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“They’re here.” Nick called back to the kitchen as he peered out through the window at the SUV that had pulled into the driveway of Isabelle’s home. Two men exited the vehicle. Relieved to have some help after yesterday’s discovery, he nonetheless followed protocol. All the bulletproof windows in the house were locked and the exits secured.

Through the door camera, Nick watched them reach the porch. The first agent was tall and fit. Dressed in a black suit, lapel pin designating his job, he kept his sunglasses on. The second was similar in height and body mass and wore the same suit. The same pin. Nick looked down. The same shoes. The same everything.

The one on the left rang the bell. There was a ring on his pinky finger. Odd. Agents wore no jewelry, even wedding bands. Through the intercom, he said, “Special Agent Nick Marino. Show your IDs.”

Both men took out their badges. From their suitcoats’ outside pockets, not the breast pockets.

“Hold them up to the camera.” When they did, he read them each carefully. “Take off your sunglasses.”

Their IDs came up. Pictures matched their appearance.

Yet…his gut warned him not to let them in without confirmation of who they were. “Hold on while I verify your identities.”

Isabelle came down the hall to the foyer. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Given all the subterfuge going on, I’m going to get visual confirmation of these two.”

He urged her to the back of the house. He grabbed his phone from his table and punched in a dispatcher assigned to the agency. “Agent Nick Marino on special assignment for the president. Badge number 899. I’m requesting confirmation of badge numbers for Agents Kurt Bancroft and Justin Spokane.”

He felt bad at the defeated expression on Isabelle’s face as they waited. She’d been brave, but she didn’t need more complications.

Then, “We sent Agents Bancroft and Spokane to arrive this morning. Badge numbers 4567 and 3451 respectively.”

“Text me visual confirmation.”

“Yes, sir.”

His cell went dead. It was powered up and working a few seconds ago. As far as he knew, the only way to stop service was to jam the tower lines. Utterly calm, he picked up Isabelle’s phone. There was also no signal. He tried the landline. Nothing.

“Isabelle, stay calm, but our communication went out.”

Her eyes widened. “I’ll stay calm. What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. I asked for photo confirmation of the two agents, and the connection stopped.”

“You think, oh, God, that those men out there are imposters ?”

“Some things are off with them, and my gut says not to let them inside.”

“Phones go out of service sometimes at the lake.”

“Yeah, I remember. But the time it happened when I was here, the outage was caused by the weather. Today’s bright and sunny.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Breaking News came from the small set in the kitchen that Isabelle had switched on. An anchor reported, “There’s been a shooting at the White House. A man approached the building checkpoint on the North Lawn and started waving a gun around. Uniformed Secret Service guards repeatedly told him to put the weapon down and get on his knees. When he refused all commands, an agent shot him. The alleged perpetrator is being transported to George Washington Hospital.”

Isabelle gasped. “Nick, the boys and my mother. They stayed overnight at the White House.”

The doorbell blared several times in succession.

Taking her hand, Nick tugged her to the steps. “Come with me.” Thanking God for the curtains on the front windows, he practically dragged her upstairs. In her bedroom, he led her to the safe room. “Stay in here. Double lock the door from inside. Don’t let anyone in but me.”

“How will I know it’s you?”

He gave her the words that no one would ever guess he’d say. Her eyes widened, but there wasn’t time to talk. She stepped into the closet/room, and he waited until he heard the locks snick. Then he went back downstairs.

Sharp pounding on the door now. At the intercom again, he said, “I do not have visual confirmation of your identities. Back away from the door.”

Mumbling.

Then, “We’re going to the vehicle.” A reprieve. Nick checked out all the windows and closed what shutters and blinds were open, throwing the house into shadows.

The TV recounted that the police had found the shooter’s car.

Since there was no way this was all a coincidence, Nick hurried to the apartment where he was staying, pulled out a long narrow box and grabbed an AK-47, even though his Glock was in his waistband. His one thought was the Secret Service mantra: Stay with the protectee. Do not try to apprehend the perpetrators.

So Nick settled in the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs, on the third step, and pointed the rifle at the door.

