“Dude, you look like you’ve been run over by a car,” Alex said as he handed Lizzy a new cell phone. Her other one had been smashed when she’d been thrown off the roof of the SUV.

“Close,” Lizzy snarked back. “The Sargents need new identities and a cabin in Canada—a place fit to write a book. And romantic,” Lizzy said. Jeff was a typical reporter, but Mrs. Sargent had found a soft spot within Lizzy.

“No problem-o,” Alex said, firing up the portable printing press he kept in his trunk. “Private jet?”

“Definitely. And make them Canadian citizens so we can just drop them into the country without having to worry about immigration issues,” Lizzy said. The image of Jeff screaming as he was pushed out of a plane brought a smile to her face.

“I’m on it,” Alex said as he left to take pictures of the Sargents.

Lizzy got to work on the car. She stripped and scraped all VIN numbers off and burned the license plate and anything with any possible identification on it. An hour later, Lizzy’s vision had gotten better, but her headache was getting worse as she put the SUV into Drive and placed a cinderblock on the gas pedal. The SUV accelerated before leaping into the Potomac and sinking out of sight.

“Miss? Ma’am? Goodness, I don’t know what to call you,” Mrs. Sargent laughed. “Is it okay to give you a hug?”

“Of course.” Lizzy smiled as she was wrapped in a motherly hug. It felt so good that Lizzy was afraid she’d never want to let go.

“Thank you for saving us. For giving us a beautiful place to live. And for giving us new identities. I always thought Iris was a pretty name, so that suits me well. I don’t know what you’re up against. Jeff told me his theory but whatever it is, it’s evil. You swooped in from the sky like an angel. So every night I will send a prayer to my own angel. I wish you the strength and the goodness to defeat what you’re up against.”

“Thank you, Iris,” Lizzy said as she swelled with pride. She had someone praying for her. And right now she needed all the help she could get.

Mrs. Sargent, now Iris Sallies, walked back to her husband as Alex approached. “I got them all set. Do I need to take you with me?”

“No. I have someone coming to pick us up,” Lizzy said, looking to where the man was tied up. He had begun to groan about ten minutes earlier. However, his eyes had yet to open.

“Okay. Are you sure it’s safe to leave you here?” Alex asked. “Oh, right. You’re you. Got it. I’m taking the Sargents to an airport in West Virginia. I’ll be back this evening.”

Lizzy surprised herself by reaching out to Alex and wrapping him in a hug. “Thank you.”

“Dude,” Alex said, his cheeks bright with a blush as he walked to his car and drove off with the Sargents.

It didn’t take much longer for the sound of another engine to reach her. Lizzy turned from where she was watching the river flowing out to the ocean to see the old 4Runner bounce into view.

The big SUV came to a stop, the door opened, and a prosthetic leg came into view first as Jason Wolski got out. The man was a giant—all muscles, broad shoulders, and pain. He’d just buried his wife because of his involvement with Lizzy, and she was surprised he agreed to come.

“Got another one for me?” Jason’s deep voice boomed off the abandoned building.

“Hi, Jason. Thank you for coming. I know how hard—”

“I’m glad you called,” he said, cutting her off. His face was covered in what might become a beard, but now just looked as if he hadn’t bothered to shave since Michelle was killed by Phylicia during her ill-fated attempt of escaping the Wolskis’ farm. “I need to be doing something.”

Lizzy didn’t hug him, though she wanted to. Everything about his posture said he didn’t want any sympathy. She remembered the feeling. The feelings of despair didn’t disappear simply because she found out her fiancé had faked his death.

“This is an assassin/all-round handy man for Mollia Domini. I need a ride close to Quantico and then I need you to take him to your farm if you’re willing,” Lizzy said as she whispered a quiet thanks for strong men. Jason easily slung the man over his shoulder.

“You got it.” Jason dropped the man in the back and made sure he was securely bound before covering him with a tarp. “What do you want me to do with him?”

Lizzy got in the front with Jason. “Whatever you want. I just want to know what he knows. If you don’t feel like doing—”

“Nope, I’m good. I’ll call if I get anything.”

“Then you’ll need this.” Lizzy set a phone in the cup holder. “It’s secure. Our numbers are in it. Only use this phone if you need to contact us. Destroy it if you think it’s been compromised and we’ll get you a new one. Welcome to the group.”

“Got it,” Jason grunted, putting the SUV in gear and driving off.

Dalton moved silently through the White House. The VIPs were restricted to the middle of the first floor, which was swarmed by Secret Service and Marines. People were coming and going from the Red and Green rooms that surrounded the oval-shaped Blue Room and all had views of the South Lawn.

The Cross Hall was filled with people milling from room to room, but it was the Entrance Hall that Dalton was interested in. A minute before, Senator Epps had brushed back his graying hair, looked around the Blue Room, and then slowly strolled out into the hallway. Instead of going to a neighboring room, he made a beeline for the entrance area.

Dalton followed at a distance. Epps looked around once again before going out the front door of the White House. He disappeared off the North Portico and Dalton hurried to a window to see where he was going. Pretending to take in the artwork so the agents and Marines wouldn’t be suspicious, Dalton looked outside and saw that Epps wasn’t leaving. He was meeting someone.

