memories and the good times Ben and I shared, from our first dates to our marriage to our Alaskan honeymoon and that magic night when a small and squealing baby girl was placed in my arms, just overwhelm me, and I kneel down next to him and I kiss his cold forehead.
Back in the kitchen I’m answering more questions from Detective Bannon, and then I say, “Hold on.”
“Yes?”
“You said … you said that Amelia heard Ben come through the door, right?”
He looks to his notes. “That’s correct.”
“She didn’t say anything about her undoing the chain?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ma’am, what are you getting at?”
I walk to the door, see the chain dangling free. “When I last talked to her, when I said I was … running late.” Another sob avoided and I go on. “I told her to make sure the door was locked and the chain was secured.”
Detective Bannon says, “Maybe she forgot.”
I shake my head. “No. I told her to do it … I was on the phone when Amelia said she was at the door, putting the chain in.”
He says something, and my fingers gently touch the dangling chain. Halfway up the chain is the sticky residue of an adhesive.
Like an adhesive tape.
I say, “He broke in. He picked the lock, and when the door opened, he saw the chain was fastened. Then he used … oh, I don’t know, a string, a cord, a length of rubber band, and some tape … and he got the chain off.”
Detective Bannon touches the chain as well. “Ma’am, you’re on the third floor. To get entry, the intruder had to have had a key, or picked the lock. And then he had to work to get this chain off.”
My mind is racing. I don’t say a word back to the detective. He says, “Which tells me this wasn’t a random burglary. Or some crackhead or meth head breaking in to steal some jewelry or electronics. You … this apartment was targeted.”
“Yes,” I say.
He steps closer, lowers his voice. “Your daughter says you’re a secret agent. I thought she was just being a kid, you know? But ma’am, what is your job?”
“I work for the Secret Service.”
Bannon absorbs that for a moment. “What do you do for the Secret Service?”
I answer automatically, like I always do. “I’m the special agent in charge, Presidential Protective Division at the White House.”
“The White House …,” he starts, and then stops. He takes another step closer. “Special Agent Grissom, I need to ask you this.”
“Yes?”
“All of the evidence here is leading me to think that the break-in was deliberate, was planned. Is there anything going on with your job, Agent Grissom, that would cause someone to … take action against you?”
Where do I begin? “No,” I lie. “Not a thing.”
CHAPTER 46
TAMMY DOYLE IS curled up in her bed, the television set on low, lights off in her bedroom. A long, long day and she’s happy to be home, but she’s also missing being at work. It’s strange, but at work she could focus on the phone calls, checking the invoices, calling her clients across the globe, and just getting things checked off her never-ending task list. Except for the Secret Service agent’s visit and a couple of odd looks and comments, she was able to temporarily put the whole Atlanta disaster behind her.
But now, at home, the loneliness is gnawing at her. For the past eight months she’s been able to thrive, knowing that she would meet up with Harry at some point, and that anticipation had always kept her in a good mood.
But now?
What anticipation?
Another day of ducking out of her condo, ducking into her office … waiting for Harry to call her?
And suppose …
She’s a big girl. She knows the pressure Harry must be under. If it would mean him winning reelection, mean him getting ahead … he would dump her. Publicly, if it would serve him.
Tammy feels a good cry coming on. All those whispered promises, all the times together …
She picks up the remote, starts changing the channels, looking for something, anything that isn’t related to the upcoming election and the “Ambush in Atlanta,” and then she’s on the History Channel, some program about tanks and—
That tickles a memory.
Seeing tanks moving around in the North African desert. World War II, Germans versus the British and fighting in sandstorms.
Tammy gets off the bed, goes to her small office. Starts going through the piles of receipts and business cards that she always