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Gabe’s brows rose as Whitney and Max Blackwell walked into the family kitchen, unannounced. His mother looked up and a smile broke out on her face, then her expression darkened, her eyes searching her adopted daughter. “Is Nicky okay?”

“Yes, Mama. He’s on his way to Washington with Mrs. Barton and a fleet of SWAT–team experts.”

Deidre’s shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes. Pa, who’d been in the dining room and come to the doorway, also relaxed. And Gabe was hit by what they put his parents through, probably on a daily basis. He’d have to think about that when he felt better. He’d cut way back on the pain medicine, but what he was still taking clouded his judgment.

Mama enveloped Whitney in a big hug. “Hello, agra.” In Gaelic, that means dear one. Her sister, Whitney’s mother, always called young Whitney that. When she came to live with them, Mama and Pa had begun using the term.

 “Mama.” Whitney closed her eyes. Whit was tougher than anyone ever thought she’d be, but her family turned her into Jell-O and pudding.

His mother hugged Max next. He’d visited many times in his and his cousin’s five-year partnership. Gabe liked Max a lot and he was a top-notch senior Secret Service agent.

“Max.” His father shook hands with the man.

“Tony, good to see you again.”

“We were so close to home, we had to come. But we’re also here to update Gabe and reassure you two. How’s your shoulder, by the way?”

“Better.”

Tony said, “Is the situation with Mrs. Barton over?”

“Not quite, though we caught several people who were involved. I can’t say much more than we think this goes deeper, and Mrs. Barton, her kids and Mrs. Hicks will be staying at the White House until the whole thing is totally cleared up.”

Gabe had never heard of a whole family in protective custody at the White House. As if reading his mind, Whitney said, “This happened before when Isabelle and her mother were kidnapped.”

His mother gasped. “She was kidnapped?”

“Holy Mother of God.” This from Pa.

Gabe intervened. “I think this is enough talk in front of Mama.”

“Of course.” Whitney was quick on the uptake. “Want to fix us lunch while we discuss some work stuff with Gabe?”

“That I will.”

Whitney kissed Mama’s cheek. “Thanks for understanding.”

His mother nodded. Gabe gingerly walked to the front of the house and closed himself, Whitney and Max in the living room. Gabe sat on a chair.

“You want to stretch out on the couch while we talk?” Whitney asked.

“Since I feel that couch has become an extension of my body, no thanks. What happened?”

Whitney described the series of events. Gabe listened carefully. Clark Mason…Burke Olsen…a man named Mark Jacobs.

“So all this goes back to the president’s busting up a dirty cop ring?”

“Uh-huh. But that was twelve years ago.”

“Do they think the ring’s still in existence today?”

“They didn’t. They believed they ferreted it out. But who knows now? Burke Olsen isn’t talking, though the interrogators in D.C. might get him to crack.”

Something in the back of Gabe’s mind nudged him. From his days as a cop in Washington, he thought. He had a photographic memory, but he wasn’t operating on all cylinders yet.

“So, what happens from here?”

Whitney grinned. “I get to work at the White House, protecting the boys.”

“Nick’s back on the PPD,” Max explained. “And I’m assigned to Mrs. Barton. Another agent has Mrs. Hicks. The president isn’t taking any chances.”

“I see.” Once again, Gabe was left out. Ruthlessly, he quelled his frustration.

“Tell us about your takedown and shooting, Gabe.” Whitney sat forward. “We don’t know the details.”

He told them his story, but his heart wasn’t in it.

After lunch, Whitney and Max left, and Gabe went upstairs to sleep. Lying on the bed in his old room, he tried to ignore his resentment of the others getting plum assignments. Eventually, he drifted off. But when he awoke, in the twilight between sleep and reality, images of his days as a cop in D.C. before he was recruited by the Secret Service, came to the forefront…

At twenty-one, Gabe was the youngest in the veteran precinct, a real rookie. He was so glad to be here, despite the fact that his greenness caused a lot of razzing. Standing at his locker, he was getting his jacket out when he heard guys on the other side. Sometimes he listened so he could get the scoop on what was really happening in the department…

“The BS is on the warpath. About the New York drug bust.”

“Shut up, you moron. Not here. We’ll talk about it later…”

Gabe had no idea what they were discussing and dismissed the conversation. He left quietly, with no one the wiser.

Alert now, he eased himself up to a sit and recalled what Whitney had said about the ring of dirty cops. “Holy shit!”

He bounded off the bed, a shooting pain from his shoulder reminding him of his injury. More slowly, he picked up his laptop and sat propped up against the headboard. Calling up the Internet, he started his search.