Stay calm. Do not panic. Forcefully, Isabelle summoned the training the Secret Service had given her after the kidnapping. She clenched her hands to stop the shaking. She concentrated on how trained Nick was, how he knew what to do. She shut her eyes and thought about the boys. The man shooting at the White House had been apprehended so they were in no danger.

She had to trust the Secret Service. She had to trust Nick.

“Agent Dwyer’s here to see you, Mr. President.”

Jim Manwaring frowned. First the shooting on the perimeter of the White House. Now two agents related to Nick had come to visit without invitation. “Send her in.” He stood and came around the desk when she and Agent Maxwell entered the office.

The young woman spoke. “Something’s wrong, sir.”

“The boys and Mrs. Hicks are safe, if that’s what you mean.” They were supposed to leave after lunch, but given the circumstances he’d insisted they remain in the residence.

“This is about my cousin Nick. And maybe Mrs. Barton.”

His heart began to beat faster. “Take seats and tell me.” Blackwell didn’t. He stood behind Dwyer.

“Dispatch got a call from Nick about ten minutes ago, asking for visual confirmation on the agents that were sent to assist him.”

“How do you know that?”

“The dispatcher phoned me while we were driving near the White House. He wanted to know if I’d heard from Nick.”

“Why? Calling in isn’t unusual.”

“Right as they were texting him photos, his phone went dead.”

“What? ”

“They lost contact and can’t establish it now. They also called your sister’s cell and the house extension, but both are out of commission. He decided to call you after he talked to me, but I said we were minutes away from the White House and I’d deliver the information in person.”

Struggling for calm, he asked, “Did you contact Director Paulson?”

Blackwell said, “We thought we should bring this to you for other reasons. If someone internal is involved, we don’t know who we can trust.”

“I appreciate your circumspection, but the director has to be brought in.” Jim picked up the phone, quelling his worry about Isabelle. “Mary, call and tell Director Paulson I want him in my office ASAP.” When he disconnected, he addressed the two agents. “By the way, I know Tom personally. Have for years. I’m hard-pressed to believe he isn’t clean.”

“We meant no offense, sir,” Dwyer said.

“None taken. You’ll remain here and tell him what you told me.”

“Of course.” Blackwell again. “Anything you need.”

The pounding on the door stopped for exactly fifteen minutes. Then began again. Shouting from outside. Slowly, Nick stood and keeping the rifle pointed ahead, he checked the door-cam screen.

Burke Olsen stood on the porch, and Nick saw two cop cars and two more officers by the road, both with phones to their ears.

Nick pressed the button. “Agent Marino.”

“Nick, what the hell is going on?”

Perps often act outraged. Like you’re doing something wrong.

“I can’t confirm the agents’ identities. The phones went out.”

“That happens a lot at the lake. You’re being overly cautious.”

“No confirmation, no entrance.”

“I’m here with two black-and-whites. Let us in and we’ll straighten this out.”

“No.”

“We’re the police, Nick.”

He pictured Burke Olsen with Isabelle at Hanover’s party, moving in on her. His showing up here yesterday, his adamant comments, his tone, which bordered on angry. There was something else Nick couldn’t identify then.

“I’ll let you in, Burke, on one condition. Get our cell phones fixed, and I’ll call back in to the agency. Yours works. I want to know why.”

“All right. Is Isabelle okay?”

“Just do it.”

They left the porch. Nick sat back down on the third step. But they could be lying in wait where he couldn’t see them. How was he going to get out of this? Who could he trust? He had no way of contacting anybody to find out. So it was all up to him now.

Isabelle lay down on the pillow and mat stored in this safe room and let her mind drift away from the awful last few hours. She thought of Nick and his tender lovemaking…

You are so beautiful …

I want to steep myself in you …

Ah, babe, do you have any idea what you do to me …

His hands had been callused—from carrying a gun? His lips soft and teasing. His whole body had encompassed her.

She shouldn’t be daydreaming about him. He’d made it clear that he wouldn’t stay with her because of his career. The thought, along with the tension of the situation, made her so sad she could barely tolerate either.

