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Whitney was restless, probably because she was back in D.C. She paced her quarters on this early July morning, wondering if she should call Max. Her cell rang before she could decide.

“Dwyer,” she said crisply.

“Morning, babe.” The deep baritone on the other end was full of warmth and concern.

“How did you know I’d be up already, Agent Blackwell?”

“I had a feeling. How’s Catasaga?”

“I’m in D.C.”

“Holy shit, Whitney! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down here?” He sounded excited, not annoyed.

She explained the situation.

“Can you get away?”

“I was thinking about that. It’s been a while.”

“It has. And I want to hear about everything else.”

“Oh, wait a sec. I have another call.”

“Answer it, but I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

Sometimes when Max talked like that, so possessively, her heart fluttered. “Hold on.” Into the phone, “Dwyer.”

“It’s Nick. I have good news and bad news.”

Whitney listened attentively, trying not to overreact to her cousin’s injury. “At least you got the guy. Where do we go from here?”

“He’ll be questioned but the president wants him in D. C. for that.”

“Who’ll do the interrogation?”

“I’m not sure. You have to stay on your post, though.”

“I figured.”

After more updates from her cousin, she clicked off and said into the other line, “I’m back. There’s some developments in the case.” Since he was her partner on many assignments and in threat assessment investigations as well as forays into protection, she filled him in.

“So you’re staying in town for a while.”

“Looks that way.”

“Could you try to get some time tonight? I want to see you, girl.”

“I’ll try. Be back in touch.”

Happy about the possibility of spending time with Max, Whitney dressed in simple shorts and a blouse and ambled downstairs. She found the president’s mother, Evelyn, in the kitchen, staring out the breakfast-nook window. “Good morning, Mrs. Hicks.”

“Agent Dwyer.”

“Whitney. You should call me that all the time, even when the boys aren’t around.”

“Of course. Would you like some coffee?”

“I’ll get it.”

“So,” Mrs. Hicks said when they were both seated. “Any developments?”

She explained what she could, as the former ambassador insisted on knowing the score up-front.

A frown marred her brow. Isabelle had gotten her light brown hair and green eyes. “I’m sorry about your cousin.”

“He’s tough. And his wound doesn’t sound too serious.”

“Jimmy called last night after you retired.”

Whitney smiled.

“What?”

“It’s just that when you and Mrs. Barton call the president Jimmy, I’m always startled.”

“I guess you would be. In any case, we’re going to the White House around four so Jimmy can have some time with the boys. We’re staying overnight to capitalize on his free hours.”

“I’ll accompany you.”

“No need, dear. We’ll have an escort from my security team here, and the White House is a fortress.”

Whitney remembered more than one person jumping the fence there, and almost winced at her colleagues’ incompetence.

“The president suggested you go home for a bit.”

I could see Max. “I’d like that, if you don’t mind.”

“I agree with my son. You’ve been away a while, so some downtime would be renewing for you. And I know the boys. They’ve probably exhausted you.”

“They keep me hopping, but I’m not tired out.”

“I’ll phone you when we decide what time tomorrow we’ll return here.”

Smiling, Whitney acquiesced.

At four thirty, she stuck the key into Max’s apartment door, opened it and made her way to his living room. He looked up from the book he was reading in his expensive leather chair by the window. “There she is.” Rising, he approached her.

She met him halfway and threw herself into his arms. Not standard behavior for partners, but then they’d been partners-with-benefits for three years now.

At four that day, while Isabelle and Deidre were making corned beef and cabbage for dinner, and Tony and Nick were playing a game of chess in the dining room, the front door opened. Immediately, Nick leapt up, drew his gun and bolted to the foyer. The door had been securely locked.

“Jesus Christ, you trying to shoot me, too?”

Nick relaxed. “Gabe.” His brother wasn’t his usual handsome self. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin pasty. “What the hell are you doing out of the hospital?”

“I couldn’t stay there.” He rolled his eyes. “I thought I could this morning when I talked to you, but with people coming and going, the whole feel of the place was driving me nuts.”

“Did you at least get a ride down here?”

“Yeah, one of the FBI guys brought me to town.” He glanced behind Nick. “Hello, Mama. Pa.”

Nick turned to see his mother and father had come to the hallway. His mother was crying. She crossed to Gabe, reached up and cradled his cheeks. “My boy,” she said simply.

