“With what?” Sam asked sharply, earning her a glare from Tracy.

“He hurt his back playing football with his college friends about a year ago,” Angela said haltingly.

“I remember that. What about it?”

“He didn’t want anyone to know. He said he was handling it.”

Sam couldn’t help but go into detective mode. “Know what? Handling what?”

Angela took a deep breath. When she released it, she choked on a sob. “He got hooked on the meds they gave him for the pain.”

“Was it Oxy?” Sam asked.

Angela nodded as she wiped her face. “And Percocet.”

Sam looked at Nick. “We need to get word to Harry to order a tox screen immediately.”

Nick pulled his phone from his pocket and put through a call. As the personal physician to the president, Harry would make sure someone took that call. “Tell Dr. Flynn that Sam said to order a tox screen. He was on Oxy and Percocet.” Nick listened for a second. “Was it prescribed by a doctor?”

Angela stared at him as if she was uncertain how to reply.

“Angela!” Sam immediately regretted her tone, but this was no time to worry about whether Spencer had obtained illegal drugs. “Tell them what they need to know to save him.”

“The doctors wouldn’t give him anymore. He was getting it somewhere else.”

“Jesus,” Sam whispered. “Tell them it could be fentanyl poisoning.”

“He didn’t take that!” Angela cried.

“The pills he bought might’ve been laced with it.” To Nick, she said, “Tell them.”

He relayed the information to Harry and the others.

Spencer must’ve taken something when he got up earlier that morning, Sam thought, her mind racing.

Angela broke down again into heartbroken sobs. “He was trying so hard to quit taking them. You don’t know what he’s been through.”

“He seemed fine when we saw him,” Sam said. “He was riding Jack around on his back on Christmas.”

“He was medicated then. They cut him off in January, and it got really bad then.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, honey?” Tracy asked tearfully.

“He wouldn’t let me. He didn’t want it to blow back on Nick.”

“Oh God, come on,” Nick said, sounding agonized. “I don’t care about that.”

“That’s what I said, but he was embarrassed. Last year when the Secret Service took us all to that bunker? I said he was away on business, but he was in rehab.”

“Ang,” Sam said, battling tears. “I’m so sorry you guys were going through such a difficult thing all by yourselves. We would’ve been there for you.”

“He was adamant. He didn’t want anyone to know.”

And now he might pay for that decision with his life, Sam thought. If he’d taken pills laced with fentanyl, it might be too late to save him.

The next few hours played out like a horror movie, with bad news on top of more bad news. Despite the heroic efforts of Harry and the EMTs in restarting his heart, Spencer’s brain had been deprived of oxygen long enough that the doctors could find no activity. They would have to test that several more times before they declared him brain dead, but they said it was unlikely that he would recover.