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Two days later, Nick judged that Isabelle was well enough to go hiking. He knew, of course, that she took to the trails around the lake to exercise, but apparently, she used the activity as a method of letting off steam. She’d been badgering him for forty-eight hours to get outside and do something physical. So when the boys and Whitney were busy with string art, whatever the hell that was, he and Isabelle left by way of the garage, to the outdoors, where the sun was bright. They were dressed alike in work boots, shorts and T-shirts. She wore her pink cap to protect her skin, and he sported one from the Buffalo Bills.

He took her hand and she paused. Again, his tone was dry. “Just till we get to the park and in the cover of the trees.”

They headed north. She started out slowly, then picked up the pace. She kept her gaze ahead and not at the ground. He followed easily, of course, used to running five miles each morning. She walked twenty minutes with increasing speed and didn’t get winded. He was amazed by her stamina, especially after she’d been hurt. Funny, sometimes he saw her as vulnerable and sometimes—like this—competent, determined, with a strong inner core.

They reached the park. Woods parted to reveal a path. On the front end was a sign that said Hiking Trail. He let go of her hand.

As they climbed the path, Isabelle was unusually quiet. What was she working out in that pretty little head of hers? He knew if his life had been turned upside down like hers, he’d be pissed. Again, she picked up more speed. He stayed behind her and scanned the area as they climbed. The woods were dense. Nothing moved in them but a light breeze. His attention was caught by her stride, by how her calves bulged and retracted as the trail got steeper. After another fifteen minutes, she stopped at a clearing, reached in her backpack and fished out bottles of water. She handed him one, opened her own and drank.

After he did the same, she faced him. Tipping the bill of her cap, she asked, “Do you like your job, Nick?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you like living in a world where everybody is a suspect and you can’t trust a single soul?”

Ah, he expected her to bring this up again. She’d probably been mulling over his comments about her friends for two days. She didn’t seem mad, though. She seemed genuinely curious.

“I never thought of what I do in that way.” He took another swig of water to distract himself from her intense interest in him, which made him feel…very male.

Nothing like a woman who ’s interested in you , Gabe always said.

“How do you view your profession?”

He answered honestly, “As performing a service to the country.”

“There’s a personal element, too, though, isn’t there? You want danger, the unexpected.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I know firefighters, police and other law officers like you are necessary in our world. But those qualities are everything I dislike in people. Maybe even fear.” Sighing, she dropped down on a bench off to the side of the path.

An unwanted spurt of sympathy for his presence in her life ambushed him. “I understand, Isabelle. My lifestyle’s not for everybody. I wish I didn’t have to impose it on you now.”

She gazed up at him. He could see a dab of sunscreen in her hair, near her ear. Jesus, he almost reached to remove the smudge. “But three members of your family chose that work, and Connor, too, in a way. Doctors Without Borders is not a cakewalk.”

“Actually, it’s all of us. Declan is an ER doctor and in the Army Reserve Medical Corps. He goes on special missions in the Middle East when his unit is called up.”

“Why are you all like this?”

“I told you, I don’t—”

“Want to talk about your family. Indulge me, please. Tell me this and I’ll stop quizzing you.” When he hesitated, she gave him a dazzling smile. “I can always ask Connor.”

“All right. Then my family is off-limits. Agreed?”

“Uh-huh.” She stood. “Let’s keep going while you talk. The path widens up here, so we can walk side by side.”

The trees were thick, leafy and well-trimmed up this high, too. The smell of rich loam and vegetation reminded him of when he was a kid and played in the woods with his brothers. “My father was a pilot in Vietnam. I understand he was quite a hell-raiser and enlisted at eighteen. He lived completely on the edge. My brothers and I grew up hearing about his time in the war. We were taught we should give back to our country.”

“That’s good. And it’s also sad at the same time. Your poor mother, with all of you risking your lives like he did.”

Nick pictured Deidre Marino. At sixty-eight, she was a little pudgy and her Irish black hair had turned a pretty shade of silver. She was unwaveringly proud of her kids, though all along, he suspected that she suffered in private. All five of them had given her reason.

“What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked at his silence.

He yanked a leaf off a tree and shredded it.

She moved in closer and gave nature competition with her scent. “Tell me.”

“I took a bullet once in the shoulder for a senator I was guarding. My mother saw the footage on TV.”

“Oh, dear Lord. She must have been devastated.”

“She was. When I called to say I was okay, it was one of the few times I ever heard her cry.”

“I’m sorry, Nick.” Stopping, she squeezed his fingers. “That must have been hard for you both.”