Before work, Nick played a grueling game of racquetball at a D.C. club with Max Blackwell. A bit older than Nick, he was young looking and fit. A worthy competitor. As Nick went to serve for the third game—they were tied—he let his frustration propel his swing forward and jabbed the ball into a corner of the court. Max raced to the exact point the ball headed and smacked it down.

Nick picked up the bounce and slammed the little blue sphere into the wall. Max responded in kind. It took ten volleys for Nick to get the point.

Max wiped his face. “I’m done.”

“The game’s not over.”

He glanced at his watch. “We’ve been at it a long time, and we both need to get to the White House.”

“I suppose.” Nick crossed to the side of the court and bent down to grab his bag.

A hand on his arm. He turned.

“Want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Don’t bullshit me. We’ve known each other too long. What’s eating at you?”

“This whole case, I guess.” People had a way of letting down around Max, which made him an adept interrogator. Besides, he was good friend.

“Whitney says the time at the lake was interesting, to say the least. You had a lot of complications.”

Yep, and the biggest had light brown hair and green eyes you could get lost in. “Some.  Whit was dynamite with the kids.”

“Too bad she doesn’t want any.”

“Yeah, she never did. She told me one time it was because of her parents’ deaths—how they died. That she was buried under them for hours.”

“Yeah, she confided in me, too.” Max frowned. “She said she could never risk something like that happening to a kid of hers.”

“She’s also ambitious as hell.”

“The Marinos want to climb the ladder, that’s for sure.”

Nick hesitated. Then said, “No shame in that.”

“I know.”

“I want the top job, Max.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been after that my whole career.”

“Nick, I know. But apparently, something about this case has gotten to you.”

“Nah. I’m just crabby today.”

“You’re coming off a heavy assignment. I’m glad the president invited me to be on Isabelle Barton’s detail.”

“I’m glad, too.”

Max frowned. “You don’t sound like you are.”

“No, I trust you completely.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

Nick didn’t answer.

“You sure you’re okay? Don’t you want to talk about your time at the lake? With the president’s sister?”

The man was too observant. Nick would have to be careful of what he said. “Nah.”

“All right. But if you ever do, I’m here. And I won’t tell Whitney.”

“Yeah, she can’t keep her mouth shut about her family.”

Max gave an indulgent laugh. “She’s something, that one.”

“She’ll probably be director someday, too.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me.”

“You don’t want to get to the top, Max?”

“No. I like the combination of threat investigation, undercover with the occasional protection thrown in.”

“You’d have no problem working for her?”

“I’m ten years older. I’ll probably be retired by then.”

“What would you do? If you retired?”

“I don’t know. My whole life has been structured around the Secret Service.”

“We all do that.”

“Yeah, but what are we going to do when we’re done here?”

The question bothered Nick all the way to the White House.

“So, what’s going on with my sister?” Jim Manwaring asked the question to his SAIC, who he was glad to have back from the assignment in Catasaga. They sat in the Rose Garden, at a table overlooking the lawns, drinking black coffee.

Nick seemed startled as if…as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Belle. Is she overwhelmed by the situation or is more going on with her?”

“I’d say the former.” The Secret Service mask was back in place. Agents were trained to conceal their feelings.

“You can tell me if she’s mad as hell at me. I’ve caused a shake-up in her life. I promised her that wouldn’t happen again after the kidnapping.”

“I know for a fact she isn’t mad at you.”

“Is she mad at you?” This would be new. Isabelle rarely got angry. She was frustrated and exasperated at being the sister of the president when it affected her life. But not angry.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” He shifted in his seat. “I had to push her to do things that are anathema to her, and she didn’t like them.”

“Belle doesn’t hold grudges, Nick.”

“In any case, I’m glad you assigned Agent Blackwell to her. And not me.” His tone wasn’t convincing.

“I suppose.” He set down his cup. “So what do you make of this newest development?”

“There’s a network still out there. You were right to bring your whole family here.”

“At least they’re safe, which eases my mind.”

“Mine, too.” Huh! Nick rarely voiced his opinions to Jim.

“Nick, are you sure something isn’t going on here I don’t know about?”

“In what way, sir?”

“You seem uncomfortable.”

“Actually I’m back in my comfort zone now.”

“It was hard for you to do me this favor, I know. As I said, I owe you.”

“Just—”

“And don’t say you’re just doing your job. As I mentioned before, this is above and beyond.”

“In any case, I’m glad to be back.” He stood. “If there’s nothing else…”

“No. Go ahead and check in. We’ll spring Cabot.” He referred to the agent in charge until Nick started.