Reaching out with his good arm, Gabe drew her as close as his injury would allow. Closing his eyes, he savored the contact. None of them got home enough, given their jobs, but since Gabe had been disgraced, he visited even less.

From his peripheral vision, Nick watched his dad approach them. Gabe and Pa always had a special connection, maybe because Gabe was his firstborn son. His father’s expression—longing—made Nick frustrated with all of them. Down deep, he realized none of them had known—or admitted—how hard their jobs were on their parents.

Mama stepped back and Gabe hugged his pa. No words were spoken.

When his father eased away, he cleared his throat. “Lookin’ a little peaked, boy. Come lie on the couch.”

“Or up in bed,” his mother suggested.

“No, here. I’ll rest, I promise, but I want to see you all.”

The living room sported a huge nubby-fabric couch. Gabe removed his jacket, compromised by the sling on his left arm, kicked off his shoes and allowed his mother to fuss with pillows and prop up his arm. “Thanks, Mama.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it.

Then he focused on Nick. “Where are we on everything? All I know is they took Mason to D.C. last night.”

“Yeah. I assume they’re questioning him now.” Nick knew concern was reflected in his voice.

“Do you think he was working alone?”

“I don’t know.” Nick sighed. “I guess it depends on what he spills during the interrogation. My bet is he’s got a grudge against the president that hasn’t been revealed yet.”

“I agree.” Gabe shifted on the couch. “Are you going back to Catasaga?”

“We have to regroup after Mason’s questioned. What are your plans?”

“I’ll be off for a while, even from the training center.” Gabe’s narrowed eyes said he didn’t like the idea of free time. “The president called and gave me no choice.”

“He’s a smart man,” his mother said.

Gabe winked at Nick. “Don’t suppose you’d like to play nursemaid to me for a while, Mama? And Pa, you could keep me occupied for a few days.”

His mother leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I suppose we could be convinced of that, mi choi.”

Nick watched Pa. His eyes were moist. They’d wanted the prodigal son home, and now they had him here.

He sat on the stiff chair in a dungeon-like room somewhere in the bowels of the FBI. It was the kind of place people got lost in, never to be seen again. Two men had been asking him questions for hours. He couldn’t think straight, with all their prattling. Besides, he needed a drink. He was goddamned sick of these bastards.

The dark-haired one said, “If you were working alone, what reason did you have for targeting the president?”

“I told you. He cut jobs when he raised the minimum wage and I got laid off.” Which was true. “My friends, too.” Which wasn’t true. He didn’t have friends.

“You expect us to believe that?”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you believe.”

“You will when we add years to your sentence for lying to the FBI.”

He had to stick to his story. They’d kill him if he didn’t. And they said they could get him out of prison in twelve months or so if he ever got caught. “That’s up to you. I’m tellin’ you what happened.”

There was a knock on the door. Then another suited guy opened it and stepped back. Holy shit!

President James Manwaring walked into the room.

Declan knew something was going on with his family when his mother called that morning to tell him Gabe had come home, too. Again, she’d asked him to dinner tonight. He swerved the SUV into the driveway and sighed. Another day to keep up the façade. He’d been divorced for a year, separated for longer, and the sadness lingered inside him like a low-grade fever. He exited the car and went through the garage and into the kitchen. “Anybody home? It’s Declan.”

 “In here, son.” Pa’s voice.

He headed to the big living room in front. And found everybody except Whitney.

Gabe stretched out on the couch, his arm in a sling. Dec crossed to the man who at one time had been his idol. They were seven years apart in age, and Gabe assumed the big-brother role with Declan and Connor. He was sorry they’d drifted apart.

“Hey, buddy.” He squatted down. “Went and got shot, huh?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Hurt?”

“Like a bitch. Time for more painkillers, but they make me sleep. I wanted to see you.” He studied Declan’s face. Shit, the guy could always read him like a book. Gabe frowned. “Let’s get some time alone later.”

“You’re on.” He stood and said hi to Nick. Mr. Perfect, though Declan didn’t hold that against him. “Still here?” He looked around. “And where’s Isabelle?”

“Upstairs resting. I think she’s trying to give us time alone.”

“Are we having a family meeting?”

“No, son, nothing like that. A family dinner. Nick’s leaving tomorrow.”

“I’m staying on.” This from Gabe around a yawn.

“That makes me happy. We haven’t both been in the same location in a long time.”

