Leo checked into a hotel near Dupont Circle.
The room was standard: heavy curtains, dark wooden furniture, and the faint scent of lemon air freshener.
The "enemy of my enemy is my friend" logic he had discussed with Roosevelt on the plane had sounded irrefutable at thirty thousand feet.
Senator Warren needed chaos, and Leo could provide it. It was a perfect deal.
Logically, there was nothing wrong with it.
But as the roar of the airplane faded from his ears, an indescribable sense of unease began to rise from the pit of his stomach.
He paced back and forth in his room.
From the door to the window, and from the window back to the door.
The carpet muffled his footsteps, but it couldn't quiet the turmoil in his heart.
"What's wrong, my boy?"
Roosevelt's voice rang out.
"You're hesitating."
