Page 7 of The Press Secretary's Passion
“I don’t doubt it.” Cara sighs. “Why leave me out? That’s not fair!”
“We were talkingaboutyou,” she admits.
“Well, thanks for that.”
“It was all good,” Grace says quickly.
“It was brave what you did,” I say softly.
“Or stupid,” she admits. “I feel like I’ve done nothing but play into their hands. Whoever they are.”
She walks over to the coffee maker and begins to tinker with it. Grace and I both keep an eye on her as she pauses her actions to grip the counter in her hands and let her head fall forward. We stay quiet while she obviously grapples with her composure and control.
And then she just fucking loses it as she grabs the bag of coffee grounds, hurls them across the kitchen, and screams. It’s an eerie fucking sound as she shrieks, and for second, I don’t know what to do.
“Jake!” I hear Grace shout as Cara drops to her knees and slams her hands against the floor and all the mess.
“Ryan! Rick!” I yell as I race for the kitchen door. “Come quick!”
Rick scoops her up into his arms and begins to try to soothe her. I send a look around the room, and everyone files out to give them the privacy they need to deal with her emotional collapse, one that we could all see was coming a mile away.
We stand silently around the old-fashioned living room. No one utters a single word. Poor Cara, so lost in her grief. How would I feel if I was a mother and my only child had been taken? Just as awful, no doubt.
I watch out the corner of my eye as Jake leans into Grace, giving her the comfort that they both need right now. He lays his hand over hers on her round belly, and the moment is so intimate I have to look away. I feel so lost, because these are my people, and I would do anything for them. Yet at the same time, it feels like I no longer have a place within the circle. Everyone has moved on.
After a while, Rick walks down the stairs with a haggard look on his face.
“I’m not sure there’s much else we can do here tonight,” Ryan says from behind me, and I can’t help but agree.
“I agree,” Jake adds. “I think we head back to D.C. and keep our eyes and ears open. Report to the group if anything changes.”
“Agreed,” Rick says.
“Agreed,” Ryan repeats, and I just nod. The men were more having a meeting of the minds anyway. I’ll get my reports to give from Rick and Jake when needed. Otherwise, I just have to mind my Ps and Qs, as they say.
“Let’s go,” Ryan barks, startling me. It would only be more embarrassing, the way he’s ordering me around, if he snapped his fingers at me like I was a dog. His terse command goes a long way to remind me how I got to this delightful little farmhouse earlier this afternoon. Not by choice, but by force.
I narrow my eyes on him, but he doesn’t see, because he’s already turned away and is walking toward the door. Obviously, he feels like I’m going to follow him like a good little puppy.
“We can give you a ride back to D.C. if you’d like,” Grace says softly. I look back over my shoulder to her, and she has a concerned look on her face. I can’t let her worry about me too. That can’t be good for the baby. Besides, we all already have enough to worry about with Cara, Rick, and Rachel.
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” I say, smiling my evil, “I’m up to no good” smile. “It’s not me you should be worried about.”
“Give him hell,” she says, and Jake fakes a cough to hide his laughter, but when he looks at me, I see his eyes are dancing. Gus looks to his feet.
“Don’t worry, I will.”
I hug my friend one last time before looking to the stairs and send up a little prayer that Cara will be all right and that Rachel will be found safe. Then I turn on my heels and follow Ryan’s path through the house, back to the kitchen, and out the back door, where he is waiting for me.
“What took you so long?” he snaps, and I look at him. He’s angry, and I don’t understand why. I’m the one who should be angry, and here he is, still treating me like garbage. I don’t get it.
“I was saying goodbye to my friends,” I answer, even though I don’t really feel like he deserves one. I’m right when the next words out of his mouth follow.
“Those people in there are not your friends.”
“I beg to differ,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’ve known Grace since college.”
“The Grace you knew is gone, and those people are the leaders of this country,” he says. “They are not your friends, and if you think for one second that you are not expendable when it comes to the safety of this country, you aremistaken.”
