We Know by Gregg Hurwitz Read Free Book Online Page B

anything," I said. "You guys tricked me. I wasn't a hero. I was just the dupe who carried the bomb."
    "I think that's the least flattering interpretation possible."
    The bedside phone sounded, and Sever picked it up on a half ring. He'd been waiting right next to it. "Yes, he's here." He pressed the handset to his considerable chest. "President Bilton wants to express his gratitude to you."
    I swallowed dryly. "As in the commander in chief?"
    "That's right. He'll have a window in about half an hour."
    I glanced from my scorched clothes to the clean
    white walls, my lungs feeling tight. "Sorry, but I need to get out of here. I, uh . . Claustrophobia gripped me, and I couldn't finish the thought.
    Sever looked at me, his mouth slightly agape. Then he muttered something into the phone and hung up.
    Wydell fixed his dark brown eyes on mine. "If you want to stay off the radar, that's fine by us. But it's important--no, essential--to national security that we don't confuse the press or the public. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
    "Not really."
    "The threat is over. It's important that the public be made to feel at ease again."
    "Listen," I said, "I don't want to have to go home and puzzle out what you're trying to say. So just be clear about what you mean. Please."
    His brow furrowed. "Okay. If you choose not to be officially recognized, we'd like you not to talk about the events of early this morning. Least of all to the press or media. It's a closed chapter that's best left that way. If there's anything you have to say about it--anything at all, ever--our understanding is that you're to come to us first. And as I said earlier, if there's any way we can thank you for what you did, please let us know."
    "There is one thing I'd like," I said.
    "Anything."
    I looked across at Sever. "Evelyn Plotkin, my neighbor. The one you shoved back into her apartment. She's a nice lady. Collects Hummels. Member of Amnesty International. T-shirt with a picture of her grandkids on the front. That sort of stuff. I'd like you to apologize to her."
    Sever's tan face flexed, accenting the muscle beneath his cheeks.
    Wydell said, "That's it? That's all you want?"
    "That's all."
    He nodded at Sever. "I think we can arrange that."
    I pulled on my sneakers. "Oh--sorry. One other thing."
    Sever looked less obliging now. "What's that?"
    I stood, cinching the hospital gown around my waist as best I could. "Can you help me get home?"
    I followed them out, Charlie's key rattling soundlessly inside the heel of my shoe.

    Chapter 7
    A few ribbons of yellow crime-scene tape had been stretched haphazardly across the open doorway, a spiderweb that had lost its momentum. My door rested flat in the middle of my torn-up living room. I stood for a few moments in the hall, contemplating the mess. I was wearing an I L.A. T-shirt and baggy muscle pants from the hospital gift shop. My head was throbbing--I could feel the pulse intensified in the cut on my cheek--and the
    hallway lights seemed unusually bright. My mouth tasted bitter, like the rind of some fruit. I had been looking forward to getting home so much that it hadn't occurred to me what would be waiting.
    I stepped through the tape, picked up the door, and rested it carefully back in place. I walked around and checked all the locks. Stupid, I know, given that the door was leaning against the frame, but old habits are hard to kill. I closed all the blinds, then surveyed the condo. When I got home, I usually checked that none of my things were out of place, another part of the ritual, but what was the point? Every drawer had been dumped. My books, bills, and papers had been rifled through and dropped unceremoniously.
    The TV had been moved to the carpet and Frank's old steamer trunk flipped, jaws to the carpet, its contents strewn around my bedroom. I hadn't gone through them in years. My first baseball trophy, broken at the base. The Punisher's debut in Spider-Man. My dad, still smoking, still smiling in