Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [112]
“Prince Harry?”
“You and the cousin switched places. Create a little bedlam, and next thing, he’s you and you’re him. Conor doesn’t have a Secret Service detail. You do.” Grit thought it through and figured that was it. “It’s sort of like The Prince and the Pauper. Ever read that book?”
Charlie didn’t answer, but his ears got red under the lower edge of his Georgetown cap.
“Must be refreshing,” Grit said with some sympathy, “just to be normal.”
Big roll of the eyes. “That’s not the point.” Charlie turned his head and glared at Grit. “You’re Petty Officer Taylor, right? You and Petty Officer Michael Ferrerra, also a Navy SEAL, were each awarded a Silver Star last year. It’s for gallantry in action—”
“I know what it’s for.”
“I keep track of Silver Star recipients. I figure it’s the least I can do.” Charlie stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his oversize sweatshirt and kept his blue Prince Harry eyes on Grit. “Petty Officer Ferrerra died in April. He saved your life.”
“Photographic memory?”
“I just pay attention, Petty Officer Taylor.”
“Just Grit is fine. And not because you’re the vice president’s son.” He nodded to the spot where Bruni was hit. “Was Ambassador Bruni meeting you the other morning?”
Charlie’s shoulders slumped, and he shook his head but didn’t speak.
“Why are you here, Charlie?” Grit asked.
“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“You want to keep yourself out of trouble, too, don’t you?”
That gave him his spine back. “I don’t care about that. What’re they going to do? Just watch me even closer than they do now. The people who are supposed to keep an eye on me will get in trouble, though. And that’s not fair.”
“It’s also not your problem.”
Charlie glanced behind them at the revolving doors, then shifted back to the street. “I followed him here,” he said. “I wanted to talk to him about Agent Harper. My sister Marissa told me they’re friends. Agent Harper has lots of friends in various federal law enforcement agencies, but I didn’t want to go to them. You know. Risk getting them in trouble.”
“Risk having them recognize you and haul your ass back to school. Who’s ‘him’? Who’d you follow?”
“It doesn’t matter. Marissa misinterpreted their friendship. It’s not as close as I thought.”
Grit realized Charlie wasn’t talking about Bruni, but he said, “Is Marissa like you, smart and doesn’t mind her own business?”
“She’s not as smart as me. I’m not bragging. I’m just…”
“You’re just stating the facts,” Grit finished for him.
Charlie hunched his shoulders and said quietly, “I wanted to figure out how I could make amends.”
“Ah.” Grit got it now. “You’re talking about Thomas Asher.”
The kid was silent.
Grit figured it was pretty much like holding a live grenade, having the veep’s kid right next to him with no Secret Service protection. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Go? Go where?” Charlie straightened, his cockiness back in full force. “I have to get to school. I have another calculus test today. I can’t miss it. I’m down to a B-plus average as it is. My cousin took this one test for me, and he isn’t great at math—”
“Too bad.”
“You can’t just kidnap me.”
Grit scratched the side of his mouth. Now what? He’d tried calling Elijah first thing that morning but got no answer. It was lousy weather up north. Snow, ice, wind. He could always try to reach Agent Harper, but Grit had a feeling she was onto Charlie herself. And she was up north in the same storm as Elijah and probably in his back pocket wherever he was.
“The Secret Service will have egg on its collective face,” Charlie said, “if it gets out that my cousin and I switched identities.”
There was that. “Tell me about Thomas Asher.”
Charlie debated a moment, his lips compressed in a manner that suggested he was accustomed to being called onto the carpet. He nodded back toward the hotel entrance. “He went in through the revolving doors and entered the restaurant and waited at his table for a while. I hung around. I figured I’d talk to him after he finished breakfast. I assumed he