CHAPTER TWO
By six the next morning, Dana had read every overnight briefing twice and retained almost none of it.
She sat at the small desk in the residence wearing a navy suit while an untouched breakfast cooled beside her.
The intelligence summary reported no foreign involvement in the attack.
The FBI had located the shooter's vehicle, devices, and handwritten planning notes.
No second target or participant appeared in them.
A lone shooter. The phrase should have reduced the threat.
It did not reduce the blood. Monica entered without knocking.
Her eyes moved from the breakfast to the open folder and then to Dana's face.
"How much did you sleep?"
"Enough."
"That is not a number."
"I have a Cabinet call in twenty minutes."
"You have a physician waiting in the next room."
Dana looked up. "Why?"
"Because you were involved in a shooting yesterday, have not slept, and are pretending coffee is medical treatment."
"I was examined."
"You were examined for glass and acute injury. This is a trauma follow-up."
Dana closed the briefing folder. "Cancel it."
"No."
The refusal was so immediate that Dana almost admired it.
"You work for me."
"Which is why I occasionally prevent you from making foolish decisions before breakfast."
Dana looked toward the tray. Monica followed her attention. "Eat something."
"I am not hungry."
"That was not the standard."
Dana lifted one eyebrow. Monica exhaled. "Fine. Ignore me. The doctor will be in shortly, and the hospital has approved a visit at eleven." Dana stood too quickly. The room tilted. She caught the desk before Monica could reach her. Neither woman spoke for a moment. Dana straightened.
"I stood too fast."
"Of course."
"Do not begin."
"Eat."
Dana took half a piece of toast because arguing would take longer.
* * *
Brynn's sister was in the hospital corridor when Dana arrived.
Paige Shaw was taller than Brynn and carried the same steady slate-colored eyes without any of Brynn's cultivated stillness.
She wore travel-wrinkled trousers and a sweater beneath a coat she had not removed.
A paper cup rested untouched in her hand.
She looked at Dana, then at the agents surrounding her.
"Madam President."
"Ms. Shaw."
"Paige."
Dana nodded. "How is she?"
"Awake for short periods. Angry about the breathing exercises. Complaining that no one will give her an incident report."
Relief moved through Dana so sharply she had to look away. Paige watched her.
"She has always been unreasonable when injured," she said.
"Has this happened before?"
"Not a gunshot. Broken bones. A knife once. A concussion she hid for six hours."
Dana's jaw tightened. "She concealed a concussion?" Paige almost smiled. "You sound personally offended."
"It was reckless."
"Yes. She also learned from it. Eventually."
A nurse opened the intensive-care door.
"She can have one visitor for ten minutes. Family first."
Dana stepped back immediately. Paige looked toward Brynn's room, then returned her attention to Dana.
"I saw her twenty minutes ago. Go."
"You are her family."
"And you are the reason she keeps trying to remove the oxygen so she can ask whether the threat is contained. Perhaps you can make her stop."
Dana did not know how to answer. Paige gestured toward the door. "Before I reconsider." The agents remained outside. Dana entered alone.
* * *
Brynn looked smaller in the hospital bed.
The observation angered Dana because nothing about Brynn should have been made small.
Tubes crossed beneath the blanket. A monitor tracked her heart.
Oxygen rested beneath her nose. Bandages disappeared under the gown along her left side.
Her eyes were closed. Dana approached quietly.
Brynn opened them before she reached the chair.
Awareness sharpened through the medication.
"Madam President."
Her voice was rough. Dana stopped beside the bed. "You are not on duty."
"Threat?"
"Contained. The shooter is in custody. Investigators believe he acted alone."
Brynn's shoulders relaxed by a fraction.
"Anyone else hurt?"
"Several injuries during the evacuation. No deaths."
Brynn closed her eyes briefly. Dana looked at the chair but remained standing. Brynn opened her eyes again. "Sit." The word carried so much familiar authority that Dana obeyed before considering it. She lowered herself into the chair. Brynn watched her face.
"You did not sleep."
Dana stiffened. "You were shot yesterday and remain determined to evaluate me."
"Answer."
The monitor continued its steady rhythm. Dana should have rejected the instruction. Brynn had no professional reason to ask and no official authority from a hospital bed.
"No," she said. "I did not sleep."
"Eat?"
"Toast."
Brynn's gaze sharpened despite the medication. "That is not breakfast."
"You are not in a position to issue nutritional criticism."
"Lunch."
Dana stared at her. Brynn's mouth moved faintly, though pain prevented a full smile.
"Have lunch," she said.
"You are astonishingly controlling for someone receiving intravenous pain medication."
"Still president?"
"Yes."
"Then you need fuel."
Dana looked at the hand resting beside the blanket. Bruising marked the wrist. Tape secured an intravenous line to the back of it.
"I am sorry," she said.
Brynn's expression changed.
"No."
"You were shot because—"
"Because a man fired at you and I did my job."
"You almost died."
"Not your act."
Dana's throat tightened. Brynn shifted, and pain crossed her face before she could hide it. Dana stood halfway.
"Stay."
Again, she stopped. Brynn drew a careful breath.
"You do not get to turn his choice into your guilt."
"You do not get to decide what I feel."
"No."
The agreement disarmed her.
"I decide what belongs to me," Brynn said. "Protecting you was mine."
Dana looked down.
"You carried enough yesterday," Brynn continued. "Do not add what is not yours."
The words found a place beneath every defense. Dana reached toward the bed and stopped before touching Brynn's hand.
"May I?"
Brynn looked at the space between their hands.
"Yes."
Dana placed her fingers carefully over Brynn's. The contact was slight. It changed the room. Brynn's hand turned weakly beneath hers until their palms met.
"I saw your blood on my hands," Dana said.
Brynn's thumb moved once against her skin.
"I know."
"I thought the vehicle was taking me away while you died."
"It did what it was supposed to do."
"I hated it."
"You can hate it and still let it protect you."
Dana looked at her. The nurse appeared at the door. "One minute." Brynn's eyes remained on Dana.
"Lunch," she said.
Dana almost laughed despite everything.
"That was not a professional instruction."
"No."
The answer settled between them. Dana squeezed her hand gently.
"Rest, Agent Shaw."
"Eat, Madam President."
Dana left before the nurse could remove her.
* * *
Paige waited in the corridor.
"She made you sit," she said.
Dana turned. "You could hear?"
"No. You look offended and calmer. That is usually the result."
Dana glanced toward the closed door.
"Has she always been like that?"
"Certain?"
"Commanding."
Paige studied her with sudden interest.
"With people she believes need it."
Dana felt heat rise beneath her collar and disliked the reaction.
"She needs rest," she said.
"So do you."
"This quality appears to run in the family."
"Unfortunately."
Dana started toward the elevator. Paige called after her. "Madam President." Dana turned.
"She would do it again."
The truth hurt.
"I know."
"That does not mean you owe her your life."
Dana looked toward Brynn's room.
"I know that too."
She was less certain of the second answer. At twelve thirty, Dana ate lunch.