Later, in his office, sitting behind his desk, Jim thought about Nick. Jim hadn’t gotten where he was by ignoring vibes, and the ones he was getting from both Agent Marino and his sister were wacky. He couldn’t help but wonder why.

It took Gabe two days to bore down several levels of the Dark Net to get to the sites he wanted, sites that couldn’t be accessed by normal search engines. He found and downloaded some crypto-anarchist software that protected the identity of the sender on these often seedy sites. The information or content about what they wanted to do was also often illegal. And it was all but impossible to determine the location of the user. But Gabe had an ace up his sleeve. The letters BS. They meant something. After another few hours of searching he found a message board run by something or someone called BS.

There were hundreds of missives from the last few days. Some of them were innocuous.

The good old days when the BS blossomed are back.

The BS is alive and well.

BS after PJM again. We will rise.

Way down on the list: I want to be a shadow, too.

Gabe stared at the initials. B Shadow? Something Shadow. Big Shadow. Best Shadow. Blue Shadow. Blue Shadow! Police officers. Dirty cops. It made sense. He wondered why the Threat Assessment Center hadn’t found this. Had someone infiltrated that headquarters and stopped this line of investigation? Or was it just because Gabe had heard the letters before and they hadn’t?

Gabe didn’t know the answer to that, though he was sure as hell going to find out. Getting out his go-bag, he winced at his injury but ignored the pain. This was too important to send through a message or across phone lines.

Nick stood outside the Oval Office, dressed in a black suit, lapel pin, striped tie. Though he didn’t look much like Kevin Costner, the scene reminded Isabelle of the movie The Bodyguard. She was uncomfortable as she passed by him.

“Ma’am.”

The other agent nodded.

She thought about saying something cocky, but she knew none of that would help. “The president asked to see me.”

After knocking quickly on the door, Nick opened it. “Mr. President, your sister is here.”

“Show her in, Nick.”

Isabelle brushed his arm as she entered the Oval Office. Ignoring the contact, she concentrated on the legendary room. The space reflected her brother, even though he’d kept the oval rug from the last administration. The floor covering sported the presidential seal in the middle and quotes by past presidents around the perimeter. Her brother had bought new boxy leather couches and accent chairs that made the place homier than the previous fussy divans.

 “Hey, honey,” he said, circling his desk. He hugged her, grasped her hand and drew her to one of those couches and dropped down next to her. “God, I’m glad to see you in the flesh.”

“I know.” She squeezed the hand he’d taken. “I miss you so much. More since Michael died.”

“Aw.” He slid his arm around her.

He was a toucher. She wondered if Nick was, if circumstances were different.

“Are you settling in?”

“Yes. The boys love it here. Whitney has them at the pool right now.”

“At least they’re occupied and not wondering what the hell is going on.”

“They asked me if they could go in the water like Andrew Jackson.”

“Uh-oh.”

“They said Uncle Jimmy told them the former president swam naked when the pool was indoors.”

“Teaching them a little history is all. God I miss having kids here. My two are practically all grown up.” Sasha and Jackson were eighteen and twenty.

“I’ll bet. I wish you could see your nephews more.”

“I will, I promise.”

Just as the old grandfather clock by the windows struck seven, a knock sounded on the door. A waiter brought in a tray and set it in front of them on the marble-topped table. She caught a quick glance of Nick again, but he didn’t look her way. Such a small thing, but it hurt. She was dying to get glimpses of him.

Pulling her gaze away from him, she studied the cheeses, crackers and fruit that were accompanied by her favorite Chardonnay.

Jimmy said, “I thought we’d have cocktails.”

“Uh-huh.” She bit into a soft piece of brie. Its buttery taste was complemented by the tart wine.

“So,” her brother said easily. “Let’s pretend all this intrigue isn’t going on and catch up.”

“Catch up?”

“I want to know about your social life.”

“I’ve hardly had time to breathe, let alone think about that.”

“Okay, before this happened.”

“Outside of the boys, I don’t have one.”

“That’s a crime. A beautiful woman like you.”

“I wasn’t ready before.”

“Before what?”

“Um, I don’t know. All this stuff.”

Dissembling didn’t come easy to her, and Jimmy knew her well. He’d pick up on anything.

“What I meant was now I see how much I value my life and what’s been lacking.”

“A guy?”

“Yeah, a guy.”

Jimmy zeroed in on the shelf across the room. She tracked his gaze to the picture of him and Michael at their Harvard graduation.  “He would have wanted that,” Jimmy said hoarsely. “Sooner than five years, I’d guess.”