No! She wouldn’t give in to emotion. She was in danger, Nick was helping and she’d trust him to figure it out. As for her relationship with Nick, she’d known what she was getting into and that one glorious night was worth whatever pain it eventually brought.

At around six o’clock, Nick edged back the curtains at one end of the front window and saw the police chief’s car pull up in front of the house. Fuck! If Olsen was in on these threats and attempts at Isabelle’s life, how could he trust the chief?

Turned out, he didn’t have to. Because not only the chief exited. So did Whitney and her partner, Max Blackwell.

A van drew up behind the cars in the driveway. Officers in riot gear piled out.

They rushed to the house.

Nick hurried to the front-door cam.

Four Swat Team members stormed the porch. Got the supposed agents in handcuffs before a shot was fired.

In the landscape behind them, he saw Max Blackwell tackle Olsen to the ground and plaster his face in the grass.

Then Whitney hurried to the door. He pushed the button of the intercom. “Agent Dwyer.”

“Nicky, the good guys are here. The bad ones are being taken away.”

“Fine, tell me when the coast is completely clear.”

She chuckled. “Boy, you really are by the book.”

Isabelle took in a heavy breath when she heard the knock on the door. What if it wasn’t Nick? What if something happened to him while he was protecting her?

“Isabelle, it’s me, Nick. I love you.”

She bolted up, threw open the locks. And threw herself at him. “You’re okay?”

“I am.” His arms banded around her and he held her close to his heart. “But it was quite a standoff.”

“Several hours.”

“To wrap it all up, yes. Do you want to go downstairs and hear what happened?”

Her hands cupped his cheeks. She kissed him quick on the mouth. “I do. Now that you’re safe. But before that, tell me if my family is in any danger at the White House.”

“Everybody’s safe. And everything’s related, as I suspected.”

Whitney, Max and Chief Hanks sat across from Isabelle and Nick at the kitchen table. The breeze flowed in from the lake, but it felt cold tonight.

“Why don’t you start, Agent Blackwell?” Nick said.

He addressed Isabelle directly. “Do you remember when your brother was attorney general and he went after the ring of dirty cops?”

“Yes, he did a sweep nationwide. I remember because it was what kicked off his presidential aspirations.”

The chief asked, “What happened to them?”

“Many are still imprisoned. Some who weren’t too deeply involved had their sentences commuted for good behavior.” Max sighed. “A couple killed themselves in prison.”

Isabelle shivered.

“One of those was related to Mark Jacobs, the guy who went to the White House today, waving a gun around.”

“What?”

“His sister, the woman he was raised with in a foster home, was one of the dirty cops. She hanged herself right before the threats against you started. We investigated the incident, of course, but she didn’t seem to be connected to anybody. She was an orphan, raised in foster homes and never married. She and Jacobs were only in the group home together a year, so her connection to one of the cops never came up.”

“I don’t understand. The guy who shot at the White House was a cop?”

“Yes, but he didn’t get caught in the sweep. He was the one who set up the threats.” Here Max glanced at the chief. “With some help.”

“Who?”

“Burke Olsen.”

Isabelle bit her lip. Her gaze snapped to Nick. “You were right, it was someone I knew.”

“I’m sorry to be right in this case.”

“How did you connect them?” Nick asked Max.

“Olsen was with the two guys who waylaid the Secret Service agents on their way up here. Two imposters took their places.”

“Are the agents all right?” Isabelle asked.

“One is critical. The other is stable. Both are still in the hospital.”

Nick covered her hand with his. He didn’t care who saw that. “It’s not your fault.”

She stared down at the table.

“Would you like me to go on, Mrs. Barton?” Max asked.

“Yes. How did Burke know these people?”

“We’re not quite sure. We have some suspicions that we’re following up on. But Olsen knew Clark Mason from way back. He was the one stalking you, but we think Olsen ran the car off the road.”

“That’s why he was so angry we didn’t tell him where we went.” She faced Nick. “You were right about that, too.”

He gave her a weak smile.

“Anyway, Jacobs went off the deep end when Jensen, the woman he considered his sister, killed herself. Apparently, he got some help from allies in the department to pull off a complicated situation like this. So far, all we know is Olsen was one.”

