“You think it was linked to the Russians?” Jessica queried the director of Homeland Security.

“Yes, ma’am. The forensics included bullets that are famous for being used by Russian hitmen.”

Jessica stood and walked from the sofa to her desk in the Oval Office. “So is this not a terrorist act?” She slumped into her chair, needing the desk between her and the director for just a few minutes. She was so tired of the problems, the never-ending complications. Even this assassination attempt couldn’t be typical—at this point, she’d have welcomed the news that it was a jihadist group. If only one thing could be simple.

“It’s possible, certainly. We haven’t ruled out a scenario where the Russian mafia has been contracted by a terrorist organization to do some dirty work for them. But that scenario isn’t highly probable.”

“Then tell me, Eric, what is highly probable?”

The director looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Out with it,” she insisted.

“Well, ma’am, we think that the Russian mafia, the Bratva, has taken a disliking to you for some reason.”

She stared at him for a moment. “You’re joking, of course.”

“No, ma’am. And in light of that, is there anything you need to tell us?”

Her gaze shot to his, and her voice was cold and hot all at the same time. “You don’t seriously think that I’ve ever had any sort of dealings with the Russian Bratva, do you? Let me put your mind at ease. To the best of my knowledge, I’ve never met anyone in that organization. I don’t gamble, I don’t have any debts to anyone—Russian or otherwise—I can’t for the life of me think of one single reason why the Russian mafia would want to assassinate me.”

Her indignation sent Eric into a flurry of apologies and assurances that no, Homeland Security didn’t think the president was engaged in anything that would have put her on Bratva’s radar.

With a promise to come to her with more information the following day, the director left, and Jessica leaned her head back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“God, John,” she muttered to herself. “What the hell did you get me into this time?”

Talking to John was a habit she’d formed when the party had first come to her a mere two hours after his plane went down, asking her to take over his Senate seat. She’d wondered for six years now what prompted them to tap her in the first place, but she’d been so struck down with grief, so numb and helpless, that she’d been willing to agree to anything.

Really, what she’d been thinking most of all was that she would take the seat so that she could hold it for him. It was eight long days before they dragged his lifeless body from the depths of the Atlantic, and until that happened, she’d been convinced they’d find him alive. Because at the age of thirty-one and six weeks pregnant, Jessica hadn’t been able to fathom that her beautiful young husband was actually dead.

Her hand went automatically to her belly, remembering the way John had dipped his head and kissed the tender skin there so softly when they’d lain in bed the night she’d found out she was carrying their child.

“I hope it’s a girl,” he’d told her in the darkness of their bedroom.

“You’re supposed to say you don’t care as long as it’s healthy,” she chided, smiling at him.

“I know, and of course that’s true, but I do want to have a little girl I can teach to debate and fence, and raise to be the first woman president of the United States.”

She’d laughed then at her ambitious husband. He always had to up the ante. Simply raising a future president wouldn’t be enough for John; he had to raise the first woman president.

“Madam President?” The secretary’s voice over the intercom jolted her out of the reverie. Jessica put a hand to her face, discovering dampness there.

“Yes?” she answered as she frantically wiped away the evidence of her sorrow.

“You have a one-hour gap in your schedule, but your mother-in-law is here.”

Jessica sighed. Monday was shaping up to be a hell of a day.

“Okay, please ask her to wait five minutes, then show her in, and order up some coffee, and I need—”

“Doughnuts. Yes, ma’am, I’ve already requested them.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

“You look wan, Jess,” her mother-in-law said as she gave air kisses to each of Jessica’s cheeks.

“It’s nice to see you, Marjorie. What brings you into DC today?” Jessica had learned early on that it was easier to ignore John’s mother’s jabs than to address them. Marjorie meant well, she was just steeped in old-time Southern mothering, and that meant you were always too thin.

“I’m doing my annual fall shopping and decided I’d come to Julia Farr and Saks Jandel this year. I’ve tired of the relentless black and gray that they have in New York. I want to wear some damn color.”

Jessica tried to hide her smile as they sat on the love seats in the Oval Office.

“Well, I’ve heard the new fall pieces at Julia Farr are beautiful. I’m sure you’ll find something perfect.”

Marjorie poured herself a cup of coffee and smiled at the doughnuts. “Oh good, eat two of these. You’ll perk right up.” She plated two chocolate glazed and thrust them at Jessica, who was only too happy to oblige and eat them both.

“Now, as much as I love you, you know I didn’t come by simply to say hello.”

Jessica smiled politely around a mouthful of doughnut.

“I’m sure you know that John’s fortieth birthday is coming up,” Marjorie continued, setting down her cup of coffee untouched.

Jessica swallowed a mouthful of doughnut, suddenly doubting that her usual sugar therapy was going to get her through this conversation.

