Page 53 of No Vow Broken

“I do, and that’s why I think we need to look in a different direction.”

I blew out a breath of frustration. “But what direction? Do you think they’ll find anything usual from the drone fragments?”

“Hard to say. They will certainly examine them, but I doubt they’ll learn anything in time to reduce the risk to our wedding if we proceed as planned. However, we probably need to explore our well-resourced enemies who have a desire for notoriety.”

“That could take a while.”

“It could. But I don’t think we have a choice at this point.”

When we saw Agent Santiago and some of the same police and Secret Service personnel arrive again to collect our statements, the déjà vu experience became even more pronounced.

“The police will take brief statements from you,” Agent Santiago said. “I know you’re getting tired of this, and we apologize. As you were clearly not the perpetrators of the attack, the police just need to record your statements for criminal charges whenever they identify who is behind the attack. It should go quickly, and they have agreed to take joint statements with us, as it has been a very long night and day already. After that, we would like to talk with any of you who were instrumental in the response to the attack to get your impressions and to try and find any clues as to who is behind the attack and what their goals and objectives may be. Do we know who first spotted the attack?”

Slash rose. “I believe Lexi spotted the drones first.”

“That’s correct,” a voice from the back of the room said. I turned and saw our Secret Service driver. “If she hadn’t been attentive and suspicious, there might have been significant casualties. She gave us the time we needed to respond.”

After a few more general questions, the Secret Service split us up and questioned us again. I knew the routine well by now. I followed an agent into an empty room and told them exactly what I’d seen and done during the attack. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I didn’t have much useful information to report. I hadn’t seen anyone acting suspicious before the attack, hadn’t witnessed anyone operating a remote of any kind. I’d just crouched behind vehicles and left the shooting to the professionals. However, being attacked twice in twenty-four hours was getting old fast.

I was over that and then some.

Thankfully, my debrief, and most everyone else’s, was relatively short as opposed to those of Hands, Slash, and Tito, who’d actively engaged in bringing down the drones. Finally arrangements were made to get us back to the hotel in Maryland. We were promised our luggage and vehicles would be brought over from Bluff House as soon as possible.

Slash and I decided to split up. He got a car to take him home to get extra clothes for us, as well as some computer equipment. He then intended to swing by the hospital to pick up Gio and bring him to the hotel. I headed straight to the hotel with most of our guests. Slash promised to be along as quickly as possible, so I rode in a car with Mom, Dad, and my brother Rock.

The trip was uneventful, thankfully, but I stared out the window the entire time looking for potential threats. What was happening to me? I was turning into Slash.

When we finally reached the Lighthouse Resort Hotel that afternoon, we saw our vehicles parked in front. What was left of our suitcases and garment bags had been left in the lobby for those of us who had been staying at Bluff House.

Gwen, Elvis, Xavier, Hands, and Gray took their suitcases and bags to their new rooms, but Mom, Basia, and Amanda insisted on seeing my wedding dress immediately to determine if it could be salvaged. Since I knew it couldn’t, I didn’t want to go through the exercise, but they persisted until I agreed. They helped me drag my and Slash’s luggage to a couch in the lobby, where I sat down. Amanda, Mom, and Basia gathered around me anxiously.

I decided to check Slash’s stuff first. His garment bag was mostly untouched. After a quick examination, it appeared his tuxedo had somehow miraculously survived the rampage. His suitcase, however, had been shot. Thankfully, his clothes were mostly in good shape except for a T-shirt, one sleeve of a leather jacket, and a dress shoe that sported a couple of bullet holes.

My suitcase and garment bag hadn’t fared nearly as well. Many of the clothes in my suitcase had bullet holes, even my pajamas. My suitcase had apparently been directly in the line of fire. Most of what I had in my suitcase looked unsalvageable, but I’d worry about that later.

I set my suitcase aside and pulled the garment bag containing my wedding dress onto my lap. As I unzipped the bag, a piece of the dress fell out. Ignoring the gasps, I gingerly picked up the piece of material and laid it onto the coffee table. I pulled the rest of the gown out of the bag and spread it out on the table.

The gown, in addition to being torn by Hands—who in his defense, hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d been shredding in the heat of the moment—had several bullet holes, almost making it look like polka dots.

My mom nearly fainted at the sight, while Amanda and Basia both clasped their hands over their mouths. I remained silent. The dress, or what was left of it, spoke for itself.

We all stared at it for a long moment, me, at least, wishing it a solemn farewell. I felt as if its short life had been well lived by helping another human being survive. But I knew that wasn’t what was on the minds of the others, so I didn’t say anything aloud.

“Oh, my God. What are we going to do?” Mom finally said, her voice stricken. “The wedding is in four days.”

Somehow, I felt that worrying over the dress after what we had just been through seemed anticlimactic, but apparently, I was wrong. It just confirmed I didn’t understand weddings at all.

After a moment, Amanda recovered. “We’ll find something off the rack. Something that requires minimal or no altering.”

“Lexi is tall, with a short waist and really long legs,” Basia said softly. “Finding a dress that fits her is not going to be easy, especially not in three days.”

“I have some connections at a few bridal salons,” Amanda said. “I can definitely give it a shot. It won’t be easy, but I’ll see what options I can find. We’ll figure out something.”

Basia and Amanda started to discuss among themselves where to start, so I looked over at my mom, who just kept staring at the dress.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked reaching out and taking her hand. She’d clearly been more emotionally attached to the dress than I had. “It’ll be fine. If Amanda and Basia can’t find a dress that will fit me, I’ll just repurpose one of my other three dresses. They’re not white—you know, since I’m a klutz and all—but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Mom didn’t respond. I guess that wasn’t been the cheerful reassurance she sought, so I tried a different approach.

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