“Who the hell are you, and what the are you doing in my apartment?” Secret Service Agent Brock Loyde asked as he held his gun to the bald head of the tiny man asleep in the recliner.

The little man snorted and startled himself awake. He blinked as he turned to look at Brock and wipe a dribble of drool from the corner of his mouth. Brock had just come home for the evening when he’d heard snoring coming from his small living room. He’d pulled his gun and crept into his apartment only to find a middle-aged bald man with black wire-rimmed glasses asleep in his favorite chair.

“Oh, so sorry. I tried not to fall asleep this time. Brock Loyde, I presume?” the little man asked, not looking at all concerned by the fact a gun was pointed inches from his head.

“I asked who the hell you are and how did you get into my apartment?” Brock repeated, his voice cold and hard as he looked at the intruder.

The man chuckled, seemingly amused. “You would think after doing this three times I would remember to introduce myself. But, I’ve got to tell you, when I picked my first lock after watching how to on the Internet, it seemed to take forever. Now it’s a cinch.”

Brock felt his mouth drop open. “Who are you?”

“Humphrey Orville, and I need to have a word with you if you don’t mind putting down the gun. Although you’re nicer than the person who recommended you to me. She about killed me. The other one with the umbrella was unnerving, but she was my first so I was pretty nervous already.”

Brock blinked. He had no idea what to think of this . . . wait a second. “Humphrey Orville? The chief of staff for President Stratton?” No, that couldn’t be right. Brock would have been notified if a dignitary such as Orville were in town.

“That’s me. You were personally recommended for guarding the president.”

Keeping the gun aimed at the little man, Brock pulled out his cell phone. Using voice command, he searched Humphrey Orville’s name and sure enough a picture of the man sitting in his recliner was the same man pictured standing next to President Stratton in the Oval Office.

“But I haven’t asked for a presidential detail, and I do a lot more here. I’m not made for standing around,” Brock told him as he wondered how the man got into the country without him knowing. Someone was going to get his ass chewed out when he got to work tomorrow. “When did you arrive?”

Orville smiled. “Not two hours ago.”

“How did you get past customs without being flagged?” Brock asked. The second Orville swiped his passport when he arrived, a message would have been sent to Brock’s office.

“I used a fake passport. No one can know I was here. As I said, I need to interview you for a job with the president. There will be standing around, but so much more.”

“You committed a crime.”

Orville held up his hand to cut Brock off. “So much more. No one can know I’m here because there’s an elite group you were recommended for that operates outside the law and at the president’s discretion. Now, have you ever heard of Mollia Domini?”

Brock stood quietly as Orville talked. Puzzle pieces of things he’d seen during his time working in the same offices as INTERPOL began to click into place. As the picture came into focus, it became frighteningly clear that Orville was telling the truth.

Brock collapsed onto his couch as he looked in disbelief at Orville. “I knew something was going on, but this? You know it sounds crazy, right? A group of powerful people banding together to force the world’s hand from behind the scenes?”

“Is it really crazy? There’s been a yearly meeting of the world’s most powerful players as part of the Bilderberg Group for the past sixty plus years. Now Mollia Domini has taken it one step further. We don’t know exactly what they want, but we know they are manipulating world events, including assassinations, elections, arming rebels, and causing trouble in the South China Sea. Now, are you ready to do what’s right and help us fight them?” Mr. Orville asked with more seriousness and backbone than Brock thought the little man had.

“Who recommended me?” Brock asked before answering Mr. Orville. He supposed it didn’t matter, this was the whole reason he joined the Secret Service. He already knew he’d take the job protecting the president from this group and help in any other way he could.

“Um,” the little man said, suddenly looking flustered, “Valeria McGregor.”

Brock wasn’t expecting that name. Val had been his college sweetheart. They broke up when he went into the Secret Service and she went into the DEA. “Country first” had been their motto.

“If it makes your decision any easier, she recommended you because she said you were the best, and she wanted me to tell you she has no interest in a relationship with you.” Mr. Orville then turned a deeper shade red. “Then she might have said something, um, very colorful about you being an idiot if you didn’t join the group.”

Brock chuckled. He could imagine the colorful language Val used. Some Puerto Rican and Gaelic cuss words were probably thrown in for good measure. “I’m in. What now?”