He was surprised and moved by her spontaneous sympathy, so he blurted out, “Nobody ever looked at my side of this whole thing. In fact, most people criticize all of us for putting my mother through hell by choosing the careers we did.”

 So how had this woman ever known that what his job—and his siblings’ and cousin’s—did to Deidre Marino cut his own heart to ribbons?

“I understand. I know my dislike of what Jimmy’s done all his life has hurt him.”

They locked gazes for a moment too long. When he thought about brushing a hand down her cheek, Nick had to shake himself out of what he was feeling. “We’re done with me.” He started walking again. “Tell me about your book trade. Why the interest in rare books?”

Her cheeks pink, she turned away quickly and took to the path. “Rare books are tangible evidence of a past era. Their physical bulk takes me back to another time.” She smiled.

“What?”

“Michael always said I should have been born to a quieter, less public world. He was right. Sometimes I don’t like spending time in the present.”

Now, that was sad.

Lost in their own thoughts, they climbed in silence until even Nick was feeling the strain in his back. But Isabelle kept going. Again, the path narrowed, so he went ahead of her. After a few yards, he was about to say that the trail had turned too rocky when her foot slipped. She stumbled backward. Pivoting fast, he braced his feet and grabbed for her. He made contact with her thigh, his forearm pressing against her intimately. She locked her arms around his neck for purchase and her breasts plastered against him. Electricity sparked between them. The feel of her in his hands eclipsed even the bright sunlight. He wanted to—

“I’d like you to know,” she said primly, her breath in his ear, interrupting the dangerous thoughts he was having. “I don’t usually let anybody get to first base this fast.”

He laughed out loud. They drew apart. That they were both breathless made him wonder if she was feeling the hot slice of desire that shot through him. In any case, he appreciated how she defused the situation and covered the awkwardness. This was another new side to her. A sense of humor in times of stress was admirable. Suddenly, he wondered how he could have so completely misjudged this woman.

Create a Cat was a quaint shop nestled in the Finger Lakes area. For a hefty sum, kids could make a stuffed animal and dress it as their favorite famous person. The store had hundreds of outfits for sports figures, movie stars and others in the public eye. At Whitney’s suggestion, they’d taken a day trip there. The young agent was full of surprises and seemed to have a knack for entertaining children. They arrived as soon as the place opened, and Jamie raced inside after Nick.

“Come on Rye,” he yelled as he went through the door.

Ryan trudged behind him. He hadn’t slept much the past couple of nights and woke Isabelle up several times. “’Kay.” He glanced at her. “Where you gonna be?” She hated the worry that had laced his voice since the glass incident.

“At a table, honey.” She pointed to a sitting area off to the side. “Right there. We’ll make sure you can see us.”

After they paid for the service, the staff person assigned to the boys explained the process. The kids would work with her and adults were free to watch or help out.

She and Whitney snagged a little oak table with padded chairs and were served coffee free of charge. An idea to consider, Isabelle thought, always on the lookout for how small businesses spoiled their customers.

“They can actually put the stuffing inside the cats themselves and help sew them up,” Whitney told her.

“I like that they start from scratch.”

Her face devoid of makeup, her hair in a ponytail, Whitney seemed like a kid herself. But the bulge under her yellow overshirt contradicted that. She wore her gun. “Yep. Kids do actually create a cat.”

Nick stood off to the side. She couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in jeans and a white T-shirt under a denim jacket. And he’d smelled very male in the car driving over. But he was edgy. He’d been that way since they’d gone hiking. She knew for herself that every time she pictured his big hand grasping her thigh, nudging her intimately, she went all weak-kneed. She did her best to ignore the reaction, though.

“I’m going outside to see if anyone’s around.” So far, no other customers had come into the store. They had Create a Cat all to themselves.

When Nick left, Isabelle turned to Whitney. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why are you so good with kids? You’ve only been here a week, and the boys love the activities you’ve suggested. And they like you.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” She glanced at where Nick had gone with affection in her eyes. “Because of him and Gabe and Declan.”

“In what way?”

“I went to live with them when I was five.” Whitney’s expression shadowed a bit now.

“Nick told me about your parents. I’m so sorry.”

The incident was horrendous. Whitney had been on the plane when they crashed. To make it worse, she was buried under them until she was rescued. Their blood dripped on her. Isabelle couldn’t imagine the scars left on a five-year-old who’d been involved like that in her parents’ violent death.

“Deidre and Tony took me in without a qualm. And suddenly I had the big family I always wanted. Eventually, I even started calling them Mama and Pa, like the guys.”

“What was living with all those boy cousins like?”

