Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(41)

One channel finally came through. It happened to be the evening news.

Her heart locked in her chest at the sudden image on the screen. It was the White House, only not as she had ever seen it before. Hundreds, maybe thousands of flowers lined the front gate. Teddy bears with notes pinned to their chests. A banner fluttered with the words: BRING GRACE HOME.

A dull roaring filled her ears as a voice spoke over the scene in a crisp monotone: “. . . concerned citizens continue to leave flowers in front of the White House in support of First Daughter Grace Reeves. The White House has officially issued a statement putting to rest speculation that Grace left of her own accord. There is no doubt that the First Daughter was taken, but where this leaves the Secret Service and FBI on locating the missing woman still remains to be seen. Earlier today, upon returning from a private mass with the First Lady at St. Matthew’s, President Reeves made the following statement.”

The panorama of the flower-riddled White House disappeared, and it was suddenly her father standing behind the podium in the press room, handsome as ever in his impeccable suit, gray hair perfectly coiffed. Mom stood one step to the side of him, her exotic beauty not marred in the least by her red-rimmed eyes.

Her father cleared his throat several times before speaking. It was the first time she ever heard hesitation from him. Her heart gave a little pang. He was always perfect in speech and manner. Never hesitation. Business, in this case the running of the country, came first. Everything else came before her. Maybe now, for the first time, she came first. Her fingers drifted to her lips as she sucked in a breath. Maybe she mattered.

When he lifted his gaze, he looked tired. “The outpouring of support my wife and I have received from all around the world has been humbling and a great comfort to us in our time of distress.”

Grace gave a little start and released her breath. He was still the politician—seizing this opportunity to his political advantage. She heard it in his choice of words, in the careful tenor of his voice, in the steady way he stared at everyone in the room. She was missing—abducted!—and however much he worried for her, he still worried about his office. About winning.

Giving her head a small shake, she tried to clear the rushing sound of blood in her ears and to focus. She tuned back in to the rest of the speech. “. . . right now, I am addressing this country, the world . . . as a father.” Here he paused, and she knew that moment was calculated. “A father who wants his daughter back . . .”

Studying him closely, she didn’t blink, too afraid she would miss something. She knew this man so well, his tics, his moods. She’d seen him rehearse in front of the mirror. She knew all the behind-the-scenes details that went into every speech her father ever gave. He never spoke in front of the camera without a thorough prepping. This time was no different. Even with her abduction hanging over him, even distraught, this was rehearsed. At the moment, he wasn’t speaking from a place of fear or loss or panic. He was being a politician.

She stood up and flicked the TV off, unable to watch him. She knew who her father was. She knew she did not rank at the top of his priorities, but she thought this would have been different. This would have caused a shifting of priorities. Anything could have happened to her . . . anything could be happening to her right now. Even with that fear running through his head he was still campaigning.

She was breathing hard, her chest lifting like she’d just run a great distance. She dragged a hand over her face as though that would somehow help her pull herself together.

A floorboard creaked and she recalled that she wasn’t alone. She dropped her hand and looked up.

Her gaze flickered over Reid, an unwanted audience witnessing her little meltdown.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded once, hard, and then swiftly shook her head from side to side. “No. No, I’m not,” she admitted, her hands trembling.

“I promise you’ll get back to your family. I know what I say doesn’t amount to much to you, but I promise you that.”

He thought she was emotional because of her father’s plea? “Ha,” she got out, the sound strangled. She swallowed to clear her throat. “Don’t tell me you bought into that little drama.”

He angled his head, clearly unsure what to say.

She continued, her words flying out in a rush. “That’s what he does, you know. He lies.” She rounded the couch and grabbed the beer Reid had opened and left on the counter. She took a deep swig, forgetting that she hated the taste of the stuff. She was letting her emotions get the best of her. Her father wasn’t lying precisely. She knew that. But she wished, for once, he would just be a parent and not that polished public servant.

Reid watched her uncertainly. “I’m sure he’s worried and wants you home safely. He’s your father—”

She laughed hoarsely. “Oh, I suppose he’s worried about me. I know he wants me to be okay. But it’s a toss-up whether he’s worried about the polls more. About his reelection more.” She sobered and drummed her fingers against her lips. “He’s spinning this in his favor. Maybe I should show up dead. That’s sure to get him reelected—” Her voice broke. It was a terrible thing to say . . . and even more terrible to think.

Reid was in front of her now. His hands closed around her arms, warmly clasping her as he gave her a small shake. “Don’t talk like that. You’re upset—”