Page 94 of PSYCHOlogical

“Bandage him up,” Vincent barked. He tossed the pruning sheers onto the floor at Trevino side. They skidded across the floor and into the wall at my side. “I’m going to D.C.”

I had no idea if Vincent was serious or not.

“I’ll be back in an hour.” He reached into the canvas bag, removed a silenced pistol, and shoved it into his waistband. “Make sure he doesn’t bleed to death between now and then. If he gives a meaningful response, call me.”

He sauntered toward the door.

As soon as Vincent disappeared around the corner, Trevino cried out his response. “McMurphy ordered one Marine be sent to your home. I decided to send three, instead.”

“What prompted the mission?”

“Sensitive material has been leaked to the FBI’s Intelligence Branch,” Trevino said, choking out tears as he spoke. “That material is being used to alter the President’s political views.”

“Give me an example,” Vincent said.

“Senator Haskin’s death in October of last year.”

Vincent shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You killed him,” Trevino insisted.

“You’ve got the wrong operator,” Vincent said with a shake of his head. “I haven’t killed a Senator.”

“Last October,” Trevino said. “Portland, Oregon. He was assassinated in the parking lot of a fundraiser.”

“I guess I didn’t realize he was a senator.” Vincent took a few steps in our direction. “I’m assigned missions, and I follow the orders in my intel sheets.”

“Atlanta, Georgia last spring,” Trevino continued. “Tallahassee, Florida three months ago. San Diego last July—”

Vincent pulled the pistol from his waistband and shot Trevino twice. He gave Trevino a look of disgust and then looked at me. “Why was he rattling off my missions, Doctor Rhoades?”

I met his gaze and held it. “Doctor Rhoades?”

“Seems strange that he mentioned four missions as being used to motivate the POTUS to go against his political beliefs, and all those missions are mine.”

“Are you suggesting—”

“I’m asking a question.”

“Then ask it!” I spat. “Have the fucking guts to ask it, Mister Briggs.”

“Are you leaking information to the FBI?”

“No. I. Am. Not.”

“Have you in the past?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I was just as frustrated as Vincent was, and questioning his loyalty never crossed my mind.

“I have not.” I forced a sigh. “Any other stupid questions you want to ask?”

He lowered his pistol to his side. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m exhausted, frustrated, and confused.”

“I’m right there with you,” I admitted. “But I’m on your side. You need to realize that.”

He lowered his head and exhaled a long breath. “Someone’s been setting me up. I’m not very fucking happy about it.”

“Good luck finding out who that someone is.” I gestured toward a very dead Trevino with my pistol. “Everyone we could press for information is dead.”