Page 16 of The Night Of
I hoped I could trust my guys. I’ve been with them for years, after all. But I hadn’t been close to anyone in the past year, not from the Secret Service or the White House, and I didn’t really know everything I’d missed. Had someone gone full fucked in the past year? Enough to kill President Baker? Who could I trust, if I couldn’t trust anyone?
Jonathan dropped his suit jacket in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He leaned against the counter and stared at the wall, mechanically drinking every twenty seconds. I counted.
“I’m staying here tonight,” I spat out. Best to get it over with quickly. “Every night, actually, until the investigation is over. Until we know you’re safe.”
He froze midswallow, his eyes flicking to mine and holding for a long, long moment. I watched and waited for him to unfreeze.
“I’ll sleep on the landing,” I mumbled, breaking our stare-down. There was a small landing at the top of the stairs outside the master bedroom. I rubbed my forehead, trying to push away the migraine that was building. “I’m not trying—” I pressed my lips together. Looked away.
In my periphery, I saw him nod to himself. Or maybe my eyes were shaking. He finished his water and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin, not saying a word.
I followed him up the old servants’ stairs leading to the second floor. He undid his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt as he walked. I couldn’t watch. Instead, I hovered on the landing, picking and choosing which couch I’d push down the hall and how I’d barricade the three sets of stairs so no one could sneak up on us. None of the couches were comfortable. They were all Queen Anne–style, spindly legs and ornate fabric and stuffing made out of what felt like bricks. I might as well sleep on the floor. The rugs would be more plush.
At the door to his bedroom, Jonathan hesitated. He faced the frame, gripping the molded wood. “The bathroom is there.” He pointed to a closed door across from the landing. “I’m still waiting to hear when Steven’s autopsy will begin. The best forensic pathologist in the nation is flying in. They haven’t picked a time because they don’t want it to leak to the media through the hospital staff. It will be soon, though.”
I nodded. “I’ll be ready to go whenever it starts.”
“What had he written? At Camp David?”
I swallowed. “It was one word, written on the mirror with his finger.Flowerterrible.” Saying it out loud was even worse than reading it. Baker sounded off his goddamn rocker.
Sharp frowned. His expression turned fierce, a dark, frustrated glower as he stared at the painted wood. “You didn’t find anything else.”
It wasn’t a question. I stared at the floor, my jaw working, trying to form words. “We’re still searching,” I said weakly. “There’s a lot to look into. How did you know I didn’t find anything else?”
“If you had, it would have been the first thing out of your mouth.” He pushed back, squeezed his eyes closed, and sighed. “Good night. And… thank you.”
The door shut behind him before I could unfuck myself enough to respond. “Good night,” I whispered to his shut bedroom door.
I miss you so fucking much. I didn’t say that, though. Not even in a whisper.
* * *
“Sean. Sean, wake up.”
“Huh?” I came awake like a bear, half alert and half in hibernation, rolling from my side to my belly before pushing myself to my elbows. I was on the floor outside Jonathan’s bedroom, a silk throw pillow under my head and a quilt stitched by a First Lady in the 1800s draped over me. Jonathan was shaking my shoulder, kneeling beside me like he was on combat patrol.
That got me all the way awake, and I made a move for my pistol as I shifted to my knees. It was still dark outside. We hadn’t been asleep long. I’d shoved furniture in front of the stairways after Jonathan had gone into his bedroom, and then I’d passed out on the floor. I’d moved all the uncomfortable couches too far away from his bedroom to sleep on. No real loss.
Jonathan stilled me from my reach for my piece. “No threat,” he said. “I got a call about the autopsy. It’s happening at zero five thirty, at Bethesda.”
“What time is it now?”
“Zero four forty-five.”
I had to move if I wanted to get to Bethesda before it started. Nodding, I pushed myself to my feet. I’d slept in my clothes, and I was ready to go as soon as I shook off the cobwebs.
He helped me move one of the couches, and we headed downstairs together. He went into the kitchen, while I veered off to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I looked grim, like the Crypt-Keeper was trying to take over my body from the inside out. My facial hair was long past a five-o’clock scruff. I just looked rough. Haggard. Exactly how I wanted to appear in front of the man I loved.
I made the best of it and followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen. My stomach snarled, demanding the caffeine hit. I could chug a cup before I left. Hell, I could shove some grinds in my lip and call it good.
When I entered, Jonathan handed me a NATO Command stainless steel travel mug, something he’d carried with him for ten years. “Cream, no sugar,” he said, turning back to the coffee maker.
Exactly how I liked it. We’d brought each other enough cups of coffee on bullshit excuses to know. He took his black if need be, but he preferred a hint of sugar to cut the bitter aftertaste. I hated that I still knew that.
Jonathan looked very awake, far more than I was. “Did you sleep at all?” I asked.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and didn’t turn to look at me. “My best friend is dead. Would you be able to sleep?”
