Tate had discovered three things after following Sandra Cummings all day. One, she never wanted to be secretary of state. From downright petty drama to outright terror, what Sandra had to deal with would drive anyone crazy. Second, she was positive Sandra thrived in the chaos. She never lost her cool and never backed down. And third, Sandra’s right hand man, Thurmond Culpepper, was a little shit. No, he was a big stinky shit.

Thurmond had questioned Tate’s every move. He spoke to her as if she were a child. Then he had the audacity to order her to leave the room during a briefing with Senator Epps and others from the Foreign Affairs Committee when Tate had come across Thurmond and Epps talking in hushed whispers as they waited for Sandra. So, Tate had sent him to bring coffee and donuts to the group.

With Thurmond and his sleazy power-climbing ways out of the room, Tate was able to observe Sandra and Epps uninterrupted. Epps was clearly into the grandeur of his status as committee head and enjoyed interrupting Sandra. Meanwhile, Sandra took every opportunity to remind Epps that he was “just a senator” and not privy to all the intelligence and negotiations she was. The rest of the senators seemed to see this childish behavior loosely hidden under overly proper manners as annoying as Tate did. So, she had taken the opportunity to talk to the other staffers as Epps and Sandra postured.

Tate had learned that no one liked Thurmond. They thought Sandra was a good boss but gave Thurmond too much power. One swore that Epps had once been caught snooping in Sandra’s office when she wasn’t there.

At four o’clock, Tate excused herself from listening in on a meeting between Sandra and the Japanese ambassador. She made a quick stop at the mall and picked up a wig, glasses, and a new outfit. She wore high platform heels hidden under long, wide-legged pants. Her newly highlighted blonde hair was covered with a short-cropped black wig, and she sported large white-rimmed sunglasses that covered the majority of her face.

Tate used eyeliner to draw a cute beauty mark on her cheek before getting into her car and driving toward Claudia’s posh community. She parked her car in a nearby carpool lot and began to walk. Tate didn’t care what Dalton said, Claudia didn’t have any sinister plan to take her out this morning. Claudia always looked out for herself and would never get her hands dirty. Tate walked around the back of Claudia’s house. If Humphrey could use the Internet to learn how to pick a lock, so could she.

Tate followed the video instructions and the door swung open. The alarm sounded and she raced to find it. She knew she had a couple of minutes before the police arrived, but she didn’t want any neighbors stopping by. When she found the source of the siren, she bashed it with a lamp. Tate stood up and looked around the house. It was covered with pictures of Claudia and her various awards. She had a shrine to herself.

Tate hurried from room to room until she found the downstairs office. She opened her oversized purse and grabbed anything that looked important, including Claudia’s laptop. Tate went upstairs and into the bedroom as the alarm company called the house. She opened the nightstand, found a notebook, and stuffed it into her purse. Sirens could be heard in the distance, so Tate stuffed jewelry and anything small and valuable into her bag as well, tossing everything in her path to the ground. It was shocking how little time was needed to ransack a house.

With a smile, Tate grabbed one of the awards and threw it into the flat screen with a satisfying crash. Tate was out the back door and slipping through the narrow driveways before the police even showed up. She stepped onto the sidewalk two blocks over and slowly walked toward her car as adrenaline raced through her system. She’d never done anything like that before in her life. As she got into her car, her clear latex-glove-covered hands were shaking.

She drove toward Claudia’s house, tossing the stolen jewelry into an open trashcan before she parked in a neighbor’s driveway with a For Sale sign in the yard. Police were swarming the house and the neighbors who were home all huddled together. Tate slipped off her gloves and strode over to the neighbors.

“What happened?” Tate asked as she joined the small cluster of women.

“Robbery,” one of them said, eyeing Tate.

Tate gasped. “Well, I’m calling my realtor right now, excuse me.” Tate held the phone to her ear as she took a small step away. “Hi. I’m at the house on Lancaster. The house across the street was just robbed. Don’t even bother setting up a showing. Okay, thanks.”

“You were looking to buy Sue’s house?” a lady who looked as if she’d just returned from the local tennis club asked as soon as Tate put her phone away.

“I was. Not anymore. I’m not moving into a dangerous neighborhood.”

The women shook their heads. “This is the first robbery. It’s a great neighborhood, really. It’s just that, you know, there’s always one neighbor.” The woman with the cat-patterned leggings laughed.

“Oh, what does the owner do? Is he into drugs? Could this be a drug deal gone wrong?” Tate gasped.

“Well, I’m not one to spread gossip,” the tennis player said as she lowered her voice, “but that house is owned by Claudia Hughes, the reporter. I’ve seen men over there at all hours of the night.”

Cat Leggings nodded. “There’s this one flashy guy who was there yesterday. They got into a huge fight. It was so loud it scared my cats.”

