It’s nearly six a.m. when we land at Andrews and take Marine One back to the White House. Since Kevin and Leo both had luggage with them anyway, I tell them to come upstairs, ask Secret Service to clear the second and third floors until further notice, and point Leo at his choice of extra bedroomswhile Kev and I lock ourselves in the master bedroom.
I didn’t sleep on the flight back, and neither did Kev. I don’t want to sleep now, because I feel guilty that I’m not with Chris. Except I know that’s not logical.
Besides, Kev overrules me. He makes the damned logical argument that this is about self-care, not work, and therefore he’s allowed to take charge.
Dammit, he’s right.
I don’tfight him.
Kev gave Lauren free rein to handle updates and statements until he’s back on his feet. She’s a pro—she doesn’t need our help in this trying time.
I don’t even bother getting undressed, and neither does Kevin. We kick off our shoes and curl up together in bed and fall asleep immediately.
I don’t know what time it is when I awaken later feeling disoriented, but I’m alone in bed andhear Kevin’s low tone speaking in the private living room area next door. I get up to investigate and find him on the phone, slowly pacing in a circle and rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. He used to have bad migraines, but his last full-blown one happened the night of his meltdown on TV. Since then, he’s essentially been free of them, so I wonder if that gesture means one is imminent.
When he catches sight of me standing there, he stops and opens his arm to me, silently kissing the top of my head as he folds me close and continues his conversation.
I don’t know who it is, but from Kev’s noncommittal tones as he listens to the caller, it would seem they’re giving him a rundown of information.
After five minutes or so, he lets out a sigh. “Thank you very much, Director Rinaldi.I’ll pass all that along to President Samuels when she wakes up… Yes, thank you, sir. Goodbye.”
This has to be about Charles and Tory.
“Back to the bedroom, sweetie. Leo’s already downstairs with Lauren. I need a shower. It’s almost noon. We should go downstairs for a while.”
He leads me back to the bedroom and locks us in again, then he heads to the bathroom and starts stripping.
I join him.
Once we’re both under the spray, he pulls me into his arms and relates what Rinaldi told him.
Still working on identifying the paint. There’s a possibility it might be spray paint from a can. If so, that will complicate matters even further and take them longer to identify it and track it, as well as make it exponentially more difficult to locate the vehicle.
The autopsy was completed overnight.While toxicology reports will take a while, there’s no reason to suspect either of them were drunk. People at the party reported it looked like they both stuck to iced tea and water, and neither was a heavy drinker. Initial blood alcohol results support that.
Charles was driving. Both of them were wearing their seat belts. The airbags deployed, and while both sustained serious injuries in theaccident, both were alive when the car landed upside down in the water, because both of them drowned. There were injuries on Tory’s hands that indicated she might have tried to free herself, but none on Charles’, so he might have been unconscious.
And Tory was eight weeks pregnant.
I cry as he softly tells me all of this. It’s not fair. They’d mentioned over Christmas they were going to letnature take its course about having another baby, because Charles was forty-two and Tory was thirty-six. They were hoping to have at least one more. The girls, twins Ivy and Myla, are seven, and were conceived without assistance. Twins run in Tory’s mother’s family. Hudson just turned five in October.
There weren’t any active traffic cameras in the area where the accident happened, and investigatorshaven’t been able to identify any vehicles from the security camera footage that might have been involved in the accident, or possibly provide witness info.
I help Kev shave before we finish our shower and step out. I opt for jeans and a long-sleeved button-up chambray Oxford shirt, which has the presidential seal embroidered on it, and wear it unbuttoned over a black tank top. I roll the sleevesup to my elbows. Comfy sneakers on my feet.
No makeup. Not today. I pull my hair back into a messy bun, because I can’t be bothered to style it.
Kev dresses in a suit, and I take the tie and knot it for him.
He watches me with those sweet blue eyes of his. Chris is absolutely right that the contacts he used to wear at the network’s insistence, and which made his eyes look nearly turquoise,were horrible. He normally wears glasses now, even though he does have regular contacts he’ll sometimes wear.
I prefer the glasses, as does Chris.
Once we’re dressed, he gathers my hands, kisses them, and presses them to his chest. “No one expects you to be in kick-ass mode today, sweetie. This is my chief modeengagedfor you. I need you to be human and real, subdued, but not completely broken.Remember, it’s not only the publicherewatching coverage—it’s worldwide. Asshole dictators and terrorist leaders deciding if now’s a good time to take advantage of your personal distraction. I need business-Shae still in the house.”
He’s good at this, his years as a journalist able to help him compartmentalize on the fly in a crisis. His guidance is always unerring.
“Yes, Sir.”
