Page 47 of The Devoted Game

Closing the phone, she faced McBride, dread mounting at warp speed. “We have to go to the office.”

“Tell me there isn’t a new email.”

“There isn’t a new email.” Her fingers felt limp around the phone. He was not going to take this news well.

“What the hell is it, Grace?”

His usual cocky tone had gone cold and impatient.

“At five thirty this evening, WKRT aired a story about you that was picked up by all the networks. Worth found out a couple of hours ago; he’s been running damage control with Quantico since. He’ll brief us both when we—”

“What kind of story?” McBride demanded. “I don’t want to hear it from Worth. I want to hear it from you.”

Vivian braced for his reaction. “An anonymous source provided details as to why you were right in the Braden case and your superior, Andrew Quinn, was wrong. Some of the details in the story were straight out of your final report, McBride. The original version, not the redacted one.” She swallowed back the bitter taste that rose in herthroat. “An hour ago, Derrick Braden went to Quinn’s home and shot him once in the head, then shot himself.”

Silence.

Standing so close, she could not miss, even in the meager moonlight, the disbelief and shock that played out on his face.

Vivian could only imagine how many times Braden had replayed those final days before his son’s murder. How many times had he asked himself what he should have done differently? What the Bureau should have done differently? Now the world knew some of the answers to that last question ... and Derrick Braden hadn’t been able to live with it.

McBride shook his head, denial etched in the planes of his face. “Braden couldn’t have—”

“He did.”

“But—”

“We have to get dressed and go in.” She turned away, her movements stilted. This couldn’t be happening. This entire situation was going off the rails.

“Wait.” He clutched her arm, hindered her escape. “What else did Worth say?”

Telling him the rest would only add insult to injury. She would rather he hear it from Worth.

“What?” he demanded.

“Director Stone called.” She didn’t have to explain that Stone was currently the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. McBride would know that. Anyone who watched the news would know that.

“And?”

“He wants you disassociated with the Bureau andoffthis case.”

Thirteen

11:30 p.m.

This was very distressing.

Very, very distressing.

Martin changed the channel to another twenty-four-hour news station. This could not be correct. And yet, on every channel, the breaking news was the same.

After three years, a distraught father carries out his vengeance for an inept investigation.

No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

There was no room in Martin’s careful plan for that kind of distraction. Death was not his goal. He was not a murderer, which was far more than he could say for some he had chosen to take part in his plans.

But that was not the worst of it. He had also learned that Tuesday’s scheduled event had been moved up to Monday. This simply would not do. Timing was everything.