“Oh good!” Mr. Orville smiled. “Not a thing. You never talked to me. I’ll take care of everything, and you’ll be stateside in a matter of days.”

Brock stood as the chief of staff scrambled from the recliner and held out his hand. “It’s great to have you aboard. You will report to the president, but a woman by the name of Elizabeth James is the leader of the small group. She’ll be your point. We’re an interesting bunch, Agent Loyde, and I’m sure Dalton will be thrilled to have another man around to help. Right now he’s trying to protect our three agents: Elizabeth, Valeria, though she doesn’t need much protecting, and Tate Carlisle.”

Brock shook his head. “The press secretary is the third agent?”

“Don’t underestimate her. She doesn’t know her own strength yet, but she holds a different sort of power than you and I do. She’ll discover it soon.” Mr. Orville looked at his watch. “Any minute, in fact. And call me Humphrey, they all do.”

Humphrey held out his hand and Brock shook it. “I’ll see you soon,” Humphrey said before showing himself out the door. Brock looked around the small apartment. Well, he might as well start packing. He wanted to be ready for the States, and for Valeria.

Tate wanted to collapse onto the bed in her corner-room suite, but instead she popped two ibuprofens and waited for the knock at her door. She’d gotten two hours of sleep before she’d hurried to slap on more concealer than any one person should wear. She was about to stand in front of the firing squad that consisted of her former colleagues. Freaking BBN had been pushing the story of the dollar weakening due to President Stratton’s support of a nonexistent coup overseas.

Tired, pissed, and having spent a ton of money to pay someone to put her house back together since she was too afraid to go back there herself, Tate had lost her temper. Well, as much as any Southern belle from Georgia did. A slow smile had spread across her face and suddenly her accent, which had been beaten out of her at the networks, started to come through as she blessed their hearts and told them to get their facts straight.

Then she’d had to explain her behavior from the press conference to Birch. While he’d understood, he reminded Tate that she still had to be professional. Right now being professional was exhausting. And now, instead of crawling into bed and forgetting this horrendous day, Tate had to go see Claudia at BBN. She had to face the viper and get the bitch to agree to an interview with the president, all the while giving Alex time to bug her electronics. It would make her day to take Claudia down. But to be fair, if Claudia hadn’t gotten Tate fired, she wouldn’t be working with the president and the team.

The sound of a knock had her groaning as she slid her feet back into her heels. When Tate opened the door, she gasped. “Alex? Is that you?”

Tate walked to the front door of BBN’s international headquarters in Washington, DC, unnerved by Alex walking slightly behind her shoulder. Gone was the shaggy hair, it was gelled back into a hipster half-ponytail. Normally clean-shaven, his scruff had grown into the beginnings of a beard. He was wearing thick bright-green-framed glasses with a hot pink bowtie. Gone were the baggy clothes and in their place were fitted slacks, loafers, and a paisley dress shirt. What really had weirded Tate out was the fact that Alex hadn’t said dude since he picked her up.

Tate took one last deep breath as Alex moved to open the glass door leading into the lobby. Plastering on her best happy smile, she walked through the open door and into the busy lobby. She strode straight toward the welcome center and let her smile widen as she saw Marge, the gatekeeper.

“Marge! It’s so good to see you again. How is the family? Did your son get that football scholarship?” Tate asked as if she were still working there.

Marge looked up and blinked in recognition before a genuine smile broke out. “Tate! Oh, it’s good to see you again. That’s so kind of you to ask. He did, and he’ll be starting college this fall. We’re very proud. But what about you, Miss Press Secretary?”

Marge stood up and leaned across the counter to give Tate a hug.

Tate chuckled as Alex kept behind her. “I’m good. Thanks. I’m actually here to see Larry. Is he in the studio?”

“Let me check. Is this business or personal?” Marge asked, slipping back into her chair and reaching for her headset.

“Business.”

“Give me one sec,” Marge said as she dialed an extension.

So far, so good.

“Buzz me through, will you?”

Tate sucked in a breath as she heard that deep voice walking toward her from behind. What was he doing here? Tate turned and saw Fitz Houlihan’s overstyled hair bent over the cell phone he rarely put down. Not that the most powerful talent agent out of Los Angeles would ever put down his lifeline to his clients, or more specifically, to his clients’ money. Fitz was rude, ruthless, and everything mothers warned their daughters about. He was a flashy, money-hungry agent whom Tate had fallen madly in love with when she had met with him to see if he would represent her.

