“Where’d you go?” Hennigan asked.
“I wanted to provide backup in case something went sideways.”
* * * *
Ethan
Ethan awoke in a hospital room shortly before noon. The sound of beeping hospital equipment made his head hurt. His first instinct was to yank the wires he was hooked up to, setting off a fresh array of alarms that amplified his headache.
“Hold on,” Blayne interjected, seizing his hand. “You’re safe now.”
“Where am I?” Ethan asked.
“You’re at George Washington University Hospital. What do you remember?”
“Nothing really.” Ethan attempted to sit up with Blayne assisting him in adjusting the hospital bed to a sitting position. At first, the room spun a bit, but things calmed down in a few seconds. “I remember starting the concert, then everything’s hazy.”
For the next few minutes, Blayne briefed Ethan on the events that unfolded after he had lost consciousness.
“Wow,” Ethan said. “That’s intense.”
“I have some bad news,” Blayne said. “But we can talk about it when you’re better.”
“Just tell it to me straight,” Ethan insisted.
“Mr. J. was shot. Don’t worry. He’s doing okay and already trying to get checked out of the hospital. But…” Blayne closed his eyes trying to fight back his own tears. “We lost Ms. Z. One of the bombs…”
A choked cry escaped Ethan’s lips as tears welled in his eyes. “How bad was it?”
“Ms. Z.?”
“No, everything.”
“It was bad. Quite a few people are still in intensive care units across the district. We won’t know how bad it will be for a few days, probably. The press is already blaming the President and First Lady for having this concert and allowing the terrorists to attack. The White House is blaming the FBI, who is blaming the Secret Service, who is blaming everyone else. Southern conservatives are blaming leftists, and progressives are blaming right-wing extremists. So, basically, it’s business as usual in DC. Thankfully, no one is pointing their fingers at us this time.”
“This is all my fault,” Ethan said. “If only we hadn’t staged that damn concert—”
“No way, absolutely not. I won’t allow you to shoulder the blame for any of this. Is that understood? This is all one hundred percent on the shoulders of Elizabeth Cleburne. The news has been pretty sketchy about her biography.”
A voice chimed in, “Knock, knock,” from the door. Ethan pivoted to see Stephanie standing there. She ran to his bedside and gave him a hug.
Ethan winced.
“Oh my God, I amsosorry,” Stephanie apologized.
“It’s okay,” Ethan replied. “I’m just a bit sore, that’s all.”
“Have the doctors seen him yet?” Stephanie asked Blayne.
“He just woke up. We were conversing.” Ethan caught the look Stephanie flashed Blayne. “I wasn’t going to keep anything from him. He had a right to know.” From the look that crossed Stephanie’s face, Ethan could tell this had been a conversation they had previously had.
“Well, I’m going to go find his doctor,” Stephanie said, “and tell the guys. They’re all out in the waiting room.” She looked down at Ethan. “Be prepared. Everyone is going to be fawning all over you. You gave us a fright.”
With that, Stephanie left them alone.
“You gave me quite a scare,” Blayne confessed. “When Ms. A. carried your body into the VIP tent, my heart shattered.”
“It’s okay,” Ethan said, grabbing Blayne’s hand. “I’m fine. We got through this together. I’m guessing it’s over now?”