A car had pulled up to the left of the covered entrance. Epps was leaning through an open window, talking to the driver. He looked frustrated as he shook his head at the driver. A minute later, the car took off and Epps turned back to the White House.

Dalton strode out of the Entrance Hall before Epps returned. He needed to find out who was in that car. He pulled out his phone and saw the flurry of notifications. Shit, he’d had it on silent so no one would notice him. A phone going off at the wrong time was a perfect way to get noticed.

One of the notifications was for a missed call. He pulled up his call log and saw that Lizzy had phoned him—no message. Whenever anyone left a message on the secure messaging system, an exclamation point appeared on Dalton’s screen. He pulled up the secure messaging and felt the blood drain from his face as he read. Jeff Sargent was in trouble. Lizzy was going after him. Crew was assisting. And then there was the message from Crew. Lizzy injured. Sargents are secure. She needs evacuation and help at place Phylicia was taken. Suspect in custody.

Dalton scrolled down and saw that Alex had responded. Then, nothing else appeared on the list. Dalton called Lizzy’s phone, but the number was disconnected. Dalton hurried from the hall out of the Blue Room and onto the South Portico. He scanned the crowd until he found Tate. She was still plastering that damn smile as she talked to people. Humphrey was at the bottom of the stairs, talking to a couple of congressmen, and when he looked up, he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. No, Dalton couldn’t talk to them. There could be no public contact between them.

Epps walked past and Dalton was left with only one choice—do his job. He entered a message, Status Update, and then followed Epps. All the while his heart was pounding for information on Lizzy. They had said their relationship wouldn’t interfere with their work, but Dalton knew better. He loved her. There was no way his feelings wouldn’t interfere. He knew his job, and he’d do it. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be worried sick until he heard from her.

Dalton checked his phone every five minutes. Finally, as he watched Epps and the committee head for national intelligence talking, he received the notification on his phone. He pulled up the system and looked around. Humphrey was similarly on his phone, as was Tate, their faces all set to show impassiveness.

Old phone destroyed. This is my new number. I’m all right. Banged up from being tossed off the roof of an SUV. Jason is with me. He’s driving me back to Quantico so I can get cleaned up. Crew is returning the helicopter he borrowed and then bringing me my car. Humphrey, you can open the interstate now. Jason will take the suspect to his farm. He’s connected via a phone Alex gave him. He’ll notify us if he learns anything. Alex is transporting the Sargents out of the country. Mission accomplished.

Dalton wanted to sigh with relief. Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them, he saw that Epps was agitated. His hand movements were stiff and aggressive before he leaned forward with his finger pointed in the face of the congressman. Epps stormed off a minute later. It appeared he was having a very bad day.

Tate didn’t know how, but as she stood surrounded by people, she felt utterly alone. Birch touched her arm to get her attention and she flinched. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Birch said softly. “I’m good here. You’ve withstood everything they’ve thrown at you. Why don’t you go back upstairs and relax before tonight? I’ll be up in about an hour.”

Relief made Tate almost weak-kneed. “Okay. I think I’ve given them all the gossip they need.” Tate turned to leave, and her two guards followed her. She kept a smile on her face as she climbed up the stairs to the portico. She made her way through the Blue Room, waving and talking to people on her way.

Tate walked past Sandra and Thurmond and almost stopped when she heard Thurmond gleefully say, “Now we know how she got on the news. She screwed the most powerful Hollywood agent, who probably called in a favor. And now we know how she got her job as press secretary, too. I’m sure it was handy there was no wife to dupe. What a joke,” he snickered.

Tate sucked in her breath and kept walking. She would not cry. Not in front of any of these people.

Finally. Tate collapsed on her bed and kicked off her shoes. Now she could cry. Her guards had checked the residence, and after declaring it clear, had gone to wait at the bottom of the exits. As soon as Tate took a shaky breath to allow the tears to come, she heard some of the staff walking around. She needed privacy. She needed peace, if even for just a couple of minutes.

Tate peered around her door, and the second the hall was clear, she darted for the stairs leading to the third floor. She strolled around looking at the small bedrooms, the larger suites, a workout room, and what she really came for—the solarium. She entered the room and sounds of talking coming from the linen room disappeared. When Tate closed the door, she found the peace she was searching for.

The room had a large rectangular window directly in front of her with two equal-sized windows at a slight angle to each side. This was the true escape for those living in the White House. Extended family would stay on the third floor when they came to visit, plus there was a billiards room as well. But it was this room that Tate had wanted to see. It was filled with Birch. Not the president, not even the Birch from the second floor, but the real Birch. An Army blanket was flung over an overstuffed leather chair with an ottoman. It was clear Birch liked to sit there to watch football on the large television. Books were scattered on the table and the couches were made for comfort, not for display.

The sun shone through the windows and Tate could see lounge chairs outside on the promenade. If she desired, she could walk around to the greenhouse or simply sunbathe. But it was the leather chair and the Army blanket that smelled of Birch she wanted. Tate sank into the chair. She wrapped the blanket around her and felt her body finally relax. Her muscles ached from standing tense all afternoon. The relief allowed the tears to finally fall. And as she cried, Tate finally drifted off to sleep.