What could Tate say; she had been young and dumb. Fitz had been the older, wiser, sexy man who’d promised her fame and fortune. And he’d delivered, until she was fired by BBN. When Tate was fired, she not only lost her job, but also her agent and lover. Not that they were exclusive. He lived on the West Coast after all. But that was the only kind of relationship she had time for. She wasn’t so naïve to think that she was the only client he was sleeping with, but it hurt all the same when he dumped her as a client and a lover via text.

“What’s taking so long—Tate?” Fitz asked, finally looking up from his phone. It was hard to tell if he blushed under his tan as his fake blue eyes focused on her. Yup, he had laser treatments to turn his brown eyes blue. He thought he would look more irresistible with his black hair if he had blue eyes. Unfortunately, it worked. Fitz was still as handsome as ever.

“Hello, Fitzy,” Tate said, purposely using the nickname she knew he hated. “What are you doing here?”

Fitz’s tight lips spread into a smile. “Seeing my client. You might know her, Claudia Hughes. You know,” Fitz paused, “I feel horrible about how we ended things. Now that you and Claudia aren’t competition”—Fitz moved in closer as he looked down at her with his bedroom eyes—“I can take you on as a client again. I’m sure I could get you a seven-figure book deal for a tell-all after Stratton is voted out of office.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tate said in the sugary voice that Fitz would realize really meant “eat shit and die” had he ever paid attention to her outside of the bedroom.

Marge hung up her call. “You’re all set, Mr. Houlihan,” she said, pressing the button that allowed him through to the elevators.

Before leaving, he smiled sweetly at Tate. “Call me and we’ll work out a deal. You have my number.” He winked before he walked away with a cocky swagger that he unfortunately lived up to.

“Larry is in the studio. They’re live so you know what to do,” Marge said with a smile. “Best wishes at the White House.”

“Thank you, Marge,” Tate said as she signed herself and her assistant in before she and Alex were buzzed through.

“Who was that guy and why do I get the feeling he was picturing you naked?” Alex whispered as they waited for the elevator.

“Because he knows what I look like naked. He’s my ex-agent and my ex . . . well, just ex.”

“You dated him? He seems like an asshole,” Alex said as the doors opened.

“I wouldn’t call it dating,” Tate said, trying to hide her embarrassment. “When I got fired from BBN he dumped me in all aspects and picked up Claudia.”

“You think they’re—?” Alex did a quick hand gesture that left Tate rolling her eyes.

“Probably. Okay, you know the plan, right?” Tate asked, happy to get away from the topic of Fitz and Claudia.

“Yeah. Stand by the refreshments with the other interns. Wait until Claudia approaches you during commercial break. Grab some water bottles to serve to the people sitting behind the desk. Reach down to the shelf next to Claudia’s seat to place a water bottle and connect the electronics to my devices to download and plant my software, giving me access. While I wait for the downloads to complete, I just stand back and play on my phone like all the interns. Got it.”

“Then let’s do this,” Tate said as the doors opened.

Tate quietly opened the thick doors leading to the studio. With a nod, she sent Alex scurrying to the refreshment area where a boy and girl around Alex’s age sat playing on their phones as Claudia read off the monitor.

Tate looked around at the staff and crew and felt a longing for her old job. She missed being in front of the camera, delivering her investigative stories. But now she was living one giant investigation. Larry Wilkinson, BBN’s managing senior editor, started toward her as soon as he saw her enter the studio. With a nod of his head, he directed her to meet him at the back of the studio.

The smile on Larry’s face made Tate’s smile turn real. She had really liked Larry. He was a good boss who had fought for her when the higher-ups had fired her. His hair was bright white, his outfit wrinkled, and he was the best in the news business at his job.

“Tate, it’s damn good to see you,” Larry whispered as he stopped close to her.

“You too, Larry. I haven’t had time to thank you, but I heard that you gave the White House a glowing recommendation for me. I appreciate that,” Tate said sincerely.

“I was happy to. I hated to see you leave BBN. I’ve been watching the press conferences. You’ve been doing well. How do you like it on the other side of things?”

Tate looked around the studio one more time. “I miss it some, but I really love working in the heart of it all. The White House is constant commotion, and I really feel as if I’m making a difference.”