“Honestly, they took me and Connor everywhere and doted on me, the only girl. Gabe was fifteen, and even though the other guys are only a few years older than me, they all spoiled me rotten.” She shrugged. “When Gabe got his driver’s license all five of us came here.”

“I’m glad you had them.”

Isabelle liked hearing about the Nick that took care of his cousin. She tried to imagine him without the stiff veneer and the cool aura, but she couldn’t. “So, you relate well to kids because of how they treated you?”

“That, and I also work at a camp on Keuka Lake every summer on my vacation. Camp Good Days and Special Times.”

“Ah, the one for kids with cancer.”

“Mom had breast cancer, but she was in remission when she died. She volunteered at the camp. I kind of picked it up in her memory.”

Isabelle began to feel guilty for griping about her life. “I hope I don’t keep you from helping out this year. I hope this whole thing is over soon.”

“Everybody’s working hard to make that happen. Now, you have to answer a question for me.”

Isabelle chuckled. Whitney Dwyer didn’t lack confidence.

“What’s it like to be the sister of the president?”

They drank their coffee, and Isabelle talked about her life. Being married to Jimmy’s best friend—even though he was so much older than her. How her brother had initially objected. How politics had always been Jimmy’s love. How when he became famous, her whole life changed.

“Everybody in the Secret Service loves him, Mrs. Barton. Some presidents are hard to protect and unkind to agents who insist certain protocols be followed. But my partner says your brother and his wife and kids are the most cooperative presidential protectees the agency has ever dealt with.”

“Sounds like Jimmy. I worry about his safety. I know he gets hundreds of threats a day.”

“Every president does. Right now, he’s worried about you.”

“I feel bad about that, too.” She shrugged. “He does have a few other things to think about.”

“Mom!” Jamie came running over.

Nick went inside and strode to them. Alert but calm, he didn’t alarm the boys, just checked to make sure they were all right after Jamie’s screech.

Her son shouted, “They got a costume, so we can make Uncle Jimmy.” He held up an outfit bearing the presidential seal, which she inspected thoroughly.

It wasn’t until Nick said “Isabelle” that she looked up.

Several of the staff had gathered across the room and were staring at her.

One whose name tag read Manager came forward. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I didn’t know we had famous customers.”

Nick stepped between Isabelle and the woman. “We should get out of here.”

“Why, Mom?” Jamie asked. “I wanna finish.”

Ryan had followed Jamie over and was frowning. “Me, too.”

Whitney put an arm on the boys’ shoulders and Nick drew Isabelle aside. “There’ll be gossip when other patrons arrive. I don’t think we’re safe here anymore. I thought we’d go unnoticed since we’re a half hour from the lake.” He nodded to the door. “And I saw a guy out there, hanging around. He left before I could check him out.”

Glancing over at the boys who looked as though they were both about to throw serious tantrums, she stood, said, “Let me see what I can do,” and approached the desk. Nick followed a ways behind her.

She introduced herself to the manager and asked her to close the shop to the public for a half hour. In return, she promised to write a note they could post on their website that the president’s sister brought her children here and they loved the place.

When the issue was taken care of, she joined Nick.

“Well,” he said dryly. “I’m in awe.”

“Hey, a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.”

Nick’s smile was full of soft approval. Uh-oh. It was one thing to notice how attractive he was. After all, she’d seen him naked. And she was having a normal female reaction, especially since she’d gone without sex so long.

But now, she was troubled that she liked the fact that she’d impressed him.

“Hold on a sec.” Nick stretched out his hand to halt Isabelle as she headed for the door to leave. The boys lingered behind with Whitney.

“Is something wrong?” Isabelle asked.

A frown creased his brow. “Probably not. Let me check around. Earlier, I saw that guy. I don’t know… It’s a hunch.”

When he eased the door open, several quick pops exploded in the air. Nick dived back inside, taking Isabelle with him to the floor. In front of the boys, Whitney tugged them down and, with her back to Nick, drew them in close so she covered them both with her body.

The cacophony continued.

But something was wrong. A tinny reverberation accompanied the sounds.

“Nick, I can’t…”

Jesus, he was crushing her. He lifted himself up. “I thought shots were fired, but I’m not sure now.”

Whimpers came from the boys, but Whitney kept them down.

“Dwyer, corner, over to the right.” To Isabelle, “Crawl there with them. I’ll be covering you.”

In moments, they were huddled in the sheltered area. Isabelle and the boys close together. Whitney faced outward now, on her knees, her gun drawn. Next to her, Nick assumed the same stance.

In Whitney’s ear, he whispered, “I’m going to open the door. If someone rushes in…”

“I know what to do.”

