Page 111 of The Bodyguard

She picked up and reached an outside line. It had been years since she had dialed a phone, but she knew the number by heart. She dialed it. The ringing echoed between her ears like a maniacal tennis match.

“Capitol Switchboard. How may I direct your call?”

Mylene’s heart hammered. “Senator Sorenson’s office.”

“One moment, please.”

The line beeped as the transfer was made. The phone rang twice. “Senator Sorenson’s office. How can I help you?”

She could picture the intern assigned to take constituent phone calls. Or—her excitement grew—perhaps the person who answered the phone was on Sorenson’s staff. Mylene was less than six degrees of separation from Angela now. Her pulse raced. “I need to get a message to Angela Sorenson. It’s an emergency.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Angela Sorenson. I need to speak with her right now. Can you please pass her a message?”

“Er, um, yeah. One second.” Unintelligible whispers were just out of the reach of understanding. “What’s your message?”

Mylene didn’t know. Damn it. She’d been too certain of what needed to happen that she hadn’t considered what to say. Her brain was trained on flame-worthy one-liners and rage-baiting memes. Articulating a message fit for a real live person…

“Hello?”

“Tell her not to testify,” Mylene blundered. This wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t pass on a stupid message like that. “Pham. Because. You can’t. Tell her to stay away.”

Dead air hung on the line. She hadn’t made sense.

“All right. Thanks—”

“Wait. I need you to listen. Tell her it’s life or death. That she can’t. Tell her I need to talk to her. It’s important.”

“And who are you?” the intern asked.

“I’m nobody anymore. But a long time ago, I wasn’t.” Mylene hadn’t talked to anyone in years, and it was showing. Her tongue tripped and tied. “She and I are the same. We’re trapped. But I want to go back home. Ineedto go back home. If she would leave and not testify… that would be best for everyone.”

Mylene slammed the phone into the cradle. What the hell had she done? That wouldn’t help Pham or get her back to her house. The headache punched in her temples.

The door to the hotel room unlocked. Mylene jerked the covers over her body and rolled like a hyperventilating burrito.

“Food.”

She heard the sound of fast-food bags being dropped next to the television.

“I want to go home,” she cried, face pressed into a pillow. Tears stung. “I want to go home.”

They didn’t bother answering. Footsteps retreated. The door shut.

She sobbed. All alone, mind fragmenting, Mylene wanted to die.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Roman and Cash greeted Sawyer and Angela when they walked out of the hospital. Sawyer hadn’t seen them since the incident at the hotel. Neither man’s concerned scowl was friendly, but when they saw Angela, they tried their best to smile.

With an out-of-place straw cowboy hat, Cash opened the back door of a black SUV for Angela as though he were a chauffeur and helped her in. Sawyer slid into the back seat with her. Roman was at the wheel. Cash, the last one in the vehicle, did a once-over, monitoring their surroundings before closing himself in.

“Where are Brock and Winters?” Sawyer asked.

“They hightailed it back to headquarters,” Cash answered.

“Where are we headed?” Angela asked.

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