All Our Yesterdays (19 page)

Nate squeezes my hand, and his head sinks back into the pillow. His lips twitch, like he’s trying to say something or maybe just smile, and then he closes his eyes.

“Nate?” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Nate, wake up!”

I panic, sure he’s dead, but then register the continued beeping of his heart monitor. He’s still alive, just unconscious. A doctor rushes into the room with James, Vivianne, and Finn at his heels. It feels like Nate and I have been alone for hours, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute. Vivianne falls into the chair beside him, taking his hand, while the doctor checks the machines hooked up to Nate and lifts his eyelids to check his pupils.

“What happened?” Vivianne says. “He was awake?”

“F-for a little while,” I say with difficulty. I’m still trying to process what just happened. I have no spare brain cells left for speech.

“Is he okay?” James asks. “Why isn’t he still awake?”

“It’s common for someone to slip in and out of consciousness after a trauma like this,” the doctor says. “The fact that he woke up, even for a short time, is a good sign.”

Vivianne turns to me with a fragile look of hope on her face. “Did he say anything?”

“He wouldn’t have been able to speak with the ventilator in, I’m afraid,” the doctor says, sparing me the need to fumble for words. I don’t know what to say yet. Should I just tell them everything, despite how far-fetched it sounds?

Or would they just think I was crazy, like before?

I realize James is watching me very closely.

“Did he communicate anything to you, Marina?” he asks.

I swallow. Even if they
did
believe me, do I want all these people to know what Nate said? Is it safe for him and James if they do?

“No,” I say softly. “He tried to talk, but he couldn’t.”

Vivianne and the doctor accept this and turn back to Nate, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that James sees right through the lie. I can’t meet his gaze anymore and look away.

“Hey, you okay?” Finn says, touching my elbow.

Nate lies there, as silent and still against the sheets as he ever was, and I say, “I’m not sure.”

Vivianne rests her head against Nate’s shoulder and begins whispering, talking to Nate or God or maybe both, and the doctor continues his examination. James just stands there, staring at me.

“Agent Morris?” he calls suddenly.

Morris, who’s been stationed outside the door, pops his head into the room.

“We need to talk to whoever’s in charge of the investigation,” James says, eyes locked on mine. “Now.”

Fifteen

Em

Morris goes to get his commanding officer. With the Capitol Police, Secret Service, FBI, and God knows who else involved, I have no idea who’s leading the investigation.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Vivianne asks once Morris is gone.

“I just think it’s time we get some answers,” James says, his eyes not leaving mine.

Morris returns a few minutes later with Agent Armison. Without giving the man a chance to speak, James says, “I want to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw,” Agent Armison says, “but I don’t think that’s possible at the moment; Assistant Director Richter is currently in the field. However, I’m sure we can get someone from his office to come and update you on—”

“I don’t think you understand.” James might as well be chiseled out of granite. “My brother was shot. I was shot at. Director Nolan eats dinner at my house once a month, Justice MacMillan was at my sixteenth birthday party, and the White House chief of staff once borrowed swimming trunks from me when he was staying at my house on Martha’s Vineyard. So when I say I want to speak to the person
in charge
, that’s exactly what I mean. I suggest you quit treating me like a child and get this Richter here before I pick up the phone.”

I stare, having never suspected this side of James even existed, and Finn whistles low under his breath. He doesn’t chastise him the way he did me when I got a little short with a nurse, but maybe that’s because James is genuinely frightening at this moment. Who
is
this person?

Vivianne sits up, and all of a sudden she’s a fierce attorney again instead of a grieving fiancée. “I have some questions as well,” she says, “and I imagine Alice Shaw does, too. Should I get her?”

Armison’s steely expression wavers. Even he doesn’t want to tangle with Alice. “I’ll make some calls,” he says in a clipped tone.

When he’s gone, the doctor tells us what we might expect from Nate in the coming hours, but Vivianne is the only one really listening. James is watching me and I’m trying to pretend I don’t notice, while Finn darts looks at both of us.

Connecticut. The only reason Nate would have to bring my attention to Connecticut would be the investigation he was conducting while he was there, which, if it was under Nate’s purview, would almost
have
to be something to do with the intelligence community. Why would he remind me of that unless he thought it was related to his shooting? Why would that have been his very first message, one he struggled so hard to convey, if it weren’t important?

And why would he tie James to it if he weren’t in danger, too?

It may be crazy, but I feel the truth of it in my bones. Those people—whoever they were—
were
shooting at James. They came after Nate, and now they’re coming after him.

“Marina?” James says softy. “Can I talk to you in the hall?”

I nod. I have to get James out of here. If someone from the government was responsible for all this, James isn’t safe here.

Once we’re out in the hallway, James takes my hand. “What did he say to you?”

“He signed,” I say. “
C
-
T
. Connecticut.”

The information means something to him. His eyes start to move quickly around the hallway the way they do when he’s thinking very hard about something. He explained it to me once, how different eye movements signal someone accessing different parts of their brain, but it looks like he’s searching for the places where his invisible puzzle pieces fit together.

“I think all of this has something to do with the investigation he was working on over the recess,” I continue.

James frowns. “How did you know about that?”

“He told me. The night you came home.” I neglect to mention what he said about James’s increasingly odd behavior. I twist my fingers into his sleeve. “I think we need to go, now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think we should meet with anyone in charge,” I say. “I’m afraid that . . . that . . .”

“Hey, it’ll be okay, kid.” James tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I have some questions for this Richter guy, but then we’ll figure everything out.”