Nick’s mother walked over to Gabe. Adjusted a pillow. “I’m going to work on dinner. Nick, you sit outside with Declan and wait for Connor. Tony, I need your help in the kitchen.” She closed one set of doors to the living room, then went to the other. “Take a nap, Gabe.”

The boys laughed. Though they were all grown up, she was still trying to get them to sleep in the afternoon.

It felt good.

Isabelle walked into her house on the lake behind Nick. He’d done a check of the outside, and told her to stay put in the foyer while he cleared each room. She noted how the house was oddly quiet, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the old clock off to the left. No boys wrangling on the floor. No shouts from outside. Michael used to play the piano in the corner. Funny, she hadn’t thought about that in ages. Why today?

Silly. Because for the first time in her life, she’d made love with another man. Not only that. She’d responded to Nick so differently, was mesmerized by the contours of his body and the way he touched her. What would her dead husband think? One of the last things he’d told her before the surgery for the aneurysm that killed him was he wanted her to be happy.

She couldn’t say she was happy. Jimmy had reported that Clark Mason had been interrogated, stuck to his story and even seemed to be off balance. But Nick wasn’t satisfied Isabelle was safe. He and her brother agreed that Nick would stay with her until the matter was wrapped up. Would they make love again?

“All clear,” he said when he returned. Every inch the agent, she noted, by his courteous but cool voice and the blank expression. “You seemed far away. What were you thinking?”

“I was wondering if we’d make love again.”

His attitude changed when he moved toward her and cupped her cheek with his palm. His skin was warm and his scent was woodsy. “We decided not to do that again.”

“A girl can change her mind, right?”

“No, not in our case, sweetheart.”

Her body flushed at the endearment. Nick had been a gentle but aggressive lover, and the tenderness in his touch and words was new. And lovely, she thought.

“Can we talk about it?”

“Of course.” He led her to the couch and they sat. “My job is to protect you, and resuming the closeness we shared at my parents’ house will put you at risk. I have to be alert at all times.”

“I can accept that. What about afterward?”

“When this is all over?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll go back to D.C. and resume my position on the Presidential Protection Detail.”

“I see.”

“It’s my job, Isabelle.”

“There are other jobs in the Secret Service.”

“And I want one of them. A deputy-director position is coming up in a matter of months. I’m in line for that, then eventually for the directorship.”

“Would being…with the president’s sister preclude you from doing all that?”

“Of course. The Secret Service hasn’t yet rebounded from the scandals of the last few years. If I create another one, all hell will break loose. Not to mention what the president will do to me.”

“Jimmy would want me happy.”

“Would I make you happy?”

“Yes.”

His eyes shadowed and Isabelle knew this was hard for him, knew somewhere inside the agent that the man wanted different things. “Picture this. I protect people. I put myself in the path of bullets. If I let you fall in love with me, you—and the boys, I might add—will suffer.”

“I suppose. But you’re leaving the protection division and going into administration.”

“Where I might have field work. Besides, Isabelle, would you want to move to Washington?” He gestured to the house, out to the lake. “Leave all this that you shared with Michael?”

She took in a quick breath. “That’s a low blow.”

“Is it? I’m not sure I could ever replace him in your heart.”

“Of course you couldn’t. But there’s room for you, too.”

“No. It’s not going to happen.” He stood. “End of discussion.”

“Now, that doesn’t make me happy!” she snapped.

“What?”

“Your dismissal of me. And my wishes.”

“I am dismissing them, but never you. I…care about you.”

“I know you do. And I care about you.” Maybe more than she thought. She stood. “Anyway, I’ll let it go.” For now.

She spotted her phone on the counter. She’d discovered she’d left it there when they got to Lakeville. She’d called the boys, told them to reach her through Nick, and she phoned them every night anyway. She didn’t want to talk to anyone else, so she hadn’t worried about its absence. “I’m going to listen to my messages.”

“Put them on speaker.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not sure Mason was working alone. His reasoning is weak. Someone else might have called you.”

After the phone booted up, she hit speaker for messages.

“Hi, Isabelle. It’s Trey. I heard about the accident you had when you left my house. Please call when you get this.”

One from Mary Ellen asking how many rare books she was to budget for this month. One from the boys—must be before she told them about the phone.

Another from Trey. “Isabelle, I’m worried that you didn’t return my call. Please let me know you’re all right.” Then later, “Isabelle, I’m frantic. Where are you?”

He left three more messages along those lines, only his tone of voice and volume were increasingly…panicky, she guessed.