“I’m ready now. Or will be when I go back.” She turned searching eyes on him. “Will I ever be safe, Jimmy? I asked Nick, and he said yes, but I want to hear it from you.”

Her brother’s face shadowed. She knew all the problems his position had caused her bothered him. “I think so. All the resources of the federal government will be brought to bear on catching whoever is involved in this move against you. I promise.”

She wanted to believe him.

“So, did you and Nick get along?”

A non sequitur not customary for Jimmy. “Yes, of course. He was autocratic, but when things heated up, I was glad for that.”

Jimmy nodded. “He said he brought you to his home to get away for a while.”

“He did. I enjoyed the visit.”

“What’s his family like? I did the background-check stuff, but anything more I’ve had to drag out of him. He’s a reticent guy.”

“His family’s like ours was before you became famous. Supportive, loving, and very happy to see their kids.”

“Nick’s going places in the Secret Service. He was already on his way, but after this, I’m going to fast-track his career.”

And take him away from me. The notion caused a sinking feeling inside her.

Nick got off duty at nine that night. Exhausted, he headed to his car, hoping he’d sleep after the exercise with Max and a grueling day where he tried not to think about Isabelle. Thankfully, the White House had been calm and uneventful. Nick was anxious to go home to familiar surroundings, get his bearings, and make a plan to deal with the situation better tomorrow. He sat in his car staring through the window, a mass of roiling emotion.

Fine agent you make.

That, he realized, was the problem. Tonight, and he hoped only tonight, he was tired of living up to the Ironman reputation he’d carefully built for nearly twenty years. Isabelle Barton had blown his cool with her quiet ways and innate sensuality, and even now, when he knew what he had to do, he railed against his predicament. Fisting his hand, he pounded the steering wheel.

The image of her walking up to the Oval Office in a pretty green dress, her sun-kissed hair lighter and falling around her shoulders, had almost leveled him. But it was the expression in her eyes when she turned her gaze up to him that made him want to throw caution to the wind.

Start the car.

Get out of here.

Now!

Several minutes passed. Unfortunately she remained on his mind and in his heart.

“Goddamn fucking son of a bitch!” he spat out, even as he threw open the car door. He blanked his mind as he strode back to the White House, went inside and up to the third floor to where she was staying.

From down the hallway, he could see no guards outside her door. Where the hell was Max? Drawing his gun, Nick approached the room. As he got closer he could peer around the corner. Whitney stood outside the boys’ room. When she caught sight of him, she tried to maintain the formality they practiced at work. “Agent Marino.”

Without greeting, he asked, “Where’s the guard for this room? It’s Blackwell, I thought.”

Frowning, she said, “With Isabelle.”

His shoulders relaxed. “In the room?”

“No. She wanted a swim. Max went down with her.”

Son of a bitch. Why couldn’t the woman stay put? “Should she be outside at night?”

“Apparently, they thought so.” She came closer. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. President Manwaring asked me to do a check on the boys and Isabelle before I left.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m going home.”

“Sure, Nick, whatever you say.”

Wondering if he’d betrayed his feelings to his very astute cousin, he reached the pool area in minutes. She wasn’t in the water. He crossed to the bathhouse that shielded the pool from the main house. Max Blackwell stood tall before the doors. “Hi, Nick. Is there a problem?”

“No, I wanted to check on Isabelle before I left. I don’t like the thought of her swimming at night.”

Max bristled. He was a top-notch agent who’d done a lot of protection and took offense at anyone questioning his decisions, even Nick.

“There are three more agents outside on the perimeter of this area. And I’m here. She’s fine.” When he didn’t respond, Max cocked his head. “This was my call, Agent Marino.”

“Of course it was. Mind if I talk to her?”

“I’ll knock and see. She went inside to change back into her clothes.” He turned and rapped on the door. “Mrs. Barton. Agent Marino is here to see you. Do you want to talk to him when you’re dressed?”

A moment, then, “I’m finished. He can come in.”

Max opened the door and allowed Nick to go inside.

Nick entered the cabana and shut the world out. “Isabelle?”

“Back here.”

The space was dimly lit, though light slivered in through the window blinds. She came out of the shadows.

Wrapped in a towel.

“You said you were dressed.”

“I am. For you.”

“Isabelle, you’re not making this any easier.”

“I don’t intend to. I’ll respect your decision, and I won’t harp on you about it. But you know I want more.”

“Please, put some clothes on.”

She shook back damp hair. “No. Why did you come?”