The silent mom of the sleeping baby in the stroller finally joined in. “He had to be a dealer. Who drives a flashy car like that in DC? We’re all black limos and sedans. And I don’t wish bad things to happen to people, but I love karma right now.”

“That bad, huh?” Tate asked in a conspiratorially tone.

“She’s a power-hungry slut.” The mom seethed.

“You have to explain why or you just sound bitter,” Cat Leggings said gently.

New Mom took a deep breath. “Sorry. See, my soon-to-be ex-husband works at the White House. He’s on the Secret Service’s presidential detail. As soon as Claudia found out, she was on him like—” New Mom closed her eyes and did several cleansing breaths. “Well, six weeks ago I went into labor at one in the morning. I couldn’t get hold of Peter so I figured President Stratton had a late night. I called Irene”—Cat Leggings nodded, so she must be Irene—“to take me to the hospital. I came downstairs and went out the front door after leaving a note for Peter inside. I had just locked my door when I heard someone laugh. I turned around and looked across the street to find Peter coming out of that woman’s house tucking in his shirt as she was draped all over him. He kissed her, and his hands disappeared under her nighty. I would have yelled his name, but my water broke right then. Irene here saw the whole thing and got me bundled into the car as she rained down curses on them both.”

“It was horrible. No respect,” Irene said, shaking her head.

“Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry. She’s horrible! Why would she want your husband when it sounds as if she has men over here all the time?” Tate asked as she looked down at the newborn sound asleep in the stroller. Her heart broke for the poor woman and child.

“Well, Peter used to tell me things about his job. I know he’s not supposed to, but he did. And then the next night, I was in the hospital watching television as I recovered from giving birth, and Claudia was doing a story on exactly what Peter had told me was confidential—word for word. It was the story about how upset First Lady Mitchell was about President Stratton ruining her husband’s legacy. Well, Peter had been on duty when Mrs. Mitchell had told President Stratton he wasn’t to change a thing in the White House, including personnel. But now it doesn’t matter. She can get all the stories from him she wants. I filed for divorce a week later. He didn’t even fight me on it. Sometimes I still see him over there.” New Mom teared up and Tate wanted to give her a hug.

“See, the neighborhood is perfectly safe,” Irene said as she and Tennis Player wrapped their arms around New Mom. “It’s just one bad apple. We’d love to have you here. I hope you’ll still consider looking at the house.”

Tate smiled at them sincerely. “Thank you for telling me this. It does make me feel better about the neighborhood.”

A loud engine sounded in the quiet street as a bright yellow luxury sports car roared around the corner.

“Here’s man number two,” Irene said with a roll of her eyes.

The car slid to a stop behind a police cruiser. The door opened, and Tate felt her eyes go wide behind the dark sunglasses. Fitz slid out of the car and stood to get a look around.

“He’s the man Claudia got in a fight with?” Tate asked as she turned to look at the baby when Fitz looked their direction.

“He’s the one. Claudia had her windows opened when we were on our walk. They were arguing about some interview she was doing. She was screaming that she was tired of doing what she was told and wanted to ask her own questions. She was the talent after all,” Tennis Player said, nodding to New Mom.

“She said she wanted more since she was giving up her own stories,” New Mom said with a roll of her eyes.

Irene nodded. “I live next door and also had my windows open. The man slammed his hand on something so hard the sound caused my poor babies to leap away from the window.”

Tate watched silently as the women talked about Claudia and speculated who the man was. Fitz was stopped at the door to the house. He talked with the officers for a moment and then walked back to his car. He sent a message on his phone before driving away.

“Well, thank you so much for talking to me today. It’s always nice to know you have good neighbors looking out for you.” Tate smiled at them and headed to her car.

“Alex?” Tate asked as the phone was picked up. “Did Claudia just receive a text?”

“Dude, are you like, psychic?” Alex asked as Tate put him on speaker and headed back to the White House to do more research.

“What did it say?”

“It was sent from the number that sent information about shooting at The Knox. It said that her jewelry and other small electronics had been stolen. How—?” Alex asked before Tate stopped him.

“I know who that unknown number is. It’s Fitz Houlihan,” Tate said, smiling. Pieces were clicking together for her. She just had a couple more things to look into.

“Her agent? Why would he go through such trouble to have a secure line that’s untraceable?” Alex wondered.

“That is a good question, isn’t it?”

Valeria took a deep breath as she walked into the lobby of SA Tech. An elegant young lady smiled up at her. “Good afternoon. I’m Coco, may I help you?”

“Yes, I need to see Sebastian Abel.”

The woman looked at her as if she were the stupidest person on Earth. “Mr. Abel doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. I’m sorry.”

