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Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

“He wasn’t thrilled to chat at three in the morning, but I reminded him he had an upcoming IAB investigation into making illegal bets and that he should talk more quietly next time he put two hundred and fifty dollars on the Redskins to cover. That got him in the mood to talk.”

I nod along, dragging Lassie behind me as I speed walk through the drizzle.

“Thing is, he didn’t have the case for long. When he showed up on the scene, he was lead for thirty minutes before he got shoulder-tapped by some suit.”

“The FBI?”

“Nope, Homeland Security.”

I stop walking, Lassie continuing until he is yanked backward by the leash.

“The Department of Homeland Security?”

“Yep. Suit told Walker to pack up and leave. Walker said he was back in bed thirty minutes later.”

My brain is whirring. Lassie gazes backward at me. He’s sitting on his hind legs shivering.

“Homeland Security,” I utter again.

“I’ve worked with DHS a couple times and they are a tight-lipped bunch. They don’t play well with others. Luckily, I’ve been keeping a favor in my pocket from a guy whose son I helped wiggle out of a DUI, and I called it in.”

For a moment, I think of the card I have in the drawer of my condo. Blank, save for the single word, anything, scribbled in black ink. And the three initials, CRS. The President of the United States gave me a Get Out of Jail Free card. One favor, for anything, redeemable at a moment’s notice.

“So, I woke another guy up,” Ingrid continues. “I asked him about the woman pulled from the Potomac on Monday morning. He said he hadn’t heard about it. I leaned on him. Told him that his kid was still on probation and the Dean of UVA was a close family friend.”

“Really? The Dean?”

“No, but I looked it up online. Either way, he bought it and started talking. He called me back a couple minutes later on what I guess was an encrypted line. Told me how on Monday morning a Red Four came in.”

“A Red Four?”

“An interagency alert. Four being highest priority. Red being—”

I know the word that is coming, but it still hurts.

“—terrorist.”

:04

I hang up the phone.

Lassie yanks on the leash.

“Dude, gimme a second.”

Meow.

I ignore him.

My brain has never felt so incapable. Like trying to run a marathon having never run a day in your life.

A terrorist.

My mother was a terrorist?