But no matter how cold the water, he could not numb himself from what had happened last night.

Too many old memories. Too much fear.

And too many questions.

He couldn’t sort them out. His mind was jumbled, running from moment to moment. His memories of last night were bizarrely fragmented, darting behind columns of willful oblivion, hiding from the specter of truth.

It scared him that he could not piece it all together, that there was no logical sequence of events.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. His reflection showed a man in his prime, one of Parliament Hill’s ‘hottest bachelors’, a man with a reputation for discarding a slew of beautiful women.

It suited him fine. It made him happy, made his career work.

Until today.

The phone call he had received an hour ago from the Prime Minister had shaken him. The PM was distant. He demanded to know what Harry was doing to mitigate the situation. By ‘situation’, he meant the political fallout.

Harry promised his boss that he would take full responsibility for any mistakes made. He swore to keep the party out of it.

But it was a hollow promise in an election campaign.

He knew it. And the Prime Minister knew it.

If Harry brought the party to its knees with a scandal, his own career was finished.

His lips twisted.

He hurried from the bathroom when his hotel phone rang. He shrugged on a blue oxford cloth shirt and then picked up the receiver.

“Harry.”

Relief flooded him that it wasn’t yet another reporter. But just as quickly dread tightened his stomach when he heard the strangely flat, hoarse voice of his father. “Yes, Dad.”

“Are you…are you…ready?”

His father’s unfamiliar stumbling scared Harry. What would his father say during the police interview?

Would he remember to stay quiet?

“Yes, I’ll be over in a few minutes.” Harry put down the hotel phone, eyeing his cell phone from a safe distance.

It vibrated on the coffee table, badges flashing across the screen. He had been through enough news cycles to recognize that his phone was a harbinger of how his day would go. The hotel lobby would be a nightmare.

He called the front desk. “It’s Harry Owen. How many media are outside?” His tone was polite, yet invited no questions.

“Good morning, Mr. Owen.” Harry could not miss the front desk agent’s suppressed excitement. “The street is lined with cars.” Her voice dropped. “There are a number of reporters waiting in the lobby for you, Mr. Owen.”

“Do you have a back exit we can take? One that I can wheel my father through?”

She paused. “You could use the staff exit. I will come to your room and take you there. You need a staff access card to unlock the door.”

“Thank you. I will be in my father’s room.”