He yelled to the staff to keep the cover that they’d quickly sought behind the big counter. Then he crawled to the front and pried open the door. Five feet from the store, off to the side, stood a garbage can, the old-fashioned kind made of aluminum. There was another loud pop inside one.

“What the hell?”

He waited. Nothing. Silence. After a moment, he went back inside and dialed 911.

Damn it to hell! The situation kept getting worse. As Jim Manwaring held the phone in his hand, waiting for the switchboard to connect him to Nick, he called on all the calm he could muster. This time, it wasn’t just a suspicion that something else had happened.

Finally, a voice on the other end. “Marino.”

“Nick, this is Jim Manwaring.”

“Yes, Mr. President. Are you calling to check on your sister?”

“No, not exactly. Is Agent Dwyer there?”

“Right next to me.”

“Isabelle?”

“Resting upstairs.”

“Then put this on speaker.”

“Done.”

“There’s been a complication. I received a direct threat yesterday. As you know, that in itself isn’t unusual, but when the lab at threat assessment checked the note out, they found it was written on the same paper as the ones sent to Isabelle. In the same handwriting.”

“I see. This steps things up some, doesn’t it?” Threatening the president of the United States was a federal crime. And with the note’s similarity to the ones his sister received, the threats to her became a federal crime, too.

“It certainly does change things, Nick.”

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“I’d like more security on your end.”

“We could call in other agents but you still have the issue of the perpetrator going away for only a short time, then this starts all over again. Besides, the covert protection is working well, better than going public. Some people close to Isabelle are suspects. If at all possible, I’d like for us to stay undercover. I know I said differently before, but I’ve changed my mind. This boyfriend thing is a great cover and I’m finding out a lot about the people surrounding her that way.”

Jim considered something for a moment. “I’d rather send the entire army. But we’ll try one more thing. How about if I send Gabe in?”

A silence. Jim knew why. Nick would do anything for his brother. “He was thinking about taking some furlough and coming up this way.”

“I know. I had this in the back of my mind when I found that out, and now he can be the third agent. I’ll put him on special assignment. He won’t have to take vacation, and he can be away from the training center as long as needed.”

“I think he’d jump at the offer.”

“Can you arrange this?”

Another silence. Then, “Would you be able to call Gabe yourself, Mr. President? It would mean a lot coming from you.”

“I should have thought of that. I’ll phone him now. Everything else okay there, since the bookstore problem?”

“Not exactly. There was a scare earlier, and I don’t yet know how relevant it is.” He filled the president in on the firecracker incident.

“There are few coincidences in my world, Nick. I’d feel better if you assumed it was connected.”

“I agree.”

“Will there be gossip about that?”

“No. I made sure Burke Olsen would keep the cops quiet and Isabelle did the same with the store personnel.”

 “What did you tell the boys about your guns?”

“I’m afraid it was a bit far-fetched, but they believed me. I said that Whitney and I grew up shooting guns on our farm. That we have licenses to carry them. I’m not sure it convinced them but they stopped asking questions.”

“Man, I hate what this is doing to them.”

Then he told Jim about the cat made in his honor, because Nick knew he loved those kinds of stories and would probably work this one into a speech. It also lightened the moment.

“Agent Dwyer, you doing all right? My boys giving you any trouble?”

“No, sir. They’re wonderful kids.”

“They are. I’ll call Gabe, and you and I will speak later, Nick.”

After Nick clicked off, he turned to Whitney. She sat back in the chair and tucked her legs beneath her.  “This sucks.”

“Ups the stakes, for sure.” 

She gave him a half smile. “I’m impressed. You got more clout than I thought. Took a lot of nerve to ask the president to call Gabe himself.”

“Worth it, though.” Nick stretched his legs out in front of him and linked his hands behind his neck. “Gabe’ll be thrilled. He deserves some good career news.”

Nick only hoped this new development didn’t upset Isabelle too much.

“How will Gabe handle this?”

“He’s an excellent agent, Whitney.”

“Nick, I love him as much as I love you, but I simply don’t respect him like I did before Colombia.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to say.”

She seemed older, more competent when she was digging her heels in like this. “It is what it is.”

“He’ll prove you wrong.”

“We’ll see.”

Things had always seemed black-and-white to Whitney. That wasn’t a positive trait for an agent. When this assignment was over, he was going to talk to her about her tunnel vision. Meanwhile, he hoped like hell she and Gabe didn’t butt heads while he was here.

Macy Stevens cupped her hands and yelled, “Get ready, get set, go!”