Valeria smiled back and her lips quirked as the girl flinched back. “He’ll see me. Show him my picture.” Valeria turned to the nearest security camera and flicked it off.

“I don’t care who you are, you don’t show up here without an appointment,” the woman who would haunt Valeria’s dreams as a strict librarian said the second the elevator doors opened to Sebastian’s private floor.

“Will you show me how to do that?” Valeria asked, walking right by her.

“What?”

“How you’ve perfected that resting bitch face. I’m in awe, truly. You have a gift.” Valeria thought she heard a chuckle behind her, but when she looked around the woman had a look that could make Satan apologize. “God, you’re good.” Valeria winked and opened the doors to the office.

“It’s okay, Judith,” Sebastian said coolly from behind his massive desk. He waited for the door to close before speaking to Val.

“Well, this is a surprise. What can I do for you, former DEA Agent McGregor?”

“Aw, I feel special. You’ve looked into me.” Val took a seat on the leather chair across from Sebastian.

“You’re a special woman.” Valeria felt Sebastian’s eyes travel over her body.

“You know what turns me on?” Valeria asked seductively as she leaned forward, allowing him a good look at her cleavage.

“I’m all ears,” Sebastian said, his voice a low rumble that Valeria had to admit was sexy.

“Private jets. I need one in the next hour.”

“Where are we going?” Sebastian asked.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I need to make a quick trip to L.A. I’m sure your pilot will tell you anyway when he learns of our flight.” Valeria sat back and grinned at him. She liked powerful men. She liked toying with them—seeing what it was about them that made them tick. It was why she was so good at finding and then taking down drug cartels. She didn’t bother with the bottom feeders. She went straight for the top.

Sebastian kept his dark gray eyes on her as if searching for an answer. Finally he blinked, and his face relaxed. “As it happens, I am on my way to L.A. this afternoon.” Before Valeria could protest, Sebastian pressed the intercom. “Judith, have my jet ready to leave for L.A. in one hour.”

“Aw, you’re anxious for my company. I’m flattered.” Valeria tried to get a read on Sebastian. She didn’t fight it because so far everything was going according to her plan. She wanted Sebastian on that plane with her because his name kept coming up in her digging, and she wanted to find out why.

Tate pulled up Tinselgossip.com and found the email for tips. It only took twenty minutes for the nontraceable phone Alex had gotten her to ring.

“Hello, Jane? This is Brent Eller.”

Tate smiled to herself as she moved to close her office door. “Oh, my god! The Brent Eller?” Tate squealed.

The man chuckled. “Sure is. We received your tip on Fitz Houlihan. You know, he’s a very powerful man. If we are to run a story, then we need more than just your tip that he’s sleeping with a client. Shit, this is Hollywood, everyone sleeps with everyone.”

“And yet you, the Brent Eller, are calling me,” Tate said, pitching her voice higher and talking quickly.

“Yes, because it’s a story we haven’t had before. I may run a gossip site, but I still believe in printing the truth,” Brent told her seriously.

“Then I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Eller. I’ll get you stories, with proof, and you get me every rumor and fact you have on a couple of people.” Tate held her breath.

“Okay. Show me what you’ve got. If it’s good, I’ll get you what you want.” Tate silently pumped her fist in the air as she reined in her excitement. “Let me give you my private email to send the story to.”

Tate wrote down the email and took a breath. “I’ll send it to you sometime in the next couple of days. In the meantime, I want you to start gathering every tip, rumor, photo, and article on Claudia Hughes, Kerra Ruby, and Fitz Houlihan. You’ll be getting this information anyway on what I’ll be sending you. And I want your agreement that if our arrangement works for you, I’ll continue to feed you information if you help me in return.”

The line was quiet, and Tate worried she’d pushed it too far too fast. “I would ask who you are, but I have a feeling, since I already ran a trace on your number and got the result that no such number exists, that you won’t tell me. I do know you’re not some airhead who wants to be the next big Hollywood star like so many of these little party girls who try to sell me stories about the celebrities they sleep with. Want to give me any hints?”

“Sorry, Brent. But I believe we’ll be great partners in exposing the truth. That is, if you think you can handle it,” Tate challenged.

“Of course, I can handle it. I’ve reported the worst of the worst that Hollywood has been responsible for. I think I can handle some little story on Mr. Hot Shot Agent. Or is there more?” Brent asked, all his attention on Tate.

Tate laughed. “There’s so much more. You have my number. Don’t give it to anyone, or I’ll be forced to cut off the flow of information to you. I’ll be in touch.”

Tate hung up, and with shaking hands, sat back in her chair. One contact made, one more to go. She blew out a deep breath, shook her hands out, and got to work sending the email to Flint Scott. One Pulitzer journalist, one fired television reporter, and one gossip reporter were about to take on the international media, and only one of them knew this war was about to be waged.