“Pardon the interruption, Mr. President,” said Derek Kavanaugh, Nick’s longtime personal friend as well as his deputy chief of staff.
“Come on in, Derek,” Nick said.
“I wanted to make you aware of a situation in Des Moines. Gunfire has broken out at a Meet with Santa event being held at an elementary school. We have reports of multiple fatalities, including children.”
“Ah, God,” Nick said, aching for families who’d lost children right before Christmas.
“The FBI and ATF have deployed resources to the scene, and we’re expecting more information in about thirty minutes,” Derek added.
“Thank you, Derek.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, sir.”
“It is awful, and right before Christmas.” Nick felt sick to his stomach. Gun violence had become such an enormous challenge for the country, and one with no easy solutions. The deaths of innocent children would bring the issue back to the forefront once again.
Terry, Christina and Trevor looked as shocked and saddened as Nick felt as they followed him into the study off the Oval Office to watch the TV coverage of the unfolding tragedy.
“You’ll need to make a statement in the next few hours,” Trevor said. “I’ll work on that.”
“What does one say about such a horrific thing?” Nick asked.
“You speak from your heart,” Terry said.
His heart was broken, and whatever he said about this latest instance of unspeakable violence would certainly need to reflect that.
* * *
Sam walked into a silent pit and realized her entire team was gathered around the TV in the conference room. “What’s going on?” she asked when she joined them.
“Shooting at an elementary school in Des Moines,” Gonzo said. “During a Santa event for kids.”
“Oh no,” Sam said on a long exhale. “How bad?”
“Horrific,” Jeannie McBride said. “At least thirty dead, and they expect the death toll to rise.”
“Oh my God,” Sam said, her legs wanting to buckle under her as she imagined the horror of families taking their children to see Santa only to be attacked by a madman with a gun.
The TV anchors announced that the president would be making a statement in the seconds before the scene shifted to the White House briefing room. Nick walked into the room, looking visibly shaken and paler than usual, which made Sam hurt for him. He stepped up to the podium to face a silent press corps.
“At approximately eleven thirty this morning in Des Moines, Iowa, a lone gunman entered an elementary school where older children had invited their younger siblings to meet Santa. The gunman opened fire on a group of more than two hundred parents, children and volunteers. More than thirty people are dead, many of them children. The gunman was killed in a shootout with police.” His voice broke as he battled his emotions. “As a father of young children, I ache for the horror that’s been perpetrated in Des Moines today and for the pain the community is experiencing so close to Christmas. I’ve deployed the full resources of the federal government to assist in the investigation and to provide comfort to the grieving families and community. My wife and I are heartbroken for those who suffered unimaginable losses today and for the people of Des Moines as they cope with this horrific tragedy.”
He left the podium without taking any of the questions that were fired at him by reporters who wanted to know what he planned to do about gun violence in the United States and whether he’d be traveling to Des Moines.
“You should go to him,” Freddie said quietly so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Go there, Sam.”
His words jolted her out of the shocked state she’d slipped into. “Yeah. You’re right. I, uh, I’ll be back when I can.”
“We’ll cover for you,” Freddie said.
Sam squeezed his arm as she left the conference room and headed for the ladies’ room to change out of her uniform into the clothes she’d brought for after the TV interview. As she worked on removing the uniform, she realized her hands were shaking. All she could think about was Alden and Aubrey, and how excited they’d been to meet Santa at an event they’d held at the White House over the weekend. Tears filled her eyes at the thought of such a horror befalling the precious children in Des Moines.
She folded her uniform and stuffed it into the bag and was leaving the restroom when she ran straight into SVU Detective Ramsey, her sworn enemy.
“Well, look who it is. Little Miss Mary TV star. You’re such an attention whore.”
She tried to push past him with the goal of ignoring him, but he wouldn’t yield. After getting the news about the shooting in Des Moines, the last thing on her mind was Ramsey and his nonsense.
“Better than being an actual whore,” she said when he gave her no choice but to engage. “How’s the little missus taking the news about your affair?”
His expression turned thunderous in an instant. “I know it was you who dug up that shit about me.”
“I had nothing to do with it, but here’s a pro tip—if there’s no shit to find, then it’s not possible to dig anything up. You have a good day, Detective.”
“Your day is coming, you bitch.”
Sam turned to face him. “Are you threatening a superior officer by any chance, Detective?”
“Fuck you.”
“Nah, I’ll pass.”
Ramsey stormed off as Captain Malone approached her from the other end of the corridor. “What was that about?”
“The usual pleasantries,” Sam said, “but he did warn me that my day is coming. And that’s a direct quote. Perhaps you could pretend to have overheard that part of the conversation?”
“Perhaps I could, and that of course would lead to yet another suspension for the detective. They’re starting to add up.”
“At what point will there be enough to get rid of him?”
“Not soon enough. He has ‘rights,’ you know.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “I was going to come find you. I assume you heard what’s going on in Des Moines.”
“I did. It’s horrifying.”
“I was thinking I should go to be with Nick. I know I’m on duty, but…”
“No, you should go. We’ll take care of things here today.”
“Thank you for understanding. I’ll make up the time.”
“We owe you more time than you could make up in a lifetime.”
“I guess that’s a good thing, since I’ve got this other part-time gig going on.”
Malone snorted with laughter. “Is that what you’re calling it? A part-time gig?”
“I’m still not sure what to call it. I’m figuring it out on a day-to-day basis.”
“You’re doing fine. Go support your husband and the country during this horrific tragedy. We’ve got things covered here.”
“Thank you for the support, Captain. It’s appreciated. I know this is a unique situation—”
His bark of laughter cut her off. “Unique. That’s one word for having the first lady of the United States heading up our Homicide division simultaneously. Public Affairs is being bombed with requests for interviews about how you’re handling the dual roles, how we’re managing it, etc.”