She looks at the mangled mess in my driveway, a charred hulk with a huge hole underneath. “John, what happened here?”
“It was an IED. Planted in the driveway sometime last night. It was meant for me, Bree. I would have tripped it when I backed out of the garage this morning.”
“Dear God.” We both know this is clearly connected to the other bombings. Bree glances back at the car. “Do you know who the vic is?”
“Anna. Anna Rizzo. She was an investigator with ATF. We’ve been working closely together, got along really well. She was a good person. Mother of two.”
“I’m sorry,” says Bree. “Really sorry. Let’s get Willow out of here.”
“I’m ready, Aunt Bree.” Willow walks up, her extra-heavy backpack over her shoulder.
“Okay, sweetheart,” says Bree. “Let’s go see what Nana Mama has cooked up for breakfast.”
Willow steps up and gives me a big hug. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, Willow. More than anything.”
I watch the two of them walk off together. Willow gives me one last wave before she disappears behind a fire truck.
I sit back down on my steps and put my head in my hands. Blood from my nose is drying on my shirt. And Anna’s blood is still on my fingers.
“Sampson! Hey! Sampson!”
Somebody’s shouting at me from the street. A familiar voice.
I look up.
He’s coming up the driveway, past the yellow tape.
Shit.
Not him.
Not now.
CHAPTER 84
IT’S ROLAND PERKINS, THE accountant-looking spook.
He picks his way up my driveway, stepping over hoses and equipment. I see him pause beside the wreckage of Anna Rizzo’s car. All around the vehicle, forensics techs are starting their work—snapping pictures, taking measurements, scraping charred paint into small plastic evidence bags. Perkins holds up his ID and peeks in through the mangled passenger-side door, then quickly backs away. “Jesus Christ!”
By this point, my neighbors up and down the street are standing outside, cell phones aloft, filming the whole scene. The first news vans are pulling up to the curb. I know it won’t be long before a News 4 helicopter is hovering overhead.
Perkins looks a bit shaken when he walks over to me. “This is a tough one, Sampson. Unbelievable. I hear Rizzo was a solid investigator. I recall how much you liked her. I’m really sorry.”
I can’t tell if Perkins is totally genuine or a really good actor. Since he’s career CIA, there’s no way to know. But I take his words at face value for the moment. “Yeah. Me too.”
“We’re assuming you were the target?” he asks, sitting down beside me.
“Must’ve been. Rizzo told me she was coming over only ten minutes before this happened. Whoever set this couldn’t have been expecting her. There wouldn’t have been any time to hide a device that strong. So it must’ve been intended for me, for the next time I backed out of my garage, and …” My throat gets tight. “I could have had my daughter with me.”
“Why was Rizzo coming here so early?” Perkins asks. “Her office is in Bethesda.”
“She had something to tell me. Said it had to be in person.”
“Something about Phillips?”
“Maybe.”
