“Honey, Chris said—”
“Please. Let me make a comment. Then you can take over.”
I can see him mulling it over for a moment. “Okay. But let’s do it now. Do not say anything about it not being an accident.” He opens the door and speaks with the Secret Service agent again before we leave my office and head aft.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how the military crew come to attention and salute me as I pass. I feel badly that I’m hurrying, but there are twin prongs in my mind vying for attention—I need to get home to my husband, and we need to get ahead of this story and control the optics.
I guess someone raced ahead of us and warned the press I was coming, because they’re ready for me and pounce almost at once, most of them shouting questions at me over each other.
Prophet takes charge, holding up his hands. “Hey! Knock it off!” he loudly scolds, and they all fall silent, not used to him speaking to them in that tone. Usually, Kev is all smiles and professionalism, even in the most chaotic of situations, but this is all my Sir in charge right now. “President Samuels has just been told what I’m sure you all are wanting to talk to her about. She wants to make a very brief statement, and then I’m taking over. No questions to the President.”
He stands aside, and I’m sure he wishes he could drape an arm around me and hold me, but can’t.
I’m well aware that I’m being filmed. I can also hear the sound of shutters clicking as still photos are taken.
“I’m not going to take any questions at this time,” I echo, “because I don’t have any details. My husband called me to let me know his brother, Major Charles Bruunt, and his sister-in-law, Dr. Tory Harris, died in an auto accident overnight. Their children were at home with their grandmother, and are safe. I’m going to ask you please respect our family’s privacy and allow us time to grieve.
“Lauren and Kevin will pass on details as we learn them, so please coordinate with Communications. My husband has specifically requested that I do not cancel the speech tonight. We’re going to ask if I can speak sooner in the evening. As soon as I finish, however, we will return to Air Force One and fly back to Andrews, so please plan accordingly. This will be a trying time for all of us as we deal with this. There will be some instances where I will need to hang back so the related…insanity of a president trying to go somewhere doesn’t compound the situation or cause undo grief for their other friends and family. I will let my husband and his family set the guidance on this. Thank you.”
I step back, slightly behind Kevin but where I can still see him in profile, and force myself not to wrap my arms around him from behind and rest my head against his back like I usually do when we’re alone.
Of course the press immediately tries to ask me questions en masse, but Kevin takes them in hand once more.
“Hey!” he yells, silencing the cabin. He wears a thunderous expression. “What’d I just tell you? I will make them land this plane in the middle of wherever the heck we are and kick every last one of you off if you don’t settle down right now.”
His angry outburst surprises me—and everyone else—until I pinpoint its source. It’s not on my behalf—it’s more because he can’t be at Chris’ side right now.
I know how he feels.
Only once he knows he has their undivided attention does he speak again. “We’ll do this in an orderly fashion, front to back. One at a time, no follow-ups. Pay attention—no repeat questions.” He points to the CNN reporter sitting directly in front of him. “Go.”
“Are there any indications this was anything other than an accident?”
“I don’t currently have any information stating that. You’d have to direct that question to Pennsylvania State Police investigators. It’s my understanding they’re the lead agency on this.”
He points to the woman seated next to the CNN reporter, who’s from MSNBC. “Go.”
“Kevin, regarding reports stating Secret Service agents are being mobilized and sent to their house—true or false?”
“True. As next-of-kin, Mr. Bruunt is now the children’s legal guardian, and he and President Samuels requested they immediately be placed under Secret Service protection as a matter of protocol and an overabundance of caution until Mr. Bruunt can be transported to be with them. Does not indicate anything other than that. As you all are well aware, Mr. Bruunt is retired Secret Service, and tends to diligently overthink things.” Even that slight joke about Christopher’s well-known intensity regarding security logistics and protocols doesn’t get the laughter it normally would.
He points to the BBC political reporter on the other side of the aisle. “Go.” It’s a reverse shotgun interview, with Kev in full command.
“Is it possible this could be related to Maj. Bruunt’s former career in military intelligence?”
“Answered in question one. Pay attention.” He moves on and points. “Next…”
Leo tries to edge me back to the presidential suite at the front of the plane, but I want to stay and hear this. I’ve always loved watching Kevin deal with the press. Considering he used to be one of them, he almost better than anyone knows how to handle them. Him and Lauren both. I can imagine she’s in a similar buzz saw mode with whoever’s in the pool at the White House, because she also doesn’t take any crap. I’m sure his approach right now has caught them all off-guard. I can see it in their faces when he slams the door on duplicate questions and moves on.
He ruthlessly proceeds, working through the entire press pool in less than five minutes and dropping the hammer on four other reporters who try to ask the “other motive” question in different ways, and three more who repeated other questions.
Kevin is in full-on Sir mode now, even if the press doesn’t know it. It’s breathtaking and makes me believe that, regardless what the next days and weeks bring, Chris and I will be okay with him watching out for and taking care of both of us.
His diligence.
His love.
I couldn’t have asked for a better chief of staff, and I definitely couldn’t have asked for a better Sir.
