Page 167 of Hush
But Ballard just shook his head. “Not that. I mean, thatwasa shock. To everyone. No one had any idea. But, because you and Baryshnikovwerelovers, you blew Barnes’s entire world, and the whole conspiracy, open. What I meant was, you’re the only one who could have steered theright course, Tom. Could have done this the right way.” Ballard smiled, just once, briefly. “Your Honor.”
“Villegas said Winters was working with you?”
“Winters came to us. Said he was concerned about someone in this conspiracy taking a shot at you. That we didn’t know who all was involved in this whole thing, but he knew one person who wasn’t: Rob Villegas. Villegas and Winters worked together before coming to the judicial side of the marshals. Villegas was undercover, for years. Winters was his case agent. Those two men went through hell and back. Winters knows everything about Villegas, because he had to put him back together after their undercover operation went south, and Villegas ended up in the hospital for five months.”
Tom stayed quiet. He’d never known any of this. Not a single hint, or a whisper. The marshals ran a tight ship, and took care of their own.
“Winters said he was going to task Villegas with tracking you. When you were in DC, it was easy. We put a tracker on you, and then you moved into the Hyatt. And thank God he put that tracker on you, or Barnes would have had no one to stop him out in West Virginia.”
“How did Barnes track us?”
“He skipped the FISA courts and went straight to breaking the law. Or,furtherbreaking the law. Tracked your cell phones out of the SCIF room at FBI headquarters.”
“Why didn’t Winters trust Mike?”
“Inspector Lucciano was acting suspicious.” Ballard shrugged. “We eventually figured out why. But, early on…”
“Mike is the best man I know.”
“Clearly.” Ballard spared a small smile. “How long have you two been together?”
Tom swallowed. “We started dating a couple days before the shooting. We were… we were there. At the Pride march. On a date.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know what to do or what to think after, but I knew I wanted to be with Mike. No matter what. I didn’t want to have to give that up.”
“You… had to give up a lot in your life.” Ballard’s expression turned soft. “We all thought you were a robot. Or a eunuch.”
“Closeted. Deeply, deeply closeted.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Too afraid to come out.”
Ballard reached for his hand, closed in a fist around his hospital blanket, and squeezed. “I’m glad you did, Tom. You deserve to be happy. Especially after this.” He stood, heaving a sigh. “I have to go to the White House and the FBI and then back to the courthouse and try and put all this shit together. The president is going to call the Russians soon.”
“Why are you here?”
“Didn’t want you to wake up alone.” Ballard grabbed his suit jacket from where it had fallen on the floor and balled it up. “Tom… Your Honor…” He sighed, his shoulders slumping like a broken justice scale pulled down and falling toward the floor. “I’m glad you were picked as judge. Instead of me.”
Tom’s throat closed, but he managed to nod, almost smiling. Dylan smiled back and then walked out. Tom fell back against the mountain of pillows on his bed and let the tears fall.
He was released from the hospital two days later with a bottle of painkillers and his arm immobilized for the next two months. “Ironically, you have a similar injury as President Vasiliev received,” the surgeon said. “Only not as bad. Vasiliev was shot with a high-caliber rifle round. You were only hit with a nine mil.”
“Only.” Tom tried to smile. His shoulder ached, and his arm itched under the cast.
Marshal Winters walked into his hospital room, then, wearing his usual dark suit and crisp white button-down. His gaze swept over Tom, sitting in the hospital’s rickety wheelchair in just a borrowed pair of scrubs. For the first time ever, Tom saw him crack a small smile.
“Judge Brewer. How are you feeling?”
“Pretty terrible.”
“I can imagine. Your Honor, we are placing you under U.S. marshal protection. We’re still untangling what happened with Barnes, Baryshnikov, and their connections to Moscow. You are a witness, Judge Brewer. We need to keep you under protection in case there is another attempt on your life.”
Tom sighed and sagged back in the wheelchair. “And this time, no Mike.” He fidgeted. He hadn’t been allowed to see Mike, or even ask about him. All information about Mike’s condition, and even his location, was being held back, kept locked away on a need-to-know-basis.
Winters cracked a tiny grin. “Your Honor,Iwill be managing your protection detail personally.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose, sky-high.
“We’re taking you home. I’m sure you want to recover in the comfort of your own place. I’m posting ‘round the clock surveillance on your curb and in a perimeter around your house. You’ll have to deal with some press camping on your street, but we’ll do our best to scare them away.”
“I’ll be camping on my couch, so they can bore themselves out there all they want.” Tom tried to smile. “Thank you. I appreciate your consideration. In this, and… with everything.”
Winters stepped behind him and gripped the handles of his wheelchair. He said nothing as he steered Tom down the hall and into the elevator, and then into the garage, where a team of marshals were waiting in a convoy of blacked-out SUVs. Winters personally helped Tom into his SUV, cradling his shoulder and sling as he clambered inside.