Gabe hesitated a fraction and let Simon hit the water first. He used to do this with his brothers, too. And Whitney. When Simon was a few strokes ahead, he dived in and started his long, perfected crawl. The pool wasn’t cold enough for him on this hot June day, but the condo complex where he lived seemed to like it warm.

As planned, he beat Simon by one length.

Holding on to the edge of the pool, still in the water, Simon said, “Aw, shit!”

“Simon, we talked about language.”

“Sorry, Gabe. Aw, shucks.” The ten-year-old rolled his eyes. “How much did you wait?”

“Only two counts this time.”

Now the boy’s eyes danced. “Less than last time.”

Brushing down Simon’s thick hair, Gabe said, “You’ll beat me someday.”

Macy came into Gabe’s peripheral view, carrying his phone. “It’s vibrating. I know you need to answer because someone from the training center might call.”

Gabe worked at James J. Rowley Training Center in Beltsville, Maryland. He trained new recruits and seasoned agents who had to renew their competencies.

“Thanks, Mace.” Hoisting himself out of the water and, still dripping, he took the phone from her. “Marino.”

“Agent Marino, this is the White House switchboard. I have a call for you from the president.”

His heart began to beat at a clip. “Of the United States?” he blurted out, then could have kicked himself. But Jesus… He saw Macy’s eyebrows skyrocket. He walked a safe distance away from her and Simon, who she bundled in a towel.

“Agent Marino, this is Jim Manwaring.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

Hell! “Of course, sir. Anything.”

“You know my sister’s situation. Nick told me you were thinking of taking some furlough to help out with the deck.”

“That’s right. I’m trying to juggle some things at work so I can get away.” He cringed wondering if the president was going to tell him not to go, that he was afraid Gabe would fuck things up again. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No, not at all. In point of fact, I’d like you to fly to New York as soon as possible. My secretary made a plane reservation for you out of Maryland. A rented car’s been reserved upstate. I want you in Catasaga tomorrow.”

Gripping the phone, and pretty damn near speechless, Gabe asked, “Did something happen?”

“Yes. I received a written threat that bears resemblance to ones Isabelle received.”

“I understand.” The status of the whole case had been elevated to a crime against the president. The issue was part of the curriculum Gabe taught to his trainees.

“We’re calling this a special assignment. You aren’t required to put in for furlough and you’ll stay there as long as needed.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I have a second-in-charge at the training center who can take over.”

“I appreciate this. And I won’t forget it, Gabe. I promise.”

When Manwaring disconnected, Gabe stood where he was and stared at his phone.

Do me a favor …I won ’t forget this!

Was he finally getting the chance he’d been after for five long years? He’d fouled up bad. His actions, or lack of them, had cost him his career in protection. He could still hear the banging on his bedroom door, remember answering it half-drugged up from the painkillers for his shoulder. His men were in a mess, and Gabe’s life became a living hell.

But maybe now…

“Gabe?”

He turned to find Macy and Simon behind him. She’d spoken. Their eyes met and he knew she’d overheard his mission. She turned Simon to face her. “Simon, baby, Gabe has to go away for a while.”

The boy’s eyes darkened. So Gabe squatted down in front of him. Gingerly, he placed his hands on Simon’s shoulders. He remembered when the kid used to stiffen when he did that. “You know I work for the government, right, son?”

“Yeah. You train people. I don’t know for what.”

“To help protect our country. I’ve gotten a very important call, and I have to go out of town.”

And just like that, the kid closed down.

Honesty worked best with Simon. “I’m coming back, Simon. I promise.”

“Dad promised, too.”

And Dad was one of those agents who had never returned.

“Then, believe this. I’ll do my best to get back here. I promise that.”

“’kay.”

“Now, I want a promise from you.” He glanced over at Macy, who was staring blankly at them. She knew the world of Secret Service agents.

“What?”

“Behave for your Mom.”

“I will.”

Gabe stood. “You can run ahead to the condo and get a Popsicle from the fridge.”

When he was out of sight, Gabe turned to Macy.

She asked, “Something good?”

“Very. Something I’ve been waiting for.”

“A second chance.”

Friends for about three years now, though he’d known her longer, he’d confided in this woman about his sordid past, about his bleak outlook on his job now.

She gave him one of those genuine smiles he’d come to expect from her. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Think I reassured Simon that I’ll stay out of harm’s way?”

“I do.”

“You try not to worry, too.”

Moving in close, she went on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’ve become a pro at not worrying about my friends.”

Turning, he headed to the condo with her at his side. Though he hated the thought of Macy and the boy being upset by his good fortune, he nonetheless took pleasure in this assignment. Maybe he’d get back into the real work of the agency. God, he missed it!