Holly backed away, warily eyeing the beignets. “I can’t. I can’t.”
“Oh, come on, Bradshaw.” Matt put one on a paper plate and held it out for her. “One beignet won’t make you fat.”
Holly hesitated for a moment, then took the plate, picked up the powdered sugar–coated pastry, took a tiny bite—and moaned.
Then everyone’s head came up, and Matt, who’d been half sitting on Natalie’s desk, got to his feet. Natalie turned to see Tom walking toward them.
“Welcome back, Benoit. Let’s bring the goodies to the conference room so we can get our meeting under way.”
ZACH SAT IN one of the back conference rooms watching CNN, having just finished another so-called debriefing. No matter what channel he watched, she was there. She looked amazing for someone who’d been in the middle of the desert only yesterday evening—pretty dress, cute pearl earrings, calm, composed features. But he could tell she’d been nervous when she’d given her statement this morning.
He was so caught up in her face that it took him a moment to realize she was talking directly to him at the end.
“Words will never fully express my gratitude for all you did to get me safely home. You are my hero.”
He was nobody’s fucking hero.
He changed channels. Fox. MSNBC. The local news. But there she was again, looking directly into the camera, those beautiful eyes of hers gazing into his.
“You are my hero.”
God, how he missed her. He’d had a nightmare about her last night—the same nightmare he’d had when they were at the hotel in Altar. He’d woken up covered in cold sweat. He’d started in on a bottle of whiskey, but then decided to go to the twenty-four-hour gym, where he’d worked out until his ribs ached and he’d been ready to puke.
Now, punchy on lack of sleep, he was back for a second day of answering questions, doing all he could to cooperate with the investigation. He wished he knew how it was progressing, but no one was telling him anything, not even Pearce.
“Zachariah?”
Fuck.
Zach recognized that voice. He switched off the television set, stood, and turned to face his old man. “What the hell do you want?”
It had been four years since he’d last seen his father face-to-face. But time had been good to the bastard. He stood there in a three-thousand-dollar suit, looking like an older and better dressed version of Zach, the resemblance undeniable. Though his hair was whiter than Zach remembered, the man looked strong and healthy as an ox.
He fidgeted with his tie. Was he nervous? That would be a first. “I heard what happened—how you were captured and almost killed, how you escaped and rescued that girl.”
“Thatgirlrescued me. And how do you know anything about this? Some of that information is classified.”
His father gave him a wounded look. “You don’t think I have my sources after thirty years of working inside the Beltway? I’m the ranking member of the Senate Armed Services Committee.”
As arrogant as ever.
“So you heard what happened, and you came by to tell me how glad you are I wasn’t killed. Is that it?”
“Partly. I also know you’re being investigated, that some of the people here think you might have stolen cocaine from one of the cartels and murdered an Interpol agent.”
Now it made sense.
“I can see why there are no reporters with you this time. Your son is in trouble. How embarrassing. And by the way, that really is classified.”
“You’re my son. My sources knew I’d want to hear about it.”
Zach crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose you’re worried about how this might look in the media if word gets out that Senator Robert McBride’s son was exposed as a crook. Well, you can relax, because I’m clean.”
“That’s not it at all.” His father’s voice rose a notch, the old man’s temper kicking in. “I know you’re innocent. I came to see if I could help in any way, cut through some of the red tape, help make sure the process goes smoothly.”
And Zach felt his own temper rise. “You just don’t get it, do you? You really believe that your elected position gives you rights the rest of America just doesn’t have. Forget it. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Justice will take its course. I trust the agency I work for to get to the truth.”
“I’ve never understood you. You don’t think that fathers out there everywhere do all they can to help their kids get ahead in this life? You think I’m the only one who tries to pave the road for my son?”