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Since that day we left Camp David, Sam has been true to his word. He talked the attorney general into believing there was no reason to continue the investigation, claiming there was no substantial evidence there and it should be tabled for the time being. He bought it and moved Sam to a different case. Of course, just because Sam isn't investigating for the DOJ’s case doesn’t mean he’s dropped it during his private time. He’s getting nowhere, which frustrates him daily, but that's what you get when you’re forced to use your own resources. He calls at least twice a week asking if my illegal source has anything for us. And each week I have to tell him no.

I hate it.

I hate it for the American people, I hate it for me, for Sam, for everyone who knows that Kyle is getting away with… hell, borderline treason at this point. He's in too deep with whoever is running the show. Each meeting he appears more exhausted than the last. The dark heavy bags under his eyes, the deepening wrinkles. He's aging drastically from week to week. Already his previously thick black hair is grayer than ever before and appears to be thinning near the temples.

But there's nothing I can do but wait.

And wait.

Until today.

It started out like every other day since that afternoon in Hawaii, waking up and talking to Taeler before I even roll out of bed. With her using the summer to travel around Europe, I have to catch her at the same time every day so she's available and expecting my call. I'm slightly jealous of my daughter, if I'm honest with myself. She's having the time of her life visiting various countries with a new best friend she's made while abroad—and of course her security detail. It's taken some finagling to make sure the guys have clearance for each of the countries they enter, but the director over the secret service has been more than helpful at every hurdle.

Apparently she loves me, because one, I stand up for myself against these so-called men in this city, and two, I've helped calm Trey down from all his “shenanigan ways”—her words, not mine.

Back to this morning. Everything was normal until it wasn't.

One unexpected guest showed up bearing a sizable, stuffed-to-the-brim manila envelope.Seriously what's with the Russians and envelopes?

“Maybe the Dollar Store was running a sale?” I mumble to myself.

The stranger’s nearly black buzzed hair, thick black beard, and cold eyes were the first indication that Vlad had finally come through.

“Manila envelopes, makes you so hipster am I right?”

Nothing. When my joke about their abundance of manila envelopes falls flat, it confirmed my assumption.

Russian.

Without a word, or even a raised brow at my lame joke, he stretched the thick envelope out toward me only to be intercepted by Trey. Instead of getting bent out of shape, I just sighed and folded my hands in front of me, the perfect picture of patience.

“What’s in here?” Trey demands while taking a challenging step closer to the very tall man.

Geez, what do they feed those guys?

Our mystery man just arches a brow and looks down at Trey, remaining silent.

“You know what's in there. Stop causing trouble, Trouble.” I smirk at my words. “Go run whatever tests so we can look through it. We've waited long enough, and my patience is nearly spent when it comes to that idiot sitting in the Oval Office.”

Trey gives me an annoyed glance over his shoulder. Before I can think better of it, I stick my tongue out at him only to suddenly remember we're not alone. Tongue still stuck out, I peek at the stoic man. My apprehension slides away to relief at the small twitch of his lips at my expense.

“Thank you,” I say, straightening my blouse and smoothing my hands down my cropped black slacks. “Any insight or warnings, or should we just wing it as we go through the papers?”

“Everything inside.”

Right. A man of many words.

With a dip of his head, he turns on his black boot-looking shoes and strides out the door T yanks open for him. A hot breeze blasts through the opened door, warming the air-conditioned entryway before T can slam it shut.

Trey holds the envelope up to the light, squinting at it like he might’ve somehow developed X-ray vision in the last few minutes.

“Give me that.” T grunts and yanks the envelope out of Trey's hand. Seems I’m not the only one who’s out of patience.

“We can't let anyone outside of us know what's in there, T,” I say, stepping up beside the two men. “I say we toss caution and protocol to the wind and open it. Fingers crossed for no dying.”

Two sets of accusing scowls land on me.

“You know I'm right,” I grumble. The way T's tight, fierce expression falters slightly confirms my claim. “It is what it is. We know Vlad and know he wouldn’t do anything to harm me or our budding relationship. Come on, you two, let's do this in the office.”