A final one from Mary Ellen. “Jeez, Isabelle, call Trey Hanover, will you? He’s been in here asking about you twice. I told him you went to D.C. but he can’t understand why you don’t phone him. Neither can I. You left a message, but I’d appreciate a call, too.”

After listening, a chill went through Isabelle, and she turned to Nick. “That sounds like a bit much, doesn’t it?”

“Hanover?” She nodded. “Yeah, it does. I told you this might not be finished.”

She hadn’t believed that Trey could be in on terrorizing her, but she had to admit the calls made her reconsider.

Another shiver went through her.

Nick didn’t sleep well that night. He made Isabelle leave her bedroom door open again, and he swore he could hear her breathing. His body betrayed him, mocking that he wanted her and should take her. But he knew what would happen if he did. So he dozed off and on, then got up at dawn. He peeked in on her. She was sleeping soundly, her hands beneath her cheek. She used lavender lotion, and he could smell it from the doorway.

Disgusted with himself, he went downstairs, made coffee, then at seven, the doorbell rang. Nick flew to the foyer, his hand on his gun under his shirt. He checked the camera and saw Burke Olsen on the porch.

When he opened it, he noticed right away the easygoing cop had been replaced by a man who seemed…Nick couldn’t put his finger on it.

“So, you’re back.” Olsen said.

“Yeah, last night. Come in.”

Nick took in details. Stiff body. Taut shoulders. An edginess you couldn’t see but could feel. They went to the kitchen and he served Burke coffee.

“I have to say, Nick, if I’m gonna help on this case, I should have known you were leaving here and where you were.”

An even greater agent sixth sense kicked in. “I probably should have told you we’d be gone, but I don’t need to run that or the rest by anyone, Sergeant Olsen.”

Olsen’s eyes narrowed. He’d gotten the message that Nick was the boss. “At least tell me if this is over yet? I know Gabe caught Mason.”

“We’re not sure it’s finished. We have Mason in custody. He says he did everything alone, but I’m doubtful.”

“Why?”

“The reason he gave was that the president raised minimum wage and the new law got him and a lot of people in his community laid off.”

“Sounds reasonable. You don’t believe him?”

“His whole rationale has nothing to do with Isabelle.”

“She’s the president’s weak link. They must know that, so the threats were directed at her to make Manwaring suffer.”

Isabelle came to the doorway, dressed in a long blue robe. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were here, Burke. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you, too.” He got up and went to her, stood too close. Nick’s body coiled, ready to spring if necessary. “Are you all right?”

“Uh-huh. I just want this to be over.”

“It probably is. But Marino’s right to keep up the protection on you, though I could do that.” He reached out and touched her arm. “When he leaves, you can depend on me.”

Now, alarm bells went off in Nick’s head. Not only because Olsen was being totally inappropriate with Isabelle, which he was. But something he’d said niggled at him.

It wasn’t until Olsen left and Nick was sitting at the table alone with Isabelle that he slapped his hand on the surface. “That’s it.”

“What?” she asked startled.

“Olsen. When we were talking he said they know you’re the president’s weakness.”

“Seriously, something that small makes you suspicious?”

“Every case we solve starts with something small like that.”

She shook her head. “I hate this.”

“I know. But I’m betting things escalate. We should go over protocol for the safe room your brother had put in.”

He’d already inspected the five-by-ten space, which had double locks from the inside, a mat with blankets, reading material and lights.

“All right.”

“And we stay inside. All windows and doors locked.”

“When Jimmy insisted we do the room, the bulletproof glass and doors after the kidnapping, I was angry at the intrusion. Now I’m glad.”

“Let’s hope none of it’s necessary.”

Later that morning, when Isabelle was working at her desk, Nick made some calls to the D.C. team and told them to dig deeper into Olsen. He was about to phone Gabe when he heard, “What the hell?”

He hurried to the porch where she sat at her desk by the windows. She was staring down at some spreadsheets.

“What’s wrong?”

She turned. “I don’t go over the books every month. That’s Mary Ellen’s job. But she needed to know about our budget, which was odd because she should have the information on that, so I went into the sheets.”

“And?”

“They look as if we’re showing a loss. And I know we’re not.”

Nick made a quick decision. “That does it. There are no coincidences in our world, as your brother is fond of saying. This isn’t over.”