Kevin finishes and holds up his hands again. “I will come out and speak with you before we touch down in LA,” he says. “I will not answer the same question ten times, so get it out of your systems. This is a very trying time for the First Family, and I need you to show a little compassion for them.”
He turns, motioning for Leo to lead the way and placing a hand in the small of my back to get me moving.
It’s one of the few PDAs he’s ever engaged in with me when there are witnesses, especially press.
That he’s doing it now truly drives home how bad this really is.
Once we return to the office and it’s just the three of us, I turn on him. “Why won’t he let me come home?”
“Because Secret Service has assets deployed in LA and Washington State for your trip. If we change the plan this quickly, they won’t have time to recall and redeploy, that’s why. It’s already a logistics nightmare. Chris wasn’t supposed to leave DC, and now they need to not only plan a motorcade, they need to send more assets to protect the kids. You are the one variable we can control in this shitty situation, and we need to not pile extra stress onto Secret Service right now. Besides, if we cut the trip short after Chris has already stated he wants you to give tonight’s speech, it’ll tip people off even sooner that it’s not just an accident. Investigators need this time right now to do their job. We also need to rewrite the intro to your speech before we land.”
He’s switched gears on me so fast I almost can’t process it. “What?”
“Your speech. Intro. Rewrite. Now. And I’ll send Elliot out to Seattle and Spokane instead of you. Everything’s already set up and waiting, so might as well.” Away from the press, Kev’s expression looks haggard, exhausted, despite us getting a good night’s sleep last night, all three of us going to bed early and actually sleeping, for once.
I start to sit behind my desk when the tears hit.
My presence will actually make things worse for him right now.
Kev grabs a handful of tissues and squats next to my chair. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I need you to hold it together for me, okay? I can’t do what I need to do for both of you if you fall apart, too.”
I blow my nose, thankful I opted not to put on makeup this morning. I had thought I might even grab a quick catnap with Kev on the flight out. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. This is bad for you and Chris personally, but I think we just got you reelected.” He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Do you hate me for that?”
I shake my head. “No, Sir,” I whisper. “I love you. I can’t hate you. You’re my Prophet, after all. I trust you to be honest with me.”
His smile looks sad, but I love him all the more for trying so hard. “I love you, too, girl. But I need you to trust me, and trust Sir. Don’t go POTUSing our plan. I’ll manage the optics for you.”
I nod, hating myself a little, except that’s all part of it, part of the price we’ve paid to get where we are right now.
We won’t know until after I’m eventually out of office whether or not it was a price worth paying.
Chapter Ten
By the time I step out on the stage that evening to a long and overly enthusiastic standing ovation, the news has broke that the accident is now under investigation as possibly suspicious. Chris is with the kids at Charles and Tory’s house, and will stay there for at least a couple of days with them, until arrangements are made to move them. It will also take Chris that long to go through Charles and Tory’s papers, make funeral arrangements, arrange to move the children’s things—an unexpected list of duties he never thought he’d be forced to attend to.
Out of an abundance of caution, the White House has been locked down, public tours cancelled, and extra security is in place. Elliot will fly out of DC tomorrow on Air Force Two and take my place at the two events in Washington State, and the one in Iowa. Given the circumstances, the public understands, and the organizers are grateful we’re not cancelling altogether.
Intelligence officials have not intercepted any chatter that would indicate this was a terrorist attack, and no groups have claimed responsibility for it. Current theories range from a drunk driver, to road rage, to perhaps some kid who wasn’t supposed to be out driving in the first place, or maybe someone with a suspended or revoked license.
Of course the radical right hysterically screams it must be an undocumented immigrant here illegally. It’s completely beside the point that they have zero proof to back that claim.
The paint left on their car from the impact wasn’t stock for any automobile that the FBI has on file in their archives, meaning it cannot be attributed to a specific make and model of vehicle to narrow the search. The FBI is still trying to determine exactly what kind of paint it is and the manufacturer, so they can start tracking it that way.
Local authorities are swamping body shops with BOLO notices, and auto insurance companies have been put on alert to keep an eye out for any claims for vehicles with side damage and that color paint. It’s currently unknown if it was from a vehicle driving the same direction and who passed them from behind, or if it was an oncoming vehicle that maybe veered into their lane. The other damage on Charles and Tory’s car caused from rolling down the embankment has muddied those waters, unfortunately, and due to the weather there aren’t enough clues in the forms of skid marks or other evidence to help with that.
There also isn’t any debris at the accident site, like broken headlight glass, or taillight fragments, to aid in the identification of the other vehicle. There’s a working assumption it might have been a pickup truck, van, or SUV, simply because Charles and Tory were in a Chevy Impala, which is a larger sedan. No tiny car could have left as much damage on their car, much less shoved them off the road, and still been drivable.
Meanwhile, the FBI, Secret Service, and PSP investigators are poring through security camera footage from all over the surrounding area, trying to see if any picked up their vehicle or any others passing through at the same time. If not suspect vehicles, perhaps witnesses.
I leave the rewrite of my speech to Kev, who coordinates it with Lauren over the phone. I’ve been texting with Chris, who assures me I am doing exactly what he wants me to do right now.
