Page 37 of No Vow Broken

“It was a team effort, Keys. You did good. But I’ll give you this—life around you is never boring. Have you ever thought of trying something different like, you know, being a librarian?”

We both got a good laugh out of that and then we fell silent as the agent in the front answered a call on his cell. When he hung up, he informed us we were headed for the Capital Hilton, just north of the White House, for the debrief.

“What about the rest of my family and friends?” I asked. “Are they coming to the hotel, too?”

“Yes. They selected the Hilton because they could get everyone a room and we would be able to secure all the guests from the inn for the night.”

Sleeping sounded like a really good idea, so I closed my eyes and leaned back on the seat cushions. I must have been exhausted, because we were already in DC when Hands patted me on the shoulder.

“Get up, Keys. We’re here.”

I rubbed my eyes and glanced out the window. Our SUV had pulled up to the main entrance of the hotel. A mix of Secret Service agents and police stood guard out front, and one of the police officers opened the car door and indicated we should follow her. Hands and I were led into a hotel ballroom secured by police officers at every door.

As soon as we got inside, Hands and I were separated. I threw him a look over my shoulder as I headed down a hallway. He winked at me with confidence and gave me a thumbs-up.

At the end of the hall, a female officer introduced herself as Officer Joyce Devlin. However, instead of ushering me into an interrogation room as I expected, she offered me a bundle of clothing and invited me to clean up in an adjacent bathroom.

I gratefully took the clothes and headed into the bathroom, washing myself in the sink the best I could and drying myself with paper towels. I wasn’t sure where she’d gotten the clothes—a plain white T-shirt, an oversize navy sweatshirt, and a pair of soft gray sweatpants that were way too short on me—but I appreciated it. I didn’t complain because anything was better than my blood-soaked dress and the memory of Agent Glass being shot. I dumped my ruined bra and dress in the trash and rejoined Officer Devlin in the hallway.

“It seems like you’ve had quite an eventful night,” she said, motioning for me to sit in a nearby chair and then offering me a sandwich and a bottle of water from the table where she’d collected the clothes for me.

“I have.” I unscrewed the top of the water bottle and drank half of it in one sitting. “But not in a good way.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay. I hope you understand why it’s important for us to interview you, your guests, and the staff at Bluff House right away. It’s important in criminal cases to get everyone’s story down immediately before critical details are forgotten. We understand it was a traumatic situation, but if you saw, heard, or noticed anything unusual, no matter how small, I want you to tell me, okay? It’ll help us figure out what happened tonight. You’re particularly important, because you were very close to one of the final assailants killed.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Just so you know, I’m going to record this interview so we can review it later for research or investigative purposes. Is that okay with you?”

“It’s okay,” I mumbled as I stuffed half the sandwich in my mouth. Jeez. Who knew that near death could leave me so hungry? At this point, I couldn’t even remember what we were supposed to have for the rehearsal dinner.

“Great. Then, let’s proceed.”

Officer Devlin began to lead me slowly through of the events of the day and into the night. I was able to give her an accurate accounting of all my activities up until I was sitting in the bathtub with Elvis and Basia. I skipped parts of those conversations as they didn’t seem relevant to the case at hand. It wasn’t until I got to the events in the hallway that Joyce started asking me more direct questions.

How had I happened to come up with the idea to blind the attackers with a high-powered flashlight? Why hadn’t I trusted Agent Glass to do her job? Where had I learned to shoot a gun? Had the attacker spoken or said anything to me or Agent Glass? Why did the attacker start to break down the door when he did? Did I hit the attacker when I shot him? How many times did I shoot at him? How much time passed between the moment I shot the gun and the arrival of Hands?

I answered as thoroughly and as painstakingly as possible. As I have a photographic memory, I was able to offer a lot of detail, but unfortunately, none of that detail had clued me in that we were going to be the victims of armed attackers.

After Officer Devlin was satisfied with my chronological account of the night, she continued to focus on the firefight in the hallway and continued to ask me more detailed questions about what happened.

How did I know the attacker would be wearing night-vision goggles? My answer—I hadn’t known for sure. It had just been an educated guess, since the attackers had taken out the lights.

Yes, Agent Glass shot at the attacker, but no, I don’t think she hit him. Yes, I used Agent Glass’s gun to shoot the attacker. No, I wasn’t a great shot, but I’d been embedded with Navy SEALs and had learned a little bit about protecting myself. Yes, I was in fear of my life. Yes, I was positive it was the attacker who shot at Agent Glass and me and not someone else. No, I didn’t see any other attackers. No, I didn’t have any idea why he didn’t make sure I was dead before he tried to get into the room. No, I didn’t warn him to drop his weapon before I shot, but I did call him a douchebag so he’d look at me and I could blind him with the flashlight as I took my shot. Yes, I was scared to death, but I was worried he’d hurt my friends. No, I didn’t check to see if he was alive after I shot him, because Hands fell on top of me. No, I wasn’t sure if it was me or Hands who had killed the attacker. I had no idea if I’d even hit him.

The questioning went on and on like this.

At some point, we took a break. “Do you know how Agent Glass is doing?” I asked.

“I don’t, but I’ll see if someone else does.”

She checked in with a Secret Service agent farther down the hallway and waited for a few minutes. When she came back, she had an update. “Agent Glass is still in surgery. I’m afraid it’s quite serious. No one knows if she’ll pull through.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “What about the other agents?”

“Agent Flax and Agent Troy are also in surgery,” she said. “No reports yet on their conditions either. Unfortunately, Agent Flanigan and the two police officers who were outside are confirmed deceased.”

It was too terrible to contemplate. “I can’t even. That’s just beyond awful. Their poor families.”

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