Page 19 of Critical Witness

“That’s awesome. What do you need?”

“I need you to send it back. It’s the wrong one. I’ve got the real one we need here. If I can hook it up to, I don’t know, the internet or something, will you be able to see what’s on it?”

Stephen hemmed and hawed, but the basic idea was that he wouldn’t know until he tried. “If you send it to me, though, I can get in. Guaranteed.”

Will growled. “That’s an entire day gone.”

“The other option is having the owner unlock it. Or maybe you can guess the password. It’s actually way easier to hack people than it is to hack hardware.”

Will frowned. “I don’t even know what that means. I’ll talk to her. In the meantime, I’m sending you a video to analyze to see if I missed anything. What do we have from the NSA?”

Stephen switched gears and sent him the satellite images from the Screaming Peach attack and the hotel on assassination day. He had also cross-referenced traffic cam footage from the Screaming Peach with the security cameras of the hotel parking garage.

“I believe the assassin is or was driving a tan 2018 Chevy Tahoe.”

“License plate?”

Stephen rattled it off and Will wrote it down. “It’s registered to a tiny rental company out of Orlando,” he said.

“What’s the latest from the FBI and Secret Service?”

“They seem to be following a lead that implicates North Korean special forces for the attack.”

Will didn’t hide his surprise. “What? That’s absurd. Where’s the intelligence coming from?” Obviously, Will wasn’t in the current intelligence circles, but he knew enough about North Korea to know there was no way they were infiltrating American soil to carry out an attack.

“Joey has us inside their system. The reports are all marked SIGINT–whatever that is.”

“That’s short for signal intelligence. Usually, intercepted phone calls or messages by NSA or CIA.”

“There’s one other thing, Will. Umm, I never thought I would say something like this, but President Coulter wants a personal update from you later tonight.”

CHAPTERTWELVE

Hannah saton the floor of the hotel shower, letting the water drip over her head and staring as it swirled down the drain. Her emotions had been a roller coaster for the last four days. She’d nearly cried at being given a set of clothes! How ridiculous was that?

And what was she going to do about Will? She’d been on the brink of straightening out the entire misunderstanding with her name and identity, until he’d made his disdain of journalists obvious. She should probably tell him anyway, but then there was no way he’d let her stick around long enough to see this whole thing through. And all the sympathy and concern she’d seen in his eyes would disappear, too. It was kind of nice having someone worry about her. It had been a long time since anyone cared.

But if he found out she was a reporter? He seemed to think that all journalists were terrible people. She hated being dishonest with him, especially after he and the team had already done so much. If it weren’t for them, she’d be under a pile of rubble at the Screaming Peach.

She felt like such an idiot falling for the whole Mr. Lloyd trap. Gingerly, she pressed a hand to the tender bruise on her skull where she’d hit something after the blast knocked her down.

Pushing her wet hair back from her face, she gathered her strength to stand. Will wanted answers, and she was going to tell him as much as she could–without revealing that she was a reporter. Because she wanted answers and access, too. She needed to pretend to be “Melanie” for a while longer.

After she finished her shower and got dressed in the clothes Miranda sent, Hannah tentatively stepped back into the main hotel room. The smell of garlic and bread made her mouth water. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Last night she’d managed to find a granola bar while cleaning out the apartment.

“Here. Eat.” Tank’s offer of food was delivered with the gruff, emotionless tone she was growing used to from the giant, bald man. He reminded her of The Rock but with less smiling.

“Thank you,” she said softly, taking the plate from his hand and staring at the overflowing plate of pasta and salad. She felt the telltale prick of tears forming again. She was going to get even more dehydrated if she kept up all this crying.

She glanced around, looking for a place to sit. Tank and Pierce were standing next to the desk, shoveling food into their mouths. Will was in the corner of the room, his phone to his ear again. Who was he talking to?

Unsure if it was a desire to be close to him or an attempt to eavesdrop, she took a seat on the bed closer to him and began to eat. The garlic bread was warm and salty and she nearly moaned around it. Instead, she chewed silently and tried to listen to Will. She could just barely hear him over the TV, which still sported the cable news pundits breaking news about the assassination.

“Yes, sir. I’m aware. I’ll be ready for the call.”

Will pulled the phone away from his ear and turned around. He seemed unsurprised to see her there.

“How are you feeling?”

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