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The officer put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault. The agents and police know the dangers of their jobs and they’re very good at them. We’re going to find whoever did this.”

It didn’t make me feel any better and it didn’t bring them back. “Do you know how my family and guests are doing?”

“They’re fine. Everyone is accounted for, and those who didn’t handle a weapon or have direct interaction with the attackers have already been questioned and are now resting comfortably in the hotel rooms that have been provided for you for the evening.”

A shower and bed sounded great right about now. But apparently Officer Devlin wasn’t finished with me yet. I had no idea what else I could possibly offer in terms of information, but I sat down in the chair as instructed.

I asked for another bottle of water, and as soon as I had it, Officer Devlin began recording, and the questioning continued.

TWENTY-ONE

Slash

Ididn’t like that the police split up Lexi and me, but there was little I could do about it. At least I ended up in the car behind her with Tito. Xavier and Beau were being loaded into the car behind us. Apparently, those of us who had handled weapons were getting debriefed immediately, which wasn’t surprising since we had killed people. I presumed someone would debrief Gio in the hospital if he was up to it.

We were instructed not to talk about the events of the evening while in the vehicle, so we obliged. Not that I felt like talking anyway. Tito immediately closed his eyes and began to snore softly after a few minutes. I wished I could shut off my brain so easily.

The car ride took well over an hour, and since I couldn’t sleep, I spent much of the trip replaying my actions during the attack. I looked for ways I might have improved my performance, but more importantly, I searched for clues as to what instigated the attack and whom the attackers might be. I had no doubt they were professional soldiers. But for whom, and why would they attack a wedding party?

The obvious scenario was an assassination or kidnapping attempt on the first lady. But I knew better than most that often the obvious answer wasn’t the right one. Lexi and I had accumulated our fair share of enemies with grudges. Could the attack have been aimed at us?

I began mentally replaying the events as carefully as I could, trying to remember something I might have missed or passed over in the heat of the battle. Perhaps some little detail of the night that I’d overlooked would explain who wanted the first lady, or Lexi and me, dead.

Despite my meticulous review, nothing came to mind.

Who were they? I hadn’t heard them utter a single word, nor had I gotten a good look at any of them in the light. Yet they had worked seamlessly together, an experienced team, and their weapons and gear were highly sophisticated and expensive. I had no doubt this was a professional execution team, which meant we were unlikely to find documents, information, or even their fingerprints in a database once their bodies had been examined. They’d be ghosts.

It infuriated me.

The attack was personal because it was my wedding rehearsal and my family that had been attacked. But even now I couldn’t be sure the attack was aimed at me. Not with the first lady present.

Adding the first lady had definitely changed the dynamic and security of the event. Why would the attackers risk such a bold move unless it was aimed at the first lady? Still, it bothered me that there was a complete lack of credible intelligence regarding the attack.

How had our intelligences agencies missed the warning signs of such a high-profile attempt on her life?

On the other hand, whoever had masterminded this attack didn’t appear to have had credible intelligence of their own. They hadn’t known, or cared, that the wedding party had highly trained snipers and guests with significant law enforcement and military training. Or perhaps they’d considered the risk and believed us fully neutralized given the Secret Service requirements of no weapons.

That had been their mistake.

Regardless, I couldn’t shake my uneasy feeling. We’d been damn lucky none of the wedding party or guests had been seriously hurt.

That was a miracle I wouldn’t forget.

When we arrived at the Hilton, it was teeming with police and federal agents. Tito and I exited the car and were instructed to follow a police officer inside. Once inside, someone handed me a white T-shirt, which I pulled over my head, and Tito and I were split up. I was taken to an empty conference room separated into sections by a fabric wall. I sat in an empty chair at a table to wait until my interrogator arrived.

When he arrived, I noted he was a slightly overweight man and looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and put back on the same uniform he’d worn earlier. He carried an electronic tablet under one arm. His dark, bushy hair was either uncombed or unruly, and his face had a permanent scowl. Whether the scowl was because he’d been dragged from his comfortable bed late at night, or simply genetics, it was hard to say.

“Good evening,” the officer said sitting down in a chair adjacent to me. “My name is Officer Sam Palmer. I understand I am to call you Slash. I have some questions for you. Please be aware I will be recording this. I’d like you to acknowledge that you’ve been informed of my intent to record.”

“I have been informed.”

“Excellent.” He put the tablet on the table and proceeded to type in his login and password in full view without even trying to hide it. I resisted rolling my eyes and giving him a lecture. Now wasn’t the time.

“Let us begin,” he said, tapping the screen.

A few minutes in, I determined Officer Palmer was an experienced and effective interrogator. He used direct and fast questions, employing classic interrogation techniques to prevent me from thinking too much about my answers. I respected that, so I responded to him as clearly and succinctly as possible.

“Did you have any indications of a pending attack?” he asked.