Page 66 of The Night Of
Jonathan’s expression was thunderous, fury like I’d never seen before engraved on his features. He wanted to shut me up, but he couldn’t speak. If he did, he’d lose control. I pressed on.
“Did you arrange to meet the prime minister ahead of time? Had you planned to meet at the pool?”
“Sean,” Jonathan growled.
“How did he know to meet you at the pool? You said you took a walk spontaneously, that you needed to clear your head after your fight with the president.”
She laughed to herself, shaking her head as she stared at the ceiling.
“Did you reach out to Mr. Rees somehow?”
Jonathan’s hand closed around my arm and squeezed. Pain rocketed up my shoulder.
“Did you call the prime minister, ma’am?”
Exasperated, her voice rose as she said, “Yes, I called him! I called him and asked him to meet me. I needed a friendly face that night. Do you have any idea how lonely it can get in this place?”
The First Lady’s number, Hammer had said.She didn’t make any calls.
But another phone had.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I don’t.”
Her eyes darted from me to Jonathan. “Maybe you will, one day.” Her gaze dropped to where Jonathan held me as if he were about to shake me. “Or maybe not.” She smiled, the same slow smile a barracuda gives its prey before it strikes. She reached for Jonathan’s cheek again—
This time, I stilled her before she could touch him.
Time stopped. Jonathan hissed as his eyes bulged, as his hand closed down so hard on my biceps I thought he’d break the bone. Felicity snapped her head around, pure shock bursting from her. I felt her forearm tense, saw her hand close into a fist.
“That’s a gorgeous watch,” I said. I turned her wrist gently toward me. The platinum glittered in the lights of the Oval, scattered sunbeams and flecks of rainbows. A thick diamond-crusted bezel surrounded the pearl watch face. “Bremont. An English brand.”
Her breath shivered when she exhaled. She pulled her hand free. Jonathan guided her away from me, putting himself between us. “It was a gift,” she said, shaking her wrist.
“From your husband?”
“No.”
“Your sister?”
“No,” she snapped. “I have to go—”
“Must be from a very special friend,” I said, speaking over her. “That’s a ten-thousand-dollar watch.”
“It was.” She shared a long look with Jonathan, then turned and strode out of the Oval Office.
“What the fuck is going on?” Jonathan’s voice quaked as he shut the door behind Felicity. He stared at the wall, not turning to face me, as if looking at me would make him come undone. “Sean, what the fuck are you doing?”
I heard what he didn’t say.That’s Steven’s wife.That’s my best friend’s widow.
A widow, yes. A black widow.
I finally had the who.
“Jonathan, do you trust me?” I crossed the Oval slowly, stopping behind him. I didn’t touch him, not yet. “Do you trust me?”
He exhaled. His past and his present—his future, if my dreams came true—were tearing him apart. Felicity and me, and even the memory of Steven, were at war for his soul. Felicity’s words, her declaration about Baker, about her husband, her certainty about how he’d died. Her conviction. Asking Jonathan to believe her, to end the investigation. All of that went directly against his own convictions, his own love for his best friend. Their long years of friendship and brotherhood.
And then there was me.
