though.” She told him about the results of the IAB hearing, Josh Hamilton and what he’d uncovered on the Internet.
“So he just happened to see an age-progression photo that was of him? What’re the odds of that?”
“Astronomical.”
“Imagine seeing one of those photos, and it’s you. Jesus.”
“You haven’t even heard the real kicker yet. Guess who his father is?”
“Who?”
“Troy Hamilton.”
“As in the FBI director Troy Hamilton?”
“One and the same.”
“Holy shit. Sam, seriously... Are you kidding me right now?”
“Would I do that?”
“What’s your plan?”
“To keep him alive while we wait for DNA proof that he’s Taylor Rollings.”
“So you think he is?”
“I think he could be. The resemblance to the photo is uncanny. It’s like someone drew a picture of him and posted it. His thirtieth birthday is next week, so the timing works. And according to Freddie, who I’ve got babysitting him, his father has been calling every fifteen minutes, which is more than he’s called his son in the last five years.”
“So Hamilton knows about the photo—and he knows that Josh knows.”
“Yeah, that’s the theory. How well do you know Hamilton?”
“Not very well. From what I’ve seen at hearings on the Hill and in a few meetings at the White House, he’s a cool customer with an ego the size of Texas.”
“It’s well earned. He’s a legend in law enforcement circles.”
“And in his own mind.”
“So you don’t like him.”
“I don’t know him well enough not to like him, but something about him is off-putting. Can’t put my finger on it.”
“You think he’d be capable of kidnapping someone’s child and taking him home to raise as his own?”
“Hell if I know. I can’t imagine how anyone would be capable of such a thing. Those poor people. They’ve been through hell for thirty years. It sure would be something if you could give them some peace.”
“If Josh turns out to be Taylor, I fear that peace will be the least of what I’m giving them, and the frustrating part is that there’s not a damned thing we can do from an investigative perspective until the DNA comes back.”
“You could look into where Hamilton and his wife were the day Taylor went missing.”
“How can I do that without bringing down the wrath of Hamilton on me and the department?”
“Carefully.”
Sam could hear how tired he was in the way he said that one word. “You need to sleep now. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”
He didn’t protest, which was unlike him, especially since he had such a complicated relationship with sleep. His insomnia had been awful since he became vice president, which was one of many challenges they’d faced after he accepted the president’s offer to replace the ailing Joe Gooding.
“Thanks for waking up earlier,” she whispered.
His hand moved in small circles on her back. “Sorry I scared you.”
“You really did. Sorry for all the times I’ve scared you.”
“Love you, baby.”
“Love you too. So much.” If anything ever happened to him... No, she couldn’t think about that or she’d go mad. There were two agents stationed right outside the door to ensure that nothing happened to him. But they hadn’t been able to prevent severe dehydration. Her stomach ached from the fear of the many things that could happen to someone she loved that no one could prevent.
“Stop,” he whispered. “I can feel you spinning. Everything is fine. I promise.”
Sam took a deep breath, closed her eyes and carried his assurances to sleep with her.
NICK WAS RELEASED from the hospital the next afternoon. With the hospital surrounded by photographers hoping for a glimpse of the ailing vice president, the Secret Service arranged for him to be released through a loading dock.
“I’ve been officially reduced to cargo,” he said when they were settled in the back of one of the big black SUVs.
Sam took hold of his hand. “Precious cargo.” Though he looked a thousand times better than he had yesterday, he was moving slowly and his face was still paler than Sam had ever seen it.
They were whisked through the streets of the city with the kind of efficiency only the Secret Service could provide in the notoriously clogged District. On the way up the ramp to their house, Nick waved to the photographers that had gathered outside the Secret Service checkpoint on Ninth Street.
“I predict that photo will be on the front page of every paper in the country tomorrow,” Sam said.
“Maybe they’ll stop frothing at the mouth now that they know I’m going to live.”
“Too soon for jokes.” Her cell phone rang, and after a brief glance at the caller ID, she ignored the call from Darren Tabor. He was on her shit list after publishing the article about her suspension.
Melinda, the agent on duty, opened the door for them. “Welcome home, Mr. Vice President. Good to see you looking well.”
“Thanks, Melinda.”
Sam wanted to tell Secret Service Barbie to get her filthy eyes off her husband, but she held back that urge. One of these days...
Scotty came rushing