“John senior and I have been talking, and we thought that it would be a wonderful tribute if we could plan something here at the White House. A day of remembrance, maybe have some speakers on the South Lawn, some of his colleagues from the Senate who served with him. It would be wonderful if his former chief of staff could describe what’s happened with some of John’s favorite initiatives. I think it would be a lovely way to remind the country of the hope that John gave them, don’t you?”

Jessica’s heart plummeted. As much as she missed him every day, as much as she had loved him, she didn’t want to spend yet another one of his birthdays wallowing in the memories. She’d been okay with it in the past. The Hamptons had an event at their farm in South Carolina every year on John’s birthday, a low-key evening of music, dinner, and some impromptu speeches about John and his life. His sister Lisanne and her family always came, along with some old college friends of John’s, and a couple of law school classmates that he and Jessica had spent time with.

But this, this was something entirely different. It was also the same month as Jessica’s own birthday, and she realized in that moment that she didn’t want to share it with her dead husband.

She cleared her throat, trying to think of how to disappoint a woman who had lost her child and wouldn’t ever get past it. Jessica could only imagine the kind of pain Marjorie felt when she woke every morning to remember her firstborn was no longer on the earth with her. Jessica knew how much it hurt to lose a child before you’d even met her. She couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to lose one you’d known for thirty-four years.

“Marjorie,” she said softly, “I think it’s a lovely idea, but I don’t know that it’s entirely appropriate.”

Her mother-in-law looked at her, somewhat startled.

“There were several other people who died in that plane, and they aren’t getting special events at the White House.”

“Well then, we’ll include them—it will be somewhat odd since it won’t be their birthdays, but we can certainly speak about them too, invite their families. John would have liked that.”

John would have hated this whole idea, Jessica thought. Because John knew that once you were gone, you were gone, and all those you left behind could do was scratch and claw their way through each day, trying not to miss you so much that it made their stomachs ache.

“Even, then. I don’t think it’s wise for me to use the White House for something that’s so personal.”

“It isn’t personal.” Marjorie’s voice rose an octave. “He was a public servant. And he was on that damn plane on government business.” Her eyes filled. “The entire nation lost one of its young heroes that day. They owe him a day of recognition for everything he gave to them—for everything they took from us.”

Marjorie’s Southern manners wouldn’t allow her to let those tears fall, but Jessica could see it was taking everything the woman had to maintain control.

“Maybe we can do something in private here at the White House? I could ask the gardening staff to put a memorial together. A plaque in the Rose Garden maybe? John always loved your gardens.” She reached out and squeezed the older woman’s hand, waiting for Marjorie to regain control of her emotions.

As her mother-in-law nodded rapidly, gaze on her cup of coffee, Jessica remembered every time they’d been in this same position. Marjorie’s grief was so powerful that it overwhelmed nearly every wish and desire Jessica had. It had been like this since he died. Just as Jessica thought she might be ready to move on, Marjorie would appear and pull her under again. With the grief, with the guilt, with the obligations.

Marjorie finally looked up at Jessica. “I know you’re right,” she said, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “And I’m sorry I came charging in here with the whole thing—it’s John senior.” She paused, clearing her throat. “Jess, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer last week.”

Jessica’s heart plunged like an anchor in a lake. She moved around the coffee table to sit next to her mother-in-law, putting an arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry. What’s the prognosis?”

Marjorie took a shuddering breath, exhaling and relaxing into Jessica’s hold. “They’re going to operate, and then they’ll know better if it’s metastasized. From what they can tell from the scans, it seems to be contained, but they can’t know for sure until they get inside.”

Jessica forced the cup of coffee into Marjorie’s hand and continued to rub her back as she took sips of the warm liquid. “Then that’s a very good prognosis. They’ve made amazing advances in treatments for that form of cancer. He’s going to come through this. And you. Are going to come through this.”

“How do you do it?” Marjorie asked, looking into Jessica’s eyes now. “How do you manage it? Getting up every day and facing life without your husband? The idea of life without John senior is more than I can handle.”

“It isn’t, because you’re an amazingly strong woman, but you won’t need to be, because he’s going to be fine.” She gave the older woman a kiss on the forehead before standing. “I’ll have the scheduling staff see when I can come to the farm for a couple of days to visit. Let them know when the surgery is, and I’ll try to come right afterwards. I’ll also let the Surgeon General’s office know John senior’s doctor will be calling to make sure he has access to the most up-to-date information and procedures for the treatment plan. If there are any trials going on, the Surgeon General can get that information to him.”

Marjorie stood, looking back to her tough-as-nails self already. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Jess.” She grabbed the president and hugged her tight. “We were so blessed the day John brought you into our lives.”

Jessica swallowed down the regret that worked its way up her throat. Regret that she so often resented her in-laws, regret that in the end she couldn’t give them the one thing they wanted most in the world—their son, alive and well—and regret that every time she tried to make their lives better she seemed to make her own harder.

