Chapter Seven

The text from Jareth had come as a surprise.

No contact with him at all since they had properly broken off their relationship, and then suddenly out of the blue a text.

Well. Stevie supposed it wasn't out of the blue. Her mom making international news headlines because a madman had tried to kill her was no doubt a good reason to send a text to check in with a person with whom you had once planned to spend your life.

It wasn't like the caring stopped entirely just because the relationship did.

I heard about your mum. Are you okay?

It was the first time she had actually wondered if she was okay since she had first heard the news, too busy until now focusing on what she could do, on making sure her mom was unhurt and on getting whatever information she could out of Russell and by tracking the comings and goings of various officials to the Oval Office.

And it wasn't like Russell had been uncaring. He had actually been very nice, sweet almost, and understanding, but he was never going to be the type to openly invite a discussion about feelings. And that had suited Stevie just fine.

Was she okay? She really didn't know.

She sat at her desk, staring at the text message, watching the words blur before her as tears welled up in her eyes and she gasped in a desperate breath. Her mother could have been killed earlier. She had watched the footage of a man aiming his gun deliberately at her mom and firing off a shot – then another, and another. She had seen her cheat death by mere inches.

So, in answer to Jareth's question: no, she didn't think she really was all that okay.

But she didn't want to tell that to her ex-fiancé.

Movement just outside the door caught her eye and she stood up, walking towards it. The door was ajar and Stevie caught sight of a familiar DS agent hovering in the corridor. She reached out to open the door wider – and bumped, quite literally, into Russell Jackson. "Oh, God!" she exclaimed from the shock of it.

"Where are you going?" Russell appeared unperturbed as he stepped around her to walk into the office.

She followed him. "Nowhere. I just… I saw the DS agent outside. I was wondering what she's doing there."

Russell glanced up at her. "I expect she's there for you."

Acid churned in Stevie's gut. "What? Why?"

Russell came straight out with it. "There's been a development. Your theory was right. Proof just showed up at the hospital – Justin Wallowski is definitely not working alone. The threat against your mom has escalated."

It was possible that Russell kept talking for a while after that but Stevie had no idea – she couldn't hear a thing over the rush of blood in her head and the pounding, racing thump of her heart in her chest as she processed Russell's statement.

I heard about your mum. Are you okay?

A few minutes later, when her blood pressure had calmed slightly and Russell had left her alone again to rush off to speak to the Director of the FBI about coordinating the investigation with DS, Stevie finally answered the text from Jareth.

I'm fine, thank you.

Maybe if she thought about it hard enough, she would come to start to believe the lie.

A few steps away, Henry was grilling Frank about what was going on with an intensity that Elizabeth would have found attractive in other circumstances – if current circumstances didn't mean she had an almighty headache that made it hard to concentrate on much else and that wasn't reacting particularly well to the sound of raised voices. By her estimates, at least fifty per cent of the headache was a result of all the noise and stress and tension of the past few hours rather than the concussion, and while that was probably a good thing, if Henry kept up his interrogation of DS for much longer, she thought that figure might increase. Which was less good.

The sound of a ringing phone cut through Henry's questioning to grab her attention, and it took her a moment to realise that it was her ringing phone that she could hear.

Oh yeah. She remembered Matt handing over her handbag shortly after they had arrived at the hospital, although she had paid it no attention at the time as she had been caught up in ensuring no one had been hit by the bullets, and where had she dumped the bag?

Elizabeth tracked the noise of the phone to the top of a small cabinet next to the bed, and hurriedly rummaged around in the bag to dig it out before it cut off, her eyes squeezed shut as her stomach rolled at the sudden movement. She didn't look at the caller ID before she answered, fumbling with the buttons to connect the call. "Hello?"

"Hold please for the President," a voice said.

There was a click and a moment of silence and then, "Bess?"

At the sound of the voice her posture straightened automatically and she was aware of her brain starting to kick instinctively into professional mode, like an ingrained muscle memory. "Hi, Conrad."

The other voices in the room fell abruptly silent at her greeting. Henry spun around to look at her while Frank took the opportunity to back quietly out of the room, no doubt grateful for the chance to escape to do his job.

"How are you?" The President's voice was soft, a tone that suggested he was alone while he was speaking to her and not in a room filled with high ranking officials, which was a relief and meant that she could relax just a little.

She sighed. "I'm okay."

"I don't believe you."

She didn't reply to that, and was glad of the fact that while Conrad may be her boss and not one to pull his professional punches or back down from an argument, he was also her old friend who knew her well enough to know when not to push too hard.

"We're going to sort this out, Bess," he said.

She thought that if he was in the room with her right then, he would have patted her shoulder in comfort. He sounded so genuine, so reassuring. So why didn't she feel reassured?

Then Conrad's tone changed slightly, and she knew it was the President as well as her friend talking when he spoke again. "I promise you that. We're going to sort this out, and quickly."

You can't promise me that, she wanted to say, but didn't – because she wanted to believe him.

"In the meantime, you just take care of yourself, okay? Let Henry look after you. And -" He was cut off by something happening on the other end of the phone line. There was the sound of muffled voices, as though he had covered the phone's mouthpiece, and a minute later he was back. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. We'll speak soon, yes?"

Elizabeth forced her brain into gear just enough to say, "Yes. Thank you."

The line went dead and she held the phone in her hand, looking down at the screen.

"Babe?" Henry's voice filtered through to her as he eased himself down next to her on the mattress, sitting close but not quite touching her, no doubt recognising the coiling tension that tautened her muscles and set her posture on edge.

There was just nothing that she could do; she thought that was the worst thing.

No, not the worst thing. Because the worst thing was the whole damn situation, the worst thing was the fact her kids were currently safer away from her than with her, a thing that should never be true. But the fact there was nothing she could currently do to fix it was driving her crazy. She couldn't help the investigation. She had seen nothing from the stage that might be useful and there was nothing she could do now to contribute. She was relying on other people to do the job for her, to do their jobs and find whoever it was who was working with Justin Wallowski, whoever had sent her the threatening note and promised to kill her – she was relying on other people to fix it.

And maybe that was good. The right people doing the right work. But she wasn't used to feeling on the other side of things, to feeling useless and stuck. The fact there was nothing she could do was suffocating her. Making her feel isolated.

Like a sitting target.

"Elizabeth?" Henry prompted her when she failed to respond and his hand moved to rest warmly against her knee, thumb stroking softly against her skin.

She stilled his movements with her hand on his. "I have to get out of this hospital."