“I…” God, the moonlight cast her in an ethereal glow. The gold in her hair shimmered. “I—I tried not to come. I couldn’t resist.” His hands curled and his throat clogged. “This was a mistake.”

“Come back here, Nick.”

He took one step toward her and she inched into the shadows again. Then three more steps forward. “We can’t do anything here, Isabelle. Or anywhere, but especially not here. Max is right outside.

“Then give me a quiet kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“No.”

“You want to or you wouldn’t have come to me.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

Again, agonizing moments of the battle within him. Of the feeling that he was bonded to this woman no matter what he did. Then she reached out and touched his hand. He grabbed on to hers like a lifeline. Somehow, gentleness came and he tugged her close. “Isabelle.”

She nestled into his chest. “I want you so much. But I’ll settle for a kiss.”

He cradled her head. “I don’t know if I can stop at a kiss.”

“I will.”

Once more, the agent warred with the man.

The man won.

Promising whatever deity was out there that he’d be better after this, that he only needed one taste of her, he tipped her chin. Her eyes were shining with an emotion he wouldn’t name, couldn’t name. He knew the same expression was in his own gaze. Without words, he lowered his head and brushed his mouth across hers. She melded her nearly naked body to him, pressed her lips against his, and fell into the kiss.

He hiked her up for better access, took two steps forward so she grazed the wall, and held her there. He devoured her mouth, giving as much as he took. He explored her with his tongue, and his hands itched to touch her skin.

Bracing her lower body with his, he unknotted the towel and cupped her breasts. Kneaded them. She moaned softly into his mouth and let him do whatever he wanted.

A loud banging.

The Secret Service agent reacted first. Letting her slide down, he shielded her with his body and drew his gun. No one entered, but he heard, “Nick, it’s Max. Your brother is here. He says it’s urgent. You need to go up to the Oval Office right now.”

Awareness dawned like a cold shower. And emphasized the fact that he’d betrayed his oath to protect the president’s sister. Anything could have happened while Nick was totally consumed by that kiss.

The Marino brothers, along with Max and Isabelle, sat across from the president and after coffee was served, Gabe glanced at Nick. He hoped to God his face didn’t reveal what he’d unconscionably done in the changing house at the pool.

Thankfully, Gabe started to talk. “I’m sorry to barge in like this without calling, sir, but I had to see you. And it can’t wait.”

“No apologies. If you found something out that will help keep my sister safe, I want to know right away.”

His brother came to the edge of his seat. “You have three people in custody. I believe they could be part of a conspiracy.”

Manwaring sat forward, too. “We know that the shooter is connected to the arrests I spearheaded before I became president. But we don’t know if others are linked to that time period.”

“Because they’re not. They’re related to something else. Something I think happened after that.”

“Seriously?” The president raised a brow. “The Threat Assessment Center hasn’t found any connection.”

“Because they didn’t have knowledge that I do.”

Nick interjected here, “If you recall, Mr. President, Gabe has a photographic memory.”

“And you remembered something that relates to the threats?”

“Yes. When Whitney and Max talked about the ring of cops you broke up, it must have jogged my memory. I was a cop in D.C. before I came to the Secret Service. As a rookie, I overheard two veterans talking. Nobody was very careful around me because I wasn’t seen. They were on the other side of the lockers and their exact words were, ‘The BS is on the warpath.’”

“BS as in bullshit?” Manwaring frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, BS was used as a noun. So that made me search for BS as an organization.”

“There must be thousands of hits for that.”

“A lot of them, yes. But it narrows down on the Dark Net.”

“Gabe, threat assessment has all kinds of access to the sublevels of the Internet.”

“I know, Mr. President, and I don’t mean to be arrogant about this, but they didn’t have the clue that was in my memory. In any case, I found what I was looking for. Using crypto-anarchy software. All these groups use high encryption to stay under the radar and promote, well, anarchy.”

“What is the BS, Gabe?” Nick asked.

“The Blue Shadow. An underground network of bad cops all over the country. They do each other favors. Burke Olsen is involved. So is Mark Jacobs. I think Clark Mason was blackmailed into helping them.”

Isabelle gasped. The president grasped her hand.

“You could be right about that,” Nick added. “We found the connection between Mason and Olsen.”

Standing, Manwaring headed to the desk and hit the intercom. “Mary, could you get Director Paulson and Patrick O’Connell to come to the White House?” The heads of the Secret Service and of Homeland Security respectively.

When he disconnected, he turned to the others. “We’re going to start digging now. It’ll go fast with all the departments on this.” He faced Gabe squarely. “If this pans out, Gabe, you can have any job in the Secret Service you want.”