THE OLD MAN doesn’t even blink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Grissom.”
“Mr. Fuller,” I say, “I’m not sure how or why the First Lady ended up here, or how she injured her finger, but I can tell you that she’s in danger, and we need to get her out of here as soon as possible.”
He stays quiet, and I’m going to move past him but I’m still concerned about that shotgun. He’s older than me by thirty or so years, but he still looks to be in pretty good shape, and if he were to move fast and sure, he and that shotgun could easily cut me in half.
Leaving my Amelia an orphan.
I’m beginning to regret my decision to come up here alone.
He stares at me with contempt. “What do you know about my daughter?”
“I know a lot,” I say. “I know of her service at the side of Harrison Tucker in Ohio and here. Her charity efforts. Her devotion to—”
“You know crap,” he says. “Grace…she was our only child. Maureen and I, we gave her what we could, but we made sure she fought and earned her own way. And she did. Grace had a head for numbers, for business, and she had the compassion and heart to take care of the forgotten ones. Grace could have joined my company as a young lady…be president of it now, running our hospitals and our medical device companies. But she tossed it all away to stand by that…slug.”
“Mr. Fuller, I appreciate—”
“My daughter! The First Lady, strong, pretty, a cancer survivor and fighter…and what does her idiot husband do? Does he remember his marriage vows? Does he fight to make their marriage work? Does he behave like an honorable man? No…not on your life. Not only does he toss her aside, he humiliates her. Publicly. And for what? Some younger tramp…” He shifts in his seat, wincing as if he’s in pain somewhere in his upper torso. “I…I even tried something to hurt that woman, I did. To make her feel some of the pain she and Harry had given to my daughter. To make it right. To make it all right.”
I step closer, thinking if I get a bit nearer, I can tug that shotgun away from him and get into that house.
“Mr. Fuller, please, is she here?”
“Go away.”
“Mr. Fuller, your daughter’s in terrible danger. We’ve got to get her out of here.”
He makes to speak and there’s a creak as the door to the small farmhouse opens up.
Mr. Fuller doesn’t turn, or take notice.
But I take notice.
Grace Fuller Tucker, First Lady of the United States, Secret Service code name CANARY, steps out onto the porch. She looks tired. She has on black stretch riding slacks and a gray, shapeless sweatshirt, and her left hand is heavily bandaged.
“Agent Grissom,” she says, voice tired. “What kind of danger am I in?”