Page 14 of Fighting for Julia
Miguel and Julia moved as one toward Brendan.
“You’re not off the hook, McAdams,” Miguel warned him. “Madam Secretary is hearing the truth fromyou.” He none-too-gently propelled him toward the foyer. “Agent Washburn, pick up the file and let’s go.”
Julia didn’t verbally respond to his calling herAgent Washburn, but she shot daggers at him. Miguel grinned to himself.
Snow fell like gentle rain. Julia drove carefully through the icy streets, and they arrived at an impressive Colonial-style home a few miles from Brendan’s residence. Inside the warm interior, Miguel brushed snow from his coat and followed Julia and Brendan, who seemed to know where they’d find Barbara and Greg Washburn. They came to a set of decorative double doors. Julia rapped on one of them a couple of times and pushed it open when Barbara called, “Come in!”
The Washburns relaxed in a pair of rocker-recliners placed at angles in front of a red-brick fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves covered most of the wall space in the massive room. A set of windows that rose from the floor halfway up the wall provided a view of their yard covered in snow. Ice edged the panes.
Greg Washburn lowered a copy ofThe New York Timesto gaze at them over black plastic reading glasses. Barbara set aside a file folder and stared in astonishment at Brendan.
“For heaven’s sake, Brendan! What happened to you? Sit down, sit down. Julia, honey, get the first aid kit and an ice pack from the freezer. Officer Rivera, please sit.”
Julia shoved Brendan onto a love seat, and Miguel perched next to him. “No. Not until he tells you and Dad the truth.”
“The truth about what?”
Miguel saw a flush creeping into Brendan’s face, not caused by the warmth of the fire but by his shame and embarrassment.
“My birth parents. Tell them,” Julia prodded.
Greg folded the newspaper and leaned forward. “Your birth parents? Julia, your mother and I have never known their identities.”
“No. But Brendan does. He’s known the truth for five years.”
Barbara glanced sharply at her Chief of Staff. “Brendan, is that true?”
“Yes,” he mumbled.
She lifted her eyes to Julia. “He told you?”
“No. Officer Rivera told me.”
“Start at the beginning, Brendan,” Barbara ordered and absently reached for her husband’s hand.
“It started when I realized your aspiration to run for the presidency. I learned the identities of all your children’s birth parents. Every single one has an ugly backstory, but none like Julia’s.” Brendan paused and at least possessed the courage to look Barbara squarely in the eyes as he declared, “Lola Escobar Anderson and Julio Escobar, son of General Jorge Escobar, are her birth parents.”
The Washburns maintained their composure. Greg ripped off his reading glasses, as if he hadn’t heard correctly, and squeezed Barbara’s hand. Her lips tightened, and she gripped the arm of the rocker-recliner with her other hand.
“Officer Rivera, it’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired from the long flight. Julia will show you to your room.” She dismissed them.
On their way upstairs, they retrieved Miguel’s carry-on from the foyer. Neither spoke as he followed her to a guest room near the end of a hallway.
“The room is prepared for you. It has a half-bath with everything you need. Good night, Officer Rivera. Honestly, I don’t know whether I should thank you or?—”
“Or punch me?” he interrupted with a grin.
Her slight smile transformed her face. For the first time, Miguel noticed her high cheekbones, aristocratic nose, and shapely mouth. His heart did that funny thing again.
“Something like that.”
“It’s certain Brendan McAdams won’t ever forget your right hook.”
Julia’s smile faded, and she grimaced. “His aspirations to follow my mother to the White House have come to an abrupt end. I doubt she’ll trust him after this level of betrayal.” She shook her head. “He’s not like his siblings. I feel as if I know them intimately through their uncle Caden McAdams, my mentor, though I’ve never met any of them until recently when Brielle accompanied Chief McQuaid here days ago.”
“It’s a name thing. He believes it’s a burden to be named after his mother’s deceased fiancé. He shared that with me while you were, uh, indisposed.”
Julia averted her gaze as she opened the door, and they stepped across the threshold into a guest room decorated in neutral colors and few furnishings. A full-sized bed, twin nightstands with table lamps on them, and a horizontal, six-drawer dresser occupied the space. The closet was to his left, and a door on his right led to the half-bath.
