Upstairs, Jesse sat on the edge of his bed. He hadn’t moved since Lisa and Douglas escorted him to his room. His head ached but his mind raced in a thousand directions. The events of the day left him exhausted but exhilarated. Instead of being stuck in a computer lab, he’d found himself in the middle of a major crime and heard the whisper of a dying man trying to tell him a secret. Despite the attack, Jesse wanted to play a role in the investigation. Ethel was his ticket in. But he wanted more than to tag along in her shadow. He wanted to contribute something. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he wanted to impress her.

His phone vibrated with an incoming text message from Tracy.

can u Skype now or before midnight my time? Info to share.

It was nearly ten in London. He quickly typed—

yes, but give me 5. I’ll call.

Tracy didn’t know about the attack and injury, and he didn’t want her to know. He needed a few minutes to check himself in the upstairs bathroom mirror. To make sure he didn’t look like he’d stepped off a London curb and been hit by a double-decker bus.

He ran a basin of cold water, liberally splashed it over his face, and patted some color into his cheeks. He returned to his room, closed the door, and logged in.

When her face popped on the screen, Tracy exclaimed, “You look worn out.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Any news?”

“The working theory is persons unknown murdered Jonathan to disrupt a Secret Service investigation. The key might be on the stolen computer, and I’ve shared your concern about a backup drive with Ethel.”

“And with the police?”

“I’m letting Ethel determine what to tell them.”

Tracy frowned. “Why would she hold back?”

“Because she has her own methods. My mother said Ethel used to work for the FBI. She knows everyone, Tracy. She’s keeping her hand in the game. And I’m helping her.”

“For God’s sake, be careful. These people are killers.”

“I will. Don’t worry.” He said the words as confidently as he could despite the ache in his head. “You said you have some information?”

“Yes.” She glanced down at what must have been notes beside her keyboard. “I did a search on Jonathan Finch. He’s not on Facebook or Twitter or LinkedIn. Maybe agents avoid personal social media. Especially ones who guard the president. I suspect on-location selfies would be frowned upon. So, I made more targeted searches of news sources, government reports, and the public affairs offices of the FBI and Secret Service.”

“Any luck?”