Depends On Who's Asking (SWAT Generation 2.0 12)

I was actually kind of relieved.

“You know all the stuff that I wasn’t telling you?” I asked.

“Some of it.” She paused. “I know that you were the only son of our president when I was in middle school. I know that your mother was murdered, and your father is in critical condition at a hospital surrounded by round-the-clock surveillance in Dallas. I also know that you think that one of your ex-secret service agents was responsible. Or at least, possibly, based on what your father said to you on the telephone the night that you took off and broke it off with me.”

I stared at her in shock.

She knew all of it.

At least, all that I’d told Luke, that was.

“What kind of hiding spot do you have?” I asked. “Because that’s kind of scary that you can find out all of that information and you weren’t even detected.”

“Actually,” she admitted, “it’s not all that surprising or stealthy on my part. I was talking to my dad before he went into Luke’s office to talk to him. And the majority of the time, Dad never hangs up the phone, he always expects you to hang up. This time, though, I was driving and my button wasn’t hanging up the phone. It took me a few seconds too long to hang up, and when I heard your name come up before I was about to do it manually, I kind of stilled my hand. And eavesdropped like a motherfucker.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that left my throat at her admission.

“I guess that makes me feel better,” I admitted. “I mean, I was dreading all day long having to tell you all of this. It’s not that I don’t want you to know, but it’s really hard to say, ‘oh hey, by the way, I’m the son of a president.’”

She walked to her fridge and started to pull out cold cuts and cheese.

“You hungry?” she asked.

Actually, I was starving.

But something brought me up short.

“Why aren’t you at work today?” I asked.

She grinned at me.

“Most of the dockets are cleared by now. Which mine is. I don’t have any more cases that I have to hear until after New Year’s,” she said.

“I wish my job was like that. All crime is to cease until after New Year’s.” I snorted a laugh and walked up to lean my hip against the counter next to her.

“So, tell me what happened at the party that had you looking so freaked out for a couple of minutes,” she ordered as she started to lay slices of bread out on her counter.

I pulled my phone out and showed the text voicemail to her.

You’re not going to find what you’re looking for where you’re looking for it.

“How well did you know Brad?” she asked curiously after reading it, her eyes on me and not the phone that was displaying the text from my voicemail.

“I thought I knew him really well,” I admitted. “Like, I would’ve had him be the godfather of any of my kids if I have any. Phillipe and Daniel were always my bodyguards, but Brad always felt like a friend to me. I just… this blindsided me. I feel like all the starch has been taken out of me.”

“Are you sure that he’s the bad guy in this situation?” she asked carefully. “Because people don’t just change like that. At least, not that I feel like they should.”

I recalled my father’s words exactly.

“Kid,” I recounted his words. “Something happened. Brad…” I paused, mimicking the pause of my father choking on his own blood. “Brad… betrayed.”

She stared at me.

“That could mean anything,” she said. “Brad, pause, betrayed could very well mean Brad was betrayed. Or Brad found out who betrayed. There are a thousand combinations that he could have meant.”

I knew that.

“I know.” I pressed my fingertips to my eyeballs. “Where the fuck is Brad then?”

“That, I don’t know,” she answered. “There are a lot of things that you know about the man that I don’t. If he were hurt or injured or something was happening, wouldn’t you think he would try to get into contact with you? Was this the same man that you called to send us all kinds of stuff?”

I nodded miserably.

“A guy that doesn’t like you doesn’t send you shit like that,” she told me. “He’ll do the very basic of what he needs to do. That means that he didn’t have to resend you clothes that didn’t itch. He didn’t have to send the washing machine and dryer, which might I add I have no use for so why did you have them bring them here?”

My grin kicked up the corner of my lips.

“I don’t even do my own laundry. I have my house cleaner do it,” I admitted. “What would I do with that laundry machine?”