Awareness dawned. “So this isn’t over? There’s more cops or other people who might want to hurt me?”

“It could go two ways. Now that we’ve caught Jacobs, Olsen and Mason, we can interview them and find out how deep this goes. It could be contained to them or not. My view is the latter.”

“There might be more of these people around,” Whitney put in. “Nick is to take you back to Washington tonight in the SWAT vehicle. President Manwaring wants you, the boys and your mother to stay at the White House until we get control of the situation.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Agent Blackwell and I will drive back the SUV Nick brought up. We’re to stop by Lakeville and fill Gabe in.”

Isabelle turned to Nick. “What will we do at the White house?”

He said simply, “Stay safe.”

Nick grabbed Isabelle’s hand in the back seat of the van driven by a member of the SWAT team. Another rode shotgun—and the rest of the team followed in a vehicle behind this one. Since the privacy screen was up, his actions wouldn’t be observed. But she needed the contact. And to be honest, so did he.

She linked their fingers. “I can’t believe this is all happening.”

“Think of it this way. We’ve made a ton of progress. We’ve arrested enough people that somebody’s bound to sing. If not, the best researchers in the world are on the case. Your stay in D.C. will only be temporary.”

“Can you promise that? If the dirty cop bust years ago was so widespread, and they’ve surfaced again, will their revenge ever be over?”

“We have to trust that it will.”

She looked out the window. “I don’t understand why you can’t protect me.”

“Because I have to go back to the PPD.”

“I could ask Jimmy to reassign you.”

He lifted their palms and kissed her fingers. “Don’t do that, sweetheart. We both know I shouldn’t be protecting you. I’m biased where you’re concerned, and I can’t be sure my feelings won’t cloud my judgment. And you know if we’re together constantly, we’ll end up in bed again.”

She was silent for a while. Then she raised her chin and there was a gleam in her eye. “So if you’re not in charge of me, we can make love again.”

He wished she wouldn’t do this. He hated hurting her over and over, but when she made suggestions like that, it dented his armor. “I told you there’s no future for us.”

“Hush. I’m not talking about the future. I’m talking about now.”

“No, Isabelle.”

The city limits came into view and through the intercom, they heard, “We’re about a half hour out, Agent Marino.”

“Thank you.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. But their hands remained linked. That in itself made his heart constrict.

They cleared the guard station and headed into the secure spot for drop-off at the east side of the White House. A gauntlet of Secret Service officers awaited them.

Bereft, Isabelle knew she was losing Nick as soon as she stepped out of the car. But she held her head high as she walked through the lineup of agents and entered the historic building.

Right inside, two little tornadoes threw themselves at her.

“Mommy!”

“I missed you!”

Kneeling, Isabelle hugged her sons and felt better immediately.

Jamie frowned. “Why are you crying, Mom?”

Ryan asked, “Because we’ve been gone so long?”

Swiping at her cheeks, she said, “Yep. And I’m never leaving you again.”

“Uncle Jimmy says we’re staying here for a while. It’s the White House, Mom.”

“I know, sweetie. We’re going to have fun.”

From behind them she heard, “Hey, I want some hugs, too.”

Her brother stood a few feet away. She always forgot how much he resembled Michael until she was with him. She rose and threw herself into his arms. “I’m so glad to see you.” Her voice was full of emotion. He gripped her tight, like he used to when she was little and afraid of the dark.

“Not nearly as much as I’m glad to see you.”

When she pulled back, she noticed Karen next to him; she hugged her sister-in-law. “I hope you don’t mind the company.”

“Honey, I rattle around in this place by myself when I’m here. I’ll love spending time with you and the boys.”

Karen always seemed upbeat and happy. Even now, when things were a mess.

“Thanks, Karen.”

“There’s my guy.”

Isabelle turned to see Nick come into the room. Jimmy approached him. “Sir.”

“None of that.” Jimmy hugged him and Isabelle glanced away. She couldn’t hear what he said to Nick, but they were probably words of gratitude.

When she turned back around, Isabelle caught Nick’s gaze. She raised a brow. Nick could ask for anything he wanted—even her—and they both knew it.