d to be an Army Ranger. Now, I

he IED in Afghanistan, the limp is a constant r

gala for veterans. Her father is a big-shot lobbyist in D.C., and she' s a political cons

, partners. That' s a bond most people don' t understand. I trust him with my life. He

PTSD makes me drowsy, a thick fog pulling me under.

over, her scent of expensiv

han. You've ha

g underneath it I can't place. The drug

ift

pulls me back. It' s

ry to move, to sit up, but my body is heavy, un

e' s not frantic. She' s methodical. She goes to the kitchen st

e' s standing in the

" he asks, h

m my desk. "I've planted the data trail. It'll look like he downloaded the files and

at files? What are

e, lying helpless on the couch. There's no

No one questions the actions of a man wi

t? My best fri

burns through the chemical fog, a useless, silent fire. I t

able. She brushes a strand of hair from my fore

e a very important man. His father saved my father's life on

father' s kidnapping attempt. It was my father, Michael Hughes, who

e air from my lungs. The gas, the drugs, their

aces, looking down at me, not with pity, bu

rything g