“Please, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “Trust me.”

What choice do I have? I try to ignore the pit in my stomach and say, “Okay.”

James kisses my forehead. “Don’t tell anyone else about Nate yet, okay? Let’s go back in.”

I nod and follow him back into the hospital room. Vivianne barely notices us, she’s so focused on Nate, but Finn says, “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” James says.

“Yeah, fine,” I echo. Finn shoots me a questioning look that I ignore.

A half hour passes before Agent Armison reappears in the doorway. He says the agent in charge has arrived and leads us to a staff room at the end of the hall where we can meet with him in private. When we enter, a surprisingly young man—no more than forty—in a sharp gray suit stands to greet us.

James gives him a once-over. “You’re the person in charge of the investigation into my brother’s shooting?”

“I am.” The man offers his hand to James. “Chris Richter. I understand you want to talk to me. I came over as soon as I heard.”

James doesn’t shake his hand. “What agency are you from? You’re not FBI.”

I don’t know how he can tell, but he says it with certainty. His uncle was once the director of the CIA, so he must recognize signs I don’t.

Richter smiles. “Very astute. Given your brother’s work on the Intelligence Committee, it was thought that someone with a higher clearance level should coordinate the investigation.”

“What are you, CIA? NSA?”

“I’m with the DNI.” I don’t know what that is, but James and Vivianne both nod like it answers all their questions. Richter turns to Vivianne. “You must be Ms. Chase. I’m sorry to meet you under such awful circumstances.”

Vivianne shakes his hand. “Mr. Richter.”

“And these are?”

“My friends,” James says.

“Perhaps they’d like to wait outside while we talk?”

“I’d prefer they stay.”

Richter smiles. “Whatever you’d like, Mr. Shaw. Now, how can I help you?”

We settle down in plastic chairs at the small dining table in the staff room, Chris Richter on one side and the four of us on the other.

“So, you think Nate’s shooting was related to his work on the Intelligence Committee?” James asks.

“We’re exploring that possibility.”

I take a good look at Richter. If there’s one skill I learned from my mother, it’s how to size someone up with a glance. I noticed the quality of his suit the moment he stood, but closer up I get a better picture. Not only is it
not
the standard-issue Men’s Wearhouse preferred by most government employees, but it’s hand-tailored and expensive, even for a man in his position. His haircut is precise, done recently, and his hands are square and strong but not rugged. He doesn’t wear any jewelry, not a wedding ring or even a watch. He holds himself well, and his smile is warm and genuine.

I dislike him instantly.

“I’m glad you asked to meet with me,” Richter says. “It gives me the opportunity to tell you myself that we’ve determined the incident here last night had nothing to do with your brother’s shooting.”

Vivianne sighs in relief and rubs a hand across James’s shoulders, but he frowns. “Based on what?”

Richter leans forward. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know how frustrating it can be to be kept out of the loop when it’s your life at the center of things. We have CCTV footage of the people who shot at you last night—”

Just like Finn said they would. Now they’ll know I wasn’t making things up. “People?” I say. “So there
were
two of them?”

Richter turns his attention on me for the first time, and there’s a hint of evaluation in the look that unnerves me. Maybe he sees my resemblance to the girl who shot at James.

“That’s correct,” Richter says. “Two males, both around twelve or thirteen.”

“What?” I shake my head. “That’s not right—”

“Our technicians are working on refining the images right now,” Richter continues, as though I hadn’t spoken, “but it seems pretty clear this was a case of gang activity. Nothing to do with you, Mr. Shaw; just an unfortunate coincidence.”

Liar. My clammy hands curl into fists under the table.

“You’re sure?” James says. He looks between me and Richter, a fine line creasing his brow, but I can’t tell which one of us he believes.

“Very. However, just in case, the Capitol Police are going to continue to keep an eye on you. I hope you won’t find that inconvenient.”

“Not at all,” Vivianne says. “We appreciate it.”

“Of course. We want to do everything we can to make sure James stays safe,” Richter says. “Now, I’m sure you have lots of other questions.”

“Yes.” James folds his hands in front of him on the table, and the tips of his fingers are red from squeezing his fingers so tight. “I want to know how the hell a shooter was able to get into the Mandarin’s ballroom.”

Richter barely blinks. “That’s something we’re looking into.”

“Looking into?”
James says. “There was a massive security breach in the vice president’s protection, and you don’t even know where the problem happened yet?”

“James, honey.” Vivianne puts a hand on his, but he slips from under her grasp.

Meanwhile, Richter has gone tight, and the casual smile has slipped off his face. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Shaw, but I’m afraid I can’t get into specifics with you. However, I can assure you that the Secret Service did everything they were supposed to.”

“Obviously not,” James says, “or my brother wouldn’t have a machine breathing for him. What about the security cameras in the Mandarin? Have you gotten any footage of the shooter from them?”

“Unfortunately, the relevant cameras were nonfunctioning at the time of—”

To my left, Finn snorts.

“And that’s not suspicious?” James says. “The shooter was obviously aided by someone on the inside. Are you looking into
that
?”

“James, please!” Vivianne says. “Mr. Richter, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s quite all right; I understand emotions are high. We have several solid leads, Mr. Shaw, and I assure you we’re doing everything we can.” Richter stands and reaches into his wallet. “Unfortunately, I have to get back now. Here’s my card; please feel free to give me a call at any time. I’ll be in touch. Mr. Shaw, Ms. Chase.”