“Well, I’ve missed you. But Marge said this was a business visit?” Larry prodded as the quick buzzer indicated the station was now on commercial break. Tate tried not to look, but since she was facing the media desk it was easy to see Claudia was on her way over to investigate. As soon as Claudia stepped from behind the desk, Alex was walking over with a handful of water bottles.

“Tate Carlisle, is that you?” Claudia asked as if she didn’t know the answer. She stopped directly in front of Tate with her back to the desk and smiled insincerely at her.

“Sure is,” Tate answered with her appropriate fuck you smile.

“What are you up to now?” Claudia asked, again, as if she didn’t know. Tate took a deep breath to stop herself from choking the woman. She saw Alex bend over and place the water bottle by Claudia’s electronics. Her phone and tablet would be there so she could look at them during commercial.

“I’m the press secretary for President Stratton now,” Tate smiled before turning slightly to her left to look at Larry. “That’s why I’m here. President Stratton wants to do a sit-down about his first couple months in office. You know, a lifestyle piece so the citizens can get to know him better. He feels he should let them into a day at the White House since they didn’t get a good chance to know him during the election. After all, who pays attention to the vice president?”

“What a great idea,” Claudia gasped as if she already was interviewing the president.

“Yes, well, we thought Kimber would be a good fit. She does great human interest pieces on your weekend slot.”

Claudia’s smile slipped, and Tate tried not to laugh. “Kimber? She hasn’t interviewed a celebrity yet. Nonsense, I’ll interview President Stratton. We’ll do it prime time, and the viewers will love it. Isn’t that right, Larry?”

“Well, Kimber is new, and it would help our ratings if we could make a big production out of it. President Stratton has been very private. I take it this was your idea? It’s a good one,” Larry said, sending a pleading look to Tate. She knew that look. It conveyed that he didn’t feel like fighting with Claudia over who got the interview, and it was exactly what she had planned.

“That’s not what the president and I agreed on, but I’m sure I can convince him to do the interview with Claudia. Especially if you submit your questions ahead of time and pretape the segment earlier in the day. That’s okay, right?” Tate asked.

“Perfect,” Claudia said victoriously.

“Then I’ll be in touch,” Tate said to Claudia as she saw Alex pull the attached cords from Claudia’s devices and move back to rejoin the other interns staring like zombies at their phones.

“Thirty seconds,” the producer called out of the loudspeaker, sending Claudia scurrying to her chair to be swarmed by makeup.

“You’ll come, too, won’t you? How’s Monday night? I’d love to see you again and you can keep Claudia on task. President Stratton doesn’t like surprises,” Tate chuckled, knowing Claudia always had something up her sleeve.

“Ten seconds,” the producer called.

Larry smiled at Tate and nodded. “I’ll be happy to.”

Tate didn’t stay to watch Claudia smack the hand of the makeup artist or the silent countdown until they went live. She walked straight out of the room, barely pausing for Alex to fall in line behind her.

Tate waved to Marge on her way out as Alex hurried ahead to get the car. A minute later, Alex pulled to a stop in front of the building and double-parked for Tate to get in.

“The car’s clean,” Alex told her as he pulled into traffic. “Dude, she had two phones and a tablet. That’s why it took so long. Luckily I came prepared. Dalton’s constant state of preparedness from being a PJ is rubbing off on me,” he joked as he ripped off his bowtie, throwing it along with his fake glasses into the backseat.

“And there he is.” Tate laughed, feeling the relief from being able to pull off her manipulation.

“Seriously, dude, Claudia must save everything because it took forever to download. I’ll work on it tonight. It’s going to take a long time to go through everything. While I was waiting for the clones to finish, the other dudes were talking about Claudia. They’re jealous that she’s been getting a lot of new sources for her stories on the economy and the White House. They’re wondering where they are coming from.”

“Hopefully, you’ll be able to find that out because if you do, I think it could lead us to someone within Mollia Domini.” Tate looked out over DC as Alex drove back toward the hotel. Her blood was pumping just as it did when she was onto a new story. She had been feeling out of place in the shadow group until now. But now she had a purpose. She knew how every aspect of the news worked and it was her turn to manipulate it, only this time she was going to manipulate the news like no one else was doing—by telling the truth.