“As was I,” she said, disentangling herself from Marjorie and leading her to the door. “Make sure to stop and give the scheduling staff that information.”

Marjorie gave her more air kisses and left the office in a whirl of hair spray and Chanel, but before Jessica could make it back to her desk, the intercom was buzzing to announce the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It was another day in the life of America’s president, and if she could live through losing her husband, she could live through this.

* * *

Kamal had been at the Powerplay condo for a full ten minutes when Teague finally arrived.

“Nice of you to join me,” Kamal snarked as his friend wandered in and headed to the bar.

“It’s been a hell of a day,” Teague grunted, pouring himself a generous slug of gin.

“Tell me about it,” Kamal echoed, holding up his own large tumbler of whiskey.

Teague leaned on the pool table where he could watch Kamal in the facing leather armchair. “You’re being pretty damned hard on Derek,” he said without preamble.

Kamal rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “He’s ruining his fucking career over a prostitute. Am I supposed to simply ignore that and facilitate his crash and burn?”

Teague sipped his drink thoughtfully. “I think you’re supposed to support him because he’s been your best friend since you were eighteen.”

“Well, if supporting him means encouraging him to act like an utter fool, then count me out.”

Teague shook his head and took another long drink. “So why am I here? I get the feeling it’s not to discuss Derek’s choices in women and career moves.”

“No, it’s to discuss the attempt on the president’s life.”

Teague whistled long and low. “You don’t waste words, my man. Did you see something that night? Get a hint of who it might be?”

Kamal stood and strode to the fireplace, where he leaned against the mantel as he talked.

“I told the president I would have my security staff look into it, so she gave us access to the evidence and I instructed my men to conduct an investigation in parallel to the one Homeland Security is doing.”

One of Teague’s dark eyebrows rose above an amber eye. “The president really authorized giving the Egyptian government access to the evidence?”

“Not the Egyptian government, my security detail, and while they are employed by the embassy, they are loyal to me and only me. The president knows I will ensure all information remains completely confidential. She also knows that I have access to information about Middle Eastern groups that the US might not.”

Teague nodded, seeming deep in thought for a moment. “And you’re going to tell me what you’ve found now?”

“Russian Bratva,” he announced.

Now both of Teague’s eyebrows worked their way into his hairline. “What in the world?”

“My thoughts exactly. But there is something else, and I am afraid the two things might be linked. If they are, I am up against a wall here.”

“Okay…”

“My father is ridiculously anxious for me to jettison this accord that I’m working on with the president. He calls me daily, pressuring me to tank the whole endeavor.”

“He hasn’t given you a reason?”

Kamal raised his glass in Teague’s direction before taking the final sip and setting it down on the mantel.

“He says something vague about business partners and trade issues. He also tells me President Abbas feels similarly but of course can’t express that in public. However, I sense something more significant is going on.”

“Has he ever done this before? Interjected himself in your embassy business?”

Kamal laughed bitterly. “My father would interject himself in anything that he felt like. He hasn’t shown this much interest or pushed this hard on anything in the past, but it’s certainly nothing new for him to pressure me about things in my life that shouldn’t concern him at all.”

“And do you think that these business associates he’s talking about are the Bratva?” Teague looked incredulous.

Sighing, Kamal paced the room. “It’s no secret that my father has a wide range of associates, some of whom aren’t upstanding citizens of any country. I’d like to think that he wouldn’t be asking me to risk my career—the same career that he’s wanted for me since I was a teenager—in order to pander to the wishes of Russian mobsters. My father is hardly without resources. I’d think he could stand up to some pressure from the Bratva. But the simple fact is, I don’t know.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me how to tie up my assets so that my father can’t get at them and so that he won’t know until it’s done.”

Kamal watched as Teague stared at him in shock. His friends didn’t know all the details, but they knew that his family’s finances were vast and that he never divulged anything about them, but now he was going to let Teague in on the dirty details of it all.

Teague blinked once, then twice before a smile slowly crawled across his face. Kamal knew that his friend loved nothing more than complex legal maneuverings of money. As one of the top corporate attorneys in the nation, Teague had tied up billions of dollars in neat little international bows more than once.

“And we’re doing this why…?” Teague prompted.

Kamal breathed deeply. “Because something in my gut tells me that bad things are coming, and that it’s long past time for me to make sure I can survive no matter what my father might or might not do.”

“Okay, then,” Teague said, setting his drink aside and sitting on the sofa as he pulled out his smartphone and began typing furiously with his thumbs. “Tell me where every dime is and how it’s structured. If we’re going to do this without him knowing, we need to have everything ready to go before we ever press a single button.”

Kamal grinned. He’d called the right man for the job. If he could separate his money from his father’s, there was at least a chance that he could escape the worst of the fallout. Kamal had always trusted his gut, and it was telling him that the accord, the shooting, the Bratva, and his father were all linked somehow, and when the connections became clear, Kamal was determined to be as far away from all of it as he could be.