Though she had no idea what she planned to do with him or the information he’d dropped in her lap, she couldn’t walk away from what he’d told her. “Tell me more about this website where you saw the photo.”
“It’s a blog run by parents of missing children.”
“How did you end up there?”
“I read a story about a baby who was kidnapped from a hospital in Tennessee the day after he was born and how his parents have never stopped looking for him. The thirtieth anniversary of the abduction is coming up, so they’ve gotten some regional publicity. There was a link in the story that led to the blog where the age-progression photo was.”
“So the photo hasn’t been picked up by the media?”
“Not that I could tell, but I was too freaked out by what I was seeing to dig deeper, especially since my thirtieth birthday is next week. I told my boss I had an emergency. I left the office and came right to you.”
“Why me?”
“Are you serious? After what you did at the inauguration, the whole country knows what an amazing cop you are. Who else would I go to with something like this?”
Sam winced at the reference to her crowd surfing stunt during the inaugural parade. She wished people would forget about that and move on, but the media attention on her and Nick had been even more relentless than usual since the inauguration and since their interview last week with one of the network morning shows. They’d hoped the interview would diffuse the interest, but that had backfired. Andrea, her White House communications director, had been inundated with hundreds of new interview requests for Sam, all of which she’d declined. The last thing she needed was more attention focused on her.
“You realize that accusing the FBI director of a capital felony is not something you do without stacks of proof that he was involved.”
“That’s where you come in. I need proof, and I need it fast before that picture gets picked up by the wires or social media and flung around the country. I need proof before he knows that I know.”
Sam had to agree that time was of the essence before this thing blew up into a shitstorm of epic proportions. With that in mind, she started the car, pulled out of the MPD parking lot and into weekday afternoon traffic that clogged the District on the way toward Capitol Hill.
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
She glanced over at him and saw his eyes get big. “For real?”
“Yes, for real.” She paused before she continued. “Look, if you want me to dig into this, I have to do it at home. I’m serving out a suspension for punching another officer.”
“Whoa.”
“As you can imagine, I’d prefer that not be all over the news in light of who my husband is, and I’ve gotta stay below the radar on this or my bosses will be all over me.”
“No one will hear it from me.”
After a slow crawl across the District, Sam pulled up to the Secret Service checkpoint on Ninth Street. Normally they waved her through, but she had to stop to clear her guest. “They’ll need to see your ID.”
Josh pulled his license from his wallet and handed it to her.
She gave it to the agent, who took a close look before returning it to her. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a nice day.”
“You too.”
“What’s that like?” Josh asked. “Being surrounded by Secret Service all the time?”
“About as much fun as you’d expect it to be.”
“Why don’t you have a detail?”
“Because I don’t need one. I can take care of myself.” Thankfully, he didn’t mention the recent siege in Marissa Springer’s basement as an example of her inability to take care of herself. Sam liked to think that was a onetime lapse in judgment, never to be repeated.
Outside their home, her husband’s motorcade lined the street. What was he doing home so early?
She parked in her assigned spot—everyone who lived on Ninth Street now had assigned parking spaces—and headed up the ramp that led to their home.
“Why do you have a ramp?” Josh asked.
“My dad’s a quadriplegic. He lives down the street. My husband installed the ramp so he can visit.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Sorry about your dad, though.”
“Thanks.”
Nick’s lead agent, John Brantley Jr., met her at the door. “Lieutenant.”
“Brant. What’s he doing home so early?”
“The vice president isn’t feeling well.”
“Say what?”
He gave her a “you heard me” look that nearly made her laugh, except she was too concerned about Nick to laugh. Her invincible husband didn’t get sick the way other mortals did. In all the time they’d been together, she’d never known him to have so much as a cold.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”
She used her thumb to point to her guest. “This is Josh—he’s with me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hated the way the agents insisted on calling her ma’am, as if she were seventy years old or something, but she’d chosen not to fight that battle. She wanted to say, if you can call me ma’am why can’t you call me Sam? Close enough, wasn’t it? But Nick had asked her not to make an issue of it, so she didn’t. But she wanted to.
“Have a seat.” She directed Josh to the sofa while she tossed her coat over the back of it. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
Sam dashed upstairs to their bedroom, anxious to see what was wrong with Nick, who’d been fine earlier. She found him in bed, curled into the fetal position, and was instantly concerned. Leaning over the bed, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, which was on fire. “Babe.”
“Mmm.”
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. Was fine and then I wasn’t.”
“You’re burning up. Did you take something?”
“Couldn’t. Stomach.”
“I’m calling Harry.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, and I’m calling Harry.”
He mumbled something that sounded like “don’t bother him,” but to hell with that. She was bothering him. Withdrawing her cell phone from her pocket, she found the number for one of their closest friends, who happened to be a doctor, and made the call.
“Madame Vice President,” Harry said. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Nick is sick. Can you come over?”
“Sick with what?”
“I don’t know. He said it came on out of nowhere, and now he’s burning up and says his stomach hurts too bad to take anything.”
“Sounds like the flu. Keep your distance.”
“Way too late for that warning.” Sam winced when she thought of the sex they’d had last night and again this morning. Not getting too close to her husband was usually the last thing she wanted to do.
“Figures with you two,”