“I was able to interrupt him once,” Helen said in a testy tone. “But I can’t do it again.”

“I was off chasing down a suspect in a homicide investigation.”

“Homicide!” Hughes said from the backseat. “What the fuck? I didn’t kill no one.”

Sam ignored him. “I really need to talk to the chief. It’s a life-and-death situation.” While that might not be entirely true, Gonzo’s life and career were certainly on the line and well worth fighting for.

“Please hold, and please be there when he comes on the line.”

As soon as the line clicked over to hold, Sam said, “Gee, Helen, I thought we were pals. I’m feeling hurt by your attitude.”

“You did not say that to her,” Freddie said, his mouth full of what might’ve been chicken parm. Sam’s mouth watered at the thought of it.

“Nope. I said it to the hideous light rock that serves as hold music at our workplace.”

“That stuff is pretty bad.”

“I’ve got someone wailing about endless love in my ear as we speak.”

“Damn, Gonzo must be flipping out.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know yet.” As she said the words, her phone rang with another call. A check of the caller ID revealed Gonzo’s number. “He knows. Call him, will you? Tell him we’re doing what we can to contain this shit.” Sam knew as well as Gonzo would that the accusation alone would be enough to damage his sterling reputation and possibly ruin his career. Naturally, that was the goal of whoever had the audacity to leak lies about the investigation.

“Holland?” the chief barked when he came on the line. “Are you there this time?”

“Sorry about before. I was apprehending a suspect in the Phillips case.”

“What Phillips case?” Hughes asked. “Are you talking about Lori? I barely know her! What’s she done?”

Sam nodded to Freddie, who took a turn telling Hughes to shut up.

“We’ve got a problem. CBC is broadcasting that Gonzo is our suspect.”

“Motherfucker,” Farnsworth muttered, echoing Sam’s thoughts.

“Our leaker has been busy. Any leads yet on who it might be?”

As they drove through the congested city, Sam could hear Freddie trying to talk Gonzo off a cliff.

“Conklin is up talking to Ramsey now. Haven’t heard anything yet though. I’m stuck in this meeting with the Public Affairs hacks who think they know better than I do about how to represent this department.”

“Can’t you fire them and get new hacks?”

“I wish it were that easy,” he said with a bitter chuckle. “I’d better get back in there. We’re making plans for a big blitz starting tomorrow morning.”

“Anything I can do? You know I hate every single thing about the notoriety, but if it’ll help, I’d gladly go out there with you to show my support.”

“Interesting that you should offer. The PAO said I should ask you, and I refused to.”

“How come?”

“Just like you don’t embrace the notoriety, I don’t embrace the idea of asking you to use it on my behalf.”

“It may as well be good for something other than a total pain in my ass.”

Farnsworth laughed at her choice of words. “How do you feel about being on TV at seven in the morning?”

“I feel good about it. Great, in fact. Let me know where to be, and I’m all yours.”

“The only reason I’m allowing this is because you were the lead detective on Springer. Not because you’re the VP’s wife.”

“Thank you for saying wife. I’ve already been called his old lady today. And yes, it’s okay to laugh.”

It was good to hear him laugh. There hadn’t been much for him to laugh about lately. “That’s hilarious. Does the person who said that still have all his teeth?”

“Only because I needed info from him.”

“He’s a lucky man. He has no idea how lucky.”

“No, he doesn’t. Hang in there, sir. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Sam. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the support.”

“Least I can do for driving you crazy all these years.” Smiling, Sam closed the phone and returned it to her pocket.

“Did you really just volunteer to go on TV?” Freddie asked her. “Have you lost what’s left of your mind?”

“Probably, but if it helps him, I’ll do it and it’ll give me a chance to say publicly that Gonzo is not a suspect. Speaking of him... Is he freaking out?”

“What’s the next step past freaking out? The worst part is he thought it was actually coming from us.”

“I hope you set him straight.”

“As much as I could, but the poor guy is going nuts. His phone is ringing off the hook with calls from all the same reporters who made him out to be a hero after the shooting, wanting to know if he’s a murderer now.”

“We gotta get ahead of this somehow.” She pulled out her phone again and called Malone. When he answered, she said, “We’ve got a big problem.”

* * *

While Scotty visited with Skip and Celia, Nick spent the holiday on the phone, first with his chief of staff, Terry O’Connor, who’d been working over the last few weeks to pull together their new team. Nick was set to officially begin his new role as vice president tomorrow, with a greatly expanded staff that included his own national security advisors. Imagine that.

Though Terry had overseen the compilation of what he called their dream team, Nick had consulted at every turn, approving all of Terry’s choices. His chief of staff’s inside-the-Beltway connections were coming in handy during this time of transition. Terry’s father, Graham, who was Nick’s adopted father and political mentor, had also weighed in on his son’s choices, and Nick wouldn’t have it any other way.

The retired Senator O’Connor was far more excited about Nick’s big promotion than anyone else was, and it pleased Nick to see the older man smiling and fully engaged in the political process that he loved so much.

His phone rang for the twentieth time that day with a call from Derek Kavanaugh, White House deputy chief of staff.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for a return call, Mr. Vice President,” Derek said when Nick answered.

“Can the bullshit, Derek.” The two men had been friends for fifteen years, since both were junior staffers to congressional members and new to Washington.

Derek laughed. “Just following protocol, sir.”

“Derek...”

“Sorry, Nick. How’s it going?”

“Okay so far if you count being surrounded by security okay. Takes some getting used to.”

“It’s not your first rodeo with the Secret Service. I’d think you’d be used to it after the campaign.”

“This is a whole other level. I have to say it makes me a bit nuts to have to ask their permission to take a walk over to my father-in-law’s house, and I’m sure the neighbors love the way they’ve got Ninth Street barricaded.”

“It’s awesome they let you stay in your own house.”

“I didn’t give them much choice, and while Ambrose was all for it,” he said of the Secret Service director, “I get the distinct feeling that my detail isn’t so thrilled.”

“They’ll get used to it, and so will you.”

“I guess.” Nick couldn’t imagine ever becoming accustomed to feeling like a goldfish inside a small bowl with all eyes on him. “The reason for this latest call is I could use some advice about navigating the White House staff when it comes to Sam’s role.”

“Sam has a role?”

“I know—it’s funny to us too. But here’s the thing, they want her in there at meetings and whatnot, and we all know that’s not going to happen. So how do I get around this in a way that keeps my wife happy and gets the job done too?”

“Hmm, that’s a tall order, especially since Gooding’s wife was extremely hands-on and very well regarded around here.”

“Sam is going to be extremely hands-off.”

Derek laughed again, which was actually good to hear. He hadn’t had much to laugh about since his wife was murdered and a huge conspiracy uncovered in the aftermath of her death. “Surely you told them that before you took the job.”