“Bryce came home last night,” Sarah said.
“What?”
Claire was across the table in a corner sitting area. They’d met at a Starbucks in Fredericksburg, Sarah insisting they avoid The Daily Grind—right then, she was the more paranoid of the two. The high-top table was discreet, near an all-gender bathroom nobody seemed to use.
“He couldn’t fly to New Hampshire because of the storm—or so he said. He walked in with no warning about an hour after you dropped me off.”
“That’s awkward.”
“To say the least.” Sarah explained how she’d feigned sickness, gone to bed early, then awoken this morning to find him gone.
After a thoughtful pause, Claire said, “He’s back on the trail now?”
“Happily, yes.”
Claire sipped a latte made by a barista with a nose ring and Dothrakian eyeliner. She had bought today, although the question of whose turn it was felt increasingly absurd.
“There’s something else,” Sarah said. “I went back and looked at the video of Bryce at the Watergate. I noticed something I hadn’t before … or maybe I did, but I refused to believe it.”
“What?”
“When Bryce was hanging over the edge, he was dangling by his left arm. Then he raised his right over his head to get a second handhold.”
“And that’s a big deal?”
“Huge. I probably never told you the specifics, but it’s the reason Bryce was forced to take a medical discharge from the Army. Both his right shoulder and elbow had permanent damage—he couldn’t raise that arm above ninety degrees. He put himself through hell trying to fix it—physical therapy, surgery, whatever it took. It was hopeless. He knew that if he went back to his unit, he wouldn’t be able to pull his weight. He was so afraid of putting his brothers at risk, he took the retirement. I’d never seen Bryce so conflicted, but it was the right thing to do. In that video he lifted his right arm effortlessly.”
After a beat, Claire asked, “So how does that fit with the rest?”
“I have a theory. The thing is—”
Sarah’s phone trilled with a call. Her newest contact popped to the screen: Special Agent Troy Burke. She nearly picked up, but then let it go to voice mail.
“It’s the FBI agent I told you about. I texted him last night and told him he should take a look at the condo.”
Claire shot her a guarded look. “The FBI? And when were you going to share this nugget with me?”
“When Bryce came home last night, I’d just seen the video. I put it together with what you and I saw at the condo, and … I decided someone like Agent Burke needed to see it. He’d left me his card, told me to call if I needed anything.”
Claire heaved a sigh. “Okay. I understand why you called him, with Bryce showing up unexpectedly and all. But you should have told me.”
Sarah nodded. “There wasn’t much time, but you’re right—I should have.” Her phone buzzed again. “Looks like he left a message.”
Claire made a Well don’t just sit there gesture.
Sarah listened to Burke’s message, a ten-second missive that pushed her already shaky footing off a precipice. Her face went ashen.
“What?” Claire asked, clearly seeing her distress.
Sarah set down her phone like a pin-pulled grenade. “Burke wants to see me right away.”
“Why? Did he get inside and see the place?”
“No. The condo burned to the ground this morning.”
“This better be good,” Alves said. “Saturday is me-day.” She rounded the desk where Burke was planted behind their computer.
“I know, sorry.” He’d called asking for help on his way to the office from Georgetown. Burke showed her the text he’d gotten the previous night from Sarah Ridgeway. Then he told her about this morning.
“Okay, yeah,” Alves agreed. “Very sus. No casualties in the fire?”
“None that they know of. I’m going to head back soon. The fire’s out and the investigators ought to be there soon.”
“What are you working on now?”
“That’s what I need your help with. I’m trying to figure out who lives there, or at least who owns the place. So far, it’s nothing but a wall of LLCs. I was hoping you could take over the search—you’re better with the online stuff than I am.”
“I’m better than you at pretty much everything—except maybe tennis.”
Burke shot her a grin, then said, “I just tried to call Ridgeway—went straight to voice mail.”
“Which one—the prospective president or the prospective first lady?”
“I’m concentrating on the wife for now. She’s the one who highlighted this place, said it was something vital. Now it burns down, and I’m wishing I’d gone last night.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Anniversary dinner.”
“Oh, right. The big two-five.”
Burke looked up from his typing. “How did you know that?”
“Like I said—”
“Never mind. I need to get out to Georgetown.”
“Okay. Show me what you’ve got so far…”
The second call from Burke came five minutes later. Sarah ignored him again. Claire reached across and turned her phone off.
“Is that necessary?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know. But it can’t hurt.”
“It’s the FBI. I can’t just blow him off—I told him to check out that condo.”
“I know. But we need some time to think things through.”
“Claire … this is getting out of hand fast.”
“It all makes sense, somehow. We just aren’t seeing it yet.”
After a long pause, Sarah said, “Actually, I think maybe I am.”
Claire stared at her.
“All those files at the condo, Bryce’s recent behavior. What finalized it for me was watching that video last night.”
Claire didn’t reply, yet Sarah knew what she was thinking. “You see it too,” she said. “There’s only one solution that fits all the facts. No matter how much he looks and sounds like Bryce … it’s not him. The man posing as my husband is an imposter.”
“But Sarah, the only way that could be true is if…” her voice trailed off to silence.
“I know,” she said, finishing the thought. “The only way it could be true is if Bryce has an identical twin.”