Sarah was in the kitchen dicing peppers when the doorbell rang. She set down the knife, wiped her hands on her apron, and on the way to the door used a wrist to flick back a few loose strands of hair. Had she even brushed it this morning? The little things were starting to slide.
She opened the door to find a middle-aged man holding out credentials.
“Mrs. Ridgeway?”
She nodded.
“FBI Special Agent Troy Burke—I’m with the Washington Field Office.”
Sarah stared at a photograph that looked more or less like the man behind it. Plain features, bad haircut, a bit faded with age.
“Did I get you at a bad time?” he asked cordially.
“Oh, no … I’m sorry. You just caught me by surprise. I was expecting a produce delivery. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, it’s more what I can do for you. My partner and I are the lead agents investigating the terrorist attack at the Watergate Hotel. I spoke with your husband afterward, and I promised to give him an update on things. Unfortunately, he’s a tough man to track down these days.”
“Tell me about it,” she said.
“I was in the area, so I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself. And I thought if I gave you the latest, you could pass it on to him.”
“Well … sure. Come in.”
She led Burke through the living room and into the kitchen. Sarah removed her apron, set it on the counter next to a cutting board full of peppers.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt,” he said.
“Oh, I was only prepping for dinner. Our daughter is babysitting so she won’t be home for a couple of hours. I still have half a pot of coffee—can I get you a cup?”
“Actually, yeah, that would be great.”
While Sarah pulled mugs from the cupboard, Burke wandered the attached dining area. He paused to study a clutch of family pictures that had taken over one wall. “You just have the one daughter?” he asked.
“Yes, Alyssa. She’s a sophomore in high school. Do you have kids, Agent Burke?”
“I do, a boy and a girl, both in college.”
Sarah delivered two full mugs to the dining room table. The dregs of the morning’s pot were thick, but Burke declined cream and sugar. They sat down facing one another.
“So, about the Watergate,” she said. “You want me to pass the latest on to Bryce?”
“If that’s all right. I know it must have been a difficult time for you.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Funny how things work out. Your husband was in the right place at the right time, and his military training kicked in. He ends up a hero, and the next thing you know … here he is, running for president.”
“Yeah, I never saw that one coming.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. I’ve worked in the D.C. office for years, long enough to know that politics is a strange business. I was wondering, did Bryce ever mention Henry Arbogast?”
“Arbogast? Yes, the head of the RNC. According to Bryce, he was the one who floated the idea of a presidential run. It’s a shame … I talked to Bryce this morning and he told me Arbogast passed away yesterday.”
“He did.”
Sarah played her fingers over the warm mug. She was getting an odd vibe. “I heard it was his heart. According to Bryce, he wasn’t a very fit person.”
Burke shrugged. “I couldn’t say—never met the man.”
“So … you said you had information about the attack.”
He took a long pull. “In truth, not a lot has changed since the last time I spoke to your husband. The thing is, I promised to keep him updated.” Burke mentioned a few things Sarah had already read online. His manner was that of a judge, a voice of reason, innately trustworthy. He explained that while the attacker had been identified early on, there was little progress in determining whether he had support. “So far, he appears to be a lone wolf. Mind you, we’re not giving up. A lot of agencies are working on this, both here and abroad. Unfortunately, these things take time.”
“I’m sure they do. I’d like to think it was just one deranged individual.”
“That may turn out to be the case. The conflict in Syria has been going on a for long time. When people suffer loss, their hatred can get out of control. What’s unusual is for a solo attacker to reach us here Stateside. Fortunately, the last line of defense turned out to be your husband. How is he handling it, by the way?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sarah said cautiously.
“Well, what happened on the rooftop—a lot of people would have found it pretty traumatic. But then, given his background, I’m sure he’s seen worse.”
Sarah had a fleeting thought that Burke had learned about her visit to Dr. Chalmers. She pushed it away. “Yes, Bryce saw a lot during his service. But to answer your question, he doesn’t really talk about things like that. Never has. I think I lost more sleep over the Watergate attack than he did.”
Burke nodded thoughtfully. “I served a short stint in the Army myself, right out of high school. Nothing like what your husband did, but enough to get the idea. I’m glad to hear he’s gotten past it.”
“Like you say, Bryce has been there, done that.”
“I should probably ask … are you okay? We have professionals on staff who are trained to help victims and their families deal with traumatic events. I could get you in touch with someone.”
“No, I’m good. But thanks all the same.”
“No problem.” Burke downed the last of his coffee. He went to the sink and started to rinse his mug.
“Don’t worry about that.”
He set the mug on the counter. “I should let you get back to dinner.”
“I’ll tell Bryce you came by and relay what you told me.”
“Please do.” At the front door Burke smiled and held out a business card. “If you have any questions, feel free to give me a call. Anytime—I mean that.”
Sarah thanked him and took the card. Burke walked away and she watched him all the way to his car, a dark blue sedan that had government written all over it. She retreated inside, put her back to the door, and murmured under her breath, “What the hell was that all about?”