The kids will eventually move to the White House and live with us. Tory’s parents are elderly, and Chris told me they knew Charles and Tory had appointed him their guardian in their will. Both of them have health issues that would make it a hardship to be parents to young kids.
For now, the kids will stay where they are, less disruption for them, until we can sit down and breathe. Chris will take care of making sure Shawna and Hudson Harris have full access to the White House once we move the kids.
Eventually, the audience quiets and sits. As I stare out over the hushed crowd, their expectations weigh heavy upon me. Kev and Leo stand in the wings backstage and watch me from there.
My opening text displays on the teleprompter mirrors in front of my podium, waiting for me start.
“Thank you, everyone, for that very kind welcome. As most of you are already aware, we learned early this morning that we suffered an incomprehensible loss in our family. My husband’s younger brother and sister-in-law died overnight in an automobile accident.
“I was already aboard Air Force One and en route here when I learned the news. I wanted to return to Washington DC immediately to be with my family, but in this instance, my husband overruled me and asked I make this appearance tonight. This is a cause we believe strongly in, it’s been a major issue in our platform, and my brother- and sister-in-law were strong supporters of it, too.
“So I ask your indulgence. I am not at my best right now, and I apologize in advance for any shortcomings tonight. We also wish to thank the public for their messages of condolence and sympathy, and we ask that we please be given space and privacy to walk through this process with our nieces and nephew and in-laws.”
There’s a soft smattering of applause that quickly builds and thunders and nearly breaks me. I want to be with Chris, not here. I should be taking care of Him.
We should be there for Him, Kev and me, both.
I also didn’t want to cry, but I grab a tissue from the box left stashed under the podium for me and dab at my eyes while I wait for the audience to settle once more. I eschewed eye makeup tonight. I’m just wearing a little foundation and some lip gloss. I don’t look my best, but no one is expecting me to.
Frankly, I couldn’t be bothered with it tonight. If someone can’t understand what we’re going through, then fuck ’em.
“I want to say a few words about Charles and Tory,” I continue when the audience quiets again. “They were amazing people who welcomed me into their family under what any rational person would consider trying circumstances. Being the daughter of a politician myself, I can tell you from personal experience that it’s not easy being related to a high-profile politician under the best of conditions. Here I was, not only a US senator, but a presidential candidate. We did our best to protect their privacy as much as possible, especially because of their children.
“My mother died years ago, and my father died before I was born. I have no siblings, but Charles and Tory quickly became like a brother and sister to me, and Tory’s parents are nothing short of amazing. I consider myself blessed to call them family.”
I need a moment to compose myself, and while I do, the audience applauds again. I know it’s their way of showing me support, but I wish they’d just stay quiet so I can get through this as quickly as possible.
“Charles was retired after a distinguished Army career that he completed working in military intelligence. Tory was a molecular biologist, and heavily focused on cancer research…”
Somehow, I manage to make it through that speech. I’m on auto-pilot at this point, and want nothing more than to retu
rn to Air Force One and go wheels-up. Even if I can’t be with Chris, at least I can be closer to him at the White House, waiting for him and the kids when they do arrive.
I’m so exhausted that Kev lets me hold on to his arm for the walk from Marine One across the tarmac to Air Force One while Leo protectively hovers on my other side and helps shield me from the press. I don’t have to put on a somber face—I am somber. Before we take off, I walk back to the press corps section in the aircraft’s tail, where the now-subdued group of reporters falls silent at my appearance.
“Guys, I’m sorry,” I say, “but we’re not going to give any further comments until I’m back in DC with my family. Please address any question to investigators, or to Lauren at the next briefing there. Thank you.”
I guess I look worse than I feel, because they don’t even try to ask Kevin any questions, either. I lock myself and Kevin in the private suite at the nose of the plane, curl up in his arms, and cry.
* * * *
It’s nearly six a.m. when we land at Andrews and take Marine One back to the White House. Since Kevin and Leo both had luggage with them anyway, I tell them to come upstairs, ask Secret Service to clear the second and third floors until further notice, and point Leo at his choice of extra bedrooms while Kev and I lock ourselves in the master bedroom.
I didn’t sleep on the flight back, and neither did Kev. I don’t want to sleep now, because I feel guilty that I’m not with Chris. Except I know that’s not logical.
Besides, Kev overrules me. He makes the damned logical argument that this is about self-care, not work, and therefore he’s allowed to take charge.
Dammit, he’s right.
I don’t fight him.
Kev gave Lauren free rein to handle updates and statements until he’s back on his feet. She’s a pro—she doesn’t need our help in this trying time.
I don’t even bother getting undressed, and neither does Kevin. We kick off our shoes and curl up together in bed and fall asleep immediately.
I don’t know what time it is when I awaken later feeling disoriented, but I’m alone in bed and hear Kevin’s low tone speaking in the private living room area next door. I get up to investigate and find him on the phone, slowly pacing in a circle and rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. He used to have bad migraines, but his last full-blown one happened the night of his meltdown on TV. Since then, he’s essentially been free of them, so I wonder if that gesture means one is imminent.
Diligence (Determination Trilogy 2) Page 8