Isabelle felt every ounce of energy drain from her body. “After what’s happened today, I can’t say I’m surprised. You said the others involved might be either Trey, Burke or even Mary Ellen.” She rapped her knuckles on the spreadsheet. “Each one them has exhibited suspicious behavior.”

“We should find out. I called the Threat Assessment Team and actually talked to Whitney’s partner, John Maxwell. I gave them instructions to dig deeper on all these people. We did background checks before I came out here, but they need to go further.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“There are levels of background checks. Different algorithms we can follow for scrutinizing different time periods, locations and activities. For example, we may not have gone back far enough for Hanover, his earliest years, to see what connections we might make.”

She swallowed hard. “So what do we do?”

“I’d prefer to go to D.C. where you’d be safer.”

“But?”

“But in truth, it would be more expedient to follow the same plan that brought me here. Instead of isolating you from them, we stay and solve. Otherwise, the same thing could happen that we worried about before. These people could just go underground until you’re alone again.”

“I see.”

“But I need to bring in reinforcements. Maybe place them inside the house. Not sure how we’ll explain them, but I’ll come up with something.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll be with you every second.”

“Whatever you say, Nick.”

His face softened and he grabbed her hand. “How are you feeling?”

She squeezed his fingers. “Scared. Sick to my stomach that someone I care about could be trying to hurt me.”

“I’ll bet.”

Her eyes were huge and troubled. “So, we wait.”

“Yeah.” He glanced around. “Cook us something, okay? While I call in for more protection.”

She went to the fridge. Not much here as she’d cleaned it out before they left for Lakeville. Using eggs and cheese and bread from the freezer, she made them omelets and toast.

When he returned, he said, “All set. Two agents will be here by morning.” He pointed to the stove. “God, that smells great. I didn’t realize I was hungry.”

“Me, either. Wine?”

“Not for me. You have some, though. It’ll relax you.”

She opened a bottle of Chardonnay from the wine rack and poured herself a glass. Then she served them both food, and they sat across from each other, eating in silence until he said, “This is delicious.”

She cut off a small piece and popped it in her mouth. “Hmm.”

“What are you thinking?”

“You probably should stop asking me that.”

“Why?”

“Because I was thinking how I want to have my meals like this, with you, in the future. Share other things.” At his scowl, she added, “I know it’s inappropriate now, but you asked.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he clasped her hand where it lay on the table. “Know that if circumstances were different, I’d want that, too.”

Dinner ended, they cleaned up and she dished up ice cream for dessert. He smiled, like a little boy given an unexpected gift. Later, it was time to go upstairs.

“Are you going to sleep in the spare room again?”

“No, given what we found out today, it’s too far away from you.”

“Oh?” Her tone was questioning.

“I’ll sleep in that lounger you have in your room.”

“Whatever you think.” They climbed the steps and he went to the bathroom to change. When he came out and caught a glimpse of her, he said, “You look cute.”

She wore green pajama bottoms with whales on them and a T-shirt that the boys had picked out for her for Christmas.

“Are you tired?”

“Yes. Though I didn’t do anything physical today.”

“Emotional exhaustion can be worse.”

“I guess.”

God, she hated this conversation, so stilted, so unsatisfactory. But she was in danger and they needed to stay focused. She went to the bed and climbed under the covers.

He waited until she was settled, then turned off the light. In the darkness, she heard, “Thanks for the pillow and blanket.”

“You’re welcome. Will you sleep?”

“I’m going to sit up so I lightly doze. When the other agents get up here, I’ll grab some zees.”

“Good night, Nick.”

“Good night, Isabelle.”

She pictured him half sitting, half lying on the lounger, his gun in his hand. The image made this all so real, and tears welled in her eyes, but she choked them back. She had to buck up.

“Isabelle?”

She couldn’t respond.

“Are you crying?”

“N-no.”

She felt him come up to the bed. He tried to tug her to face him, but she resisted.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

Finally, she turned over. “I’m okay.”

He put his hand to her cheek. “Letting down?” he asked.

“It’s been a lot to take in.”

“You’ve done well so far. Today, knowing it could be someone you like and trust, must be excruciating.”

“I guess. I feel so alone.”

“I understand that, too. But you aren’t. I’m here.” He hesitated, then said, “Move over.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to hold you until you fall asleep.”

“I’d like that.”

“So would I,” he said dryly, “a little too much.”

When he slid onto the bed next to her, she nestled into him as though she’d been doing it for years. She savored the feel and scent of him as he held her close. For now, at least.