Free The Savage Dead by Joe McKinney Page B

Additionally, the Secret Service had been able to lease an apartment directly across the street from the senator’s building, and the Bank of America behind her had been kind enough to let them use a third-story office that covered the roof of the senator’s building. The office had the added benefit of commanding a long view down the service alley that led behind the senator’s apartment, which cut down on the number of posts he’d have to man and helped him stay under budget. Also, there was an Indian curry house down on Calvert that Juan had grown quite fond of, and a yoghurt shop up at Woodley Road that Tess liked. All in all, Juan was pleased with the setup. Nobody was getting in here without bringing down an immediate response, and his agents didn’t have to work in crappy conditions to make sure that happened.
    Satisfied, he went inside and met Paul Godwin, who, as usual, was on his cell phone.
    â€œOkay,” Paul said. From his stiff, attentive posture, Juan figured he was talking with the senator. “No, he just walked in. Are you ready for us? Okay.”
    He hung up the phone and he and Juan shook hands.
    â€œThanks for coming on such short notice.”
    â€œNot a problem,” Juan said.
    He nodded at the sling holding Juan’s left arm. “How’s the arm? Does that hurt?”
    â€œIt’s all right,” Juan said.
    â€œI’ve never known anybody who got shot before.”
    â€œI don’t recommend it.”
    Godwin forced a laugh, but Juan could tell how uncomfortable he was. “Sounds like good advice. Listen, that reminds me. She’s been pleased with how well your team has done keeping a low profile. Considering how everything’s been going after the shooting, you guys have really done a great job. We’re concerned, you know, with her image. With the press being what it is, it doesn’t pay to be a bad neighbor.”
    â€œI imagine not. Is that what she wants to talk to me about?”
    â€œNot exactly. Here, come with me.”
    Paul gave a quiet courtesy knock on a white door that led into the rest of the apartment, waited a moment, and then opened the door and ushered Juan into a spacious sitting room. The floor was hardwood, the white wood-paneled walls adorned with paintings of Senator Sutton’s ranch near Val Verde Springs, Texas. This sitting room was where Senator Sutton did most of her press conferences, and the room had been on the news enough recently that, upon stepping into it, Juan felt like he was entering a place he knew well, despite having never been, like the set of a favorite sitcom.
    Senator Sutton rose to greet him. She was wearing a red pantsuit over a black blouse, and when she shook his hand, it was with the firm, self-assured grip of a woman accustomed to holding court.
    â€œWon’t you have a seat, Agent Perez?” She gestured to one of the white high-backed chairs opposite the corner of the couch where she always sat during press conferences. “We have coffee or tea. Soft drinks, if you prefer.”
    â€œI’ll get it, ma’am,” said Paul. To Juan, he said, “Black coffee, two sugars, right?”
    â€œUh, okay. Sure. Two sugars.” Juan was lost as to how Paul knew his tastes in coffee until he remembered they had been at the table together for a while that night at the Washington Hilton. The man had spent so much time on his cell phone that night Juan hadn’t thought he’d been paying attention. Clearly, he’d misjudged him.
    Sutton already had a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her, and she sipped it, waiting for Paul to come back with Juan’s coffee. Juan glanced up at the paintings on the wall.
    â€œYour ranch looks like a nice place,” he said.
    â€œThank you. Wayne and I like it, too. You’re from Del Rio, aren’t you, Agent Perez?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” But he didn’t elaborate. The house where he