Chapter 8

I swallowed. Something about the name of the mission set me on edge. I opened the file and looked at the first paper—a newspaper clipping about my brother’s death.

Terror Strikes the White House.

I flipped to the next page.

Scarlett Riding Murdered in Riot.

I shut the folder and handed it to Holland.

“He just wanted revenge on whoever did it,” I said, not wanting to look any further into the situation. I wanted to stop the investigation, afraid of what I’d find.

“May I look?” he asked.

I nodded.

He opened it and skipped the first two pages, the ones I’d already seen. He looks down at the file, a frown distorting his face.

“Look at this, he looks familiar,” he said, showing me a picture.

My eyes widened. “That’s Jason Macks. The one we suspect killed President Riding. But why would there be a picture of him in here?”

“Maybe he was a murder suspect?” he suggested.

“No, that’s not possible,” I shook my head. “When my family was killed ten years ago, he wasn’t on staff. He’s only been on staff for a few years. If he was a murder suspect, he never would have gotten the position. Besides, he was best friends with Dad. What motive would he have for doing this?”

“Didn’t his brother go missing in action?” Holland asked. I nodded. “Maybe he’s mad about that and is taking revenge.”

“Then I’d be long gone,” I countered. “Cassandra said that he knew I was in hiding. If he wanted to kill me then why didn’t he do it then?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to incriminate himself. If he was one of the few people that knew you were in hiding, then, if you did turn up dead, there’d be a limited number of suspects,” he pointed out.

I sighed just as someone knocked on the door, causing us both to jump. The door opened and Wade entered.

“We need you in the Oval Office,” he said. “We found something on Jason Macks.”

I stepped closer to him. “What?”

“He was spotted at Louisville International Airport in Kentucky early this morning,” he started. “We lost him in a crowd and couldn’t find him after that, but Cassandra had teams reviewing footage of the murders and Jason Macks was spotted.”

“In which murder?” I asked, my heart once more picking up its pace.

“Your sister,” he answered.

I leaned back on my heels. “That doesn’t add up.”

Holland raised an eyebrow at me, asking me to explain.

“My sister was killed during a riot in front of the White House,” I said. I’d heard the story so many times from Aunt Nellie, I could practically recite it word for word. “One of the bodyguard’s pulled a gun on her and shot her ten times. Why would Macks be there?”

Wade shrugged. “I have no clue, but it just puts him higher on the list of suspects.”

I looked down at the folder. Dad thought he was suspect, yet he still got the position.

“I need to think,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’m going back to my room.”

Pushing past Wade and the security guards, I quickly walk to my room. I knew Audie and Titan were behind me along with several other bodyguards, but I didn’t care. I just needed to make it to the security and privacy of my room before I blew up.

I slammed my bedroom door shut as the guards took their positions on each side of the door and hallway. I tossed the folder onto the nightstand by the bed and jumped stomach down onto the bed. I laid there for several minutes, the gears of my mind spinning.

“None of this is adding up,” I muttered to myself. “Is Jason the murder or not? If he is, why would Dad not have done something to keep him from getting the position?”

“Maybe someone else paid Jason and diverted all the attention so he wouldn’t be suspected and could get closer to the President,” I said a few moments later.

“No, that’s not it,” I said, climbing off the bed.

“But what if that is it?” I asked myself. “What if we just have to dig a little deeper to find this person?”

None of this is adding up. Is Jason the murderer or not? If he is, why would Dad not have done something to keep him from getting the position? Maybe someone else paid Jason and diverted all the attention so he wouldn’t be suspected and could get closer to the President.

The first name that popped to mind was Riley Riding, my cousin. She would have been the next President if I hadn’t shown up. That was motive enough to hire someone. Her parents had also been killed, clearing anyone that could take the position before she did.

I yelled in frustration. Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s okay, I’m not getting murdered in here!” I yelled, annoyed.

“It’s me, Holland. May I come in?” he asked.

Jumping from the bed, I went to the door and opened it. He entered briskly, and quickly, stepping to the side as I shut the door, leaning up against it, and watched his matter-of-fact movements as he went over to the nightstand and picked up the folder.

“Have you looked through it anymore?” he asked, nodding towards the file.

I shook my head. “No. A part of me doesn’t want to and it’s outweighing the part of me that does want to look through it.”

He opened it and took out the first couple of pages. “These are articles about your family and their murder.” he set them down on the bed and continued to scan through the rest of the file. “These are papers on Jason Macks.” he set them down on the bed also in their own stack. “These are files on you.”

Instead of putting them on the bed, he handed them to me.

“You need to look through these,” he ordered.

I took them and leafed through them. One was a newspaper article about how I’d gone missing at the age of five. Towards the end of the article, one sentence was highlighted in yellow. Some people believe that President Riding has sent his daughter away so as to keep her safe, but he refuses to say anything on the matter.

I dropped the article onto the bed and sat down next to it. I scanned the other articles, each one saying the same thing. I disappeared at the age of five, just a few weeks after my sister was killed. I sorted them out according to date and topic seeing as some weren’t just focused on me but the entire Riding family. When I was done, I was left holding an envelope.

“Hey, look at this,” I said, holding it up so Holland could see.

“Are you going to open it?” he asked.

I nodded and tore it open. It was a letter, written in the same loopy handwriting as the letter given to me after Dad died. I began to read.

Hello Red,

If you’ve found this letter that means you’ve been in the Presidential Suite and probably with Holland Kyle. He’s a good kid but he’s too curious. It may get him killed one day.

Now, I can only guess the questions that are running through your head right now, but I’ll try my best to answer them. You probably think that this file is about getting revenge. It’s not. Jason Macks, who you are probably suspicious of, is an old friend of mine. We have been for over twenty years. The thing is, I can’t say much in this letter seeing as you may use it against me, so I’ll just say what I have to say.

I’m not dead, Red. I’m not dead.

The letter ended there, and I handed it to Holland who read through it and then looked at me.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide with confusion and surprise.

“I literally saw him dead, on his bed,” I argued, my voice taking on a desperate tone. “It’s not possible. He wasn’t breathing, moving….”

“Calm down,” he put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down onto the bed. He stepped back, letter in hand. He ran a hand through his hair as he turned around in a slow circle.

“Why?” he muttered under his breath. “Why would someone fake their own death? For what reason?”

I looked at him blankly. “I have no idea.”

“Look, it’s late. You missed lunch and dinner and you should be asleep right now. Your dad’s funeral is tomorrow and the day after that is your inauguration,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to me. “You can’t tell anybody about this until after your inauguration, okay?”

Tiredness suddenly seemed to grab at my bones. My whole body deflated as I yawned. I nodded. “But why?”

“It could mess things up,” he answered. “You should get some rest. You have some big days ahead of you.”

I nodded.

“Good night, Red Lynne,” he said, walking for the door.

“Good night, Dutch,” I answered, my eyes barely staying open. As he shut the door behind him, I dropped over on the bed, asleep.