“Dr. Cross?” It was a woman’s voice, a little formal, no one I knew. “Please hold for the White House chief of staff.”

Before I could respond, I was put on hold. I was stunned—not just by the call itself but by the timing. What the hell was going on here? What now? The White House was calling? Could this be for real?

It didn’t take long for Gabriel Reese to come on the line. I recognized his distinctive voice right away, probably from seeing him on the news and the occasional Sunday morning show like Meet the Press.

“Hello, Detective Cross, how are you today?” he began in a chipper enough tone.

“I guess that depends, Mr. Reese. May I ask, how did you get my number?”

He didn’t answer, of course. “I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible. Here in my office would be best. It’s all been cleared up the line. How soon could you be available?”

I thought about Ned Mahoney and how agitated he had been the other day. How paranoid he had seemed about the records from the investigation getting out. Well—I guess they were out.

“Excuse me, Mr. Reese, but what is this about? Can I at least ask that?”

There was a pause on the line, carefully chosen, maybe; I wasn’t sure. Then Reese said, “I think you already know.”

Well, I did now.

“I can be there in about fifteen minutes,” I said.

Then Reese surprised me again.

“No. Tell me where you are. We’ll pick you up.”

Chapter 76

A LIVERY CAR with a military driver got to my location within a few minutes. The driver followed me to a nearby parking garage, waited, and then took me to the White House.

We came in at the Northwest Appointment Gate, off Pennsylvania. I had to show my ID twice, to the sentry at the gate and then to the armed guard who greeted me at the West Wing turnaround. From there, a Secret Service agent walked me straight in through the entrance closest to the Rose Garden.

I’d been to the White House enough times to know that I was on a fast track, leading straight to the chief of staff’s office.

I also understood that they didn’t want my visit to attract attention, the reason for the escort.

Gabriel Reese had a reputation as a wonk more than a bulldog, but also for the kind of covert power he wielded here. He and President Vance went back years. More than a few pundits had labeled him the de facto vice president of the administration. What that meant to me was Reese had either initiated this meeting on his own or at the president’s request. I didn’t think I liked either possibility.

My Secret Service escort delivered me to a woman whose voice matched the one from before, on the phone. She offered coffee, which I declined, and then walked me right in to meet Gabriel Reese.