Dalton closed the door to Lizzy’s house behind them and locked the door. The white powder-puff dog, Dave, had just pissed all over the neighbor’s garden gnome. The little Bichon Frise hated that thing along with hating Crew Dixon, which showed the lap dog had good taste, and that was something Dalton could respect.

Dave darted up the stairs to where Dalton knew Lizzy was waiting for him. He let out a long breath and shoved his hand through his hair. What the hell was going on with him? He had practically moved in with Lizzy after the first time they slept together, and he hadn’t really gone home since. It wasn’t like him. It was clouding his judgment, and as a pararescueman, he lived and breathed by his judgment. It’s what saved lives in split seconds during rescue operations.

Dalton was here to protect the group. He was the one who pulled them out of dangerous situations and made sure no one was left behind. In return, when this operation was over, he would be reinstated as commander for his unit of PJs. He’d run into Grant Macay, his former pilot, during an operation with Lizzy in the South China Sea and had learned the unit had been split up and scattered to the four corners of the world.

When this assignment had started, it was solely a means to an end. But now, Dalton looked up the stairs . . . now it had changed. Shoving the feelings he didn’t want to explore back down, Dalton climbed the stairs and headed to the bedroom. Lizzy was stepping out from the bathroom. She was wet from her shower and wrapped in a towel that didn’t seem to want to stay on as she brushed her wet hair.

“Thanks for taking Dave out,” Lizzy said as she took her hair and wrapped it into some sort of twisty up-do thingy. Dalton let his eyes travel down her bare shoulders and to the swell of her breasts straining the towel that was barely hanging on. Dalton knew he had a problem. The sex was mind-blowing, but it wasn’t just the sex. It was this. The ability to work as a team was the best way he could put it. Damn, he was in over his head and sinking fast.

“You know how you can pay me back for taking him out in the middle of the night?” Dalton asked as the left corner of his lips turned up into smirk and his eyes willed the towel to fall.

“It’s our first night off from the bar all week. I know exactly what we’re going to do,” Lizzy grinned. “We’re going to binge-watch that show I’ve been telling you about.”

Dalton growled and launched himself at her. Lizzy’s laughter turned to a squeal as he chased her around the bed. When he caught her, he tore the damned towel from her body before lowering her to the bed with his mouth latched onto her nipple and his fingers between her thighs. He knew he was in deep trouble. When the time came for him to go, he didn’t know if he’d be able to.

“What the hell?” Dalton murmured hours later. Lizzy was sprawled naked with half her body across his and her face buried in his chest when the knock at the back door woke him.

“Hmm?” Lizzy mumbled as she snuggled closer to him.

“Someone’s at the door,” Dalton told her as he was already grabbing for his gun and leaping from the bed. Dave dashed down the stairs. His high-pitched bark was louder than any alarm.

Dalton hunched over and ran into the kitchen. He pressed himself against the wall and used the barrel of his Glock to pull the blinds away from the window enough to see who was there. With a roll of his eyes, he let the blinds fall back as he unlocked and flung open the door.

“Dude, you’re like, naked. Cover that shit up,” Alex said, pushing past him and into the kitchen. He set a laptop on the kitchen table and opened it.

“What’s going on?” Lizzy asked as she entered the kitchen with Dalton’s T-shirt on and a gun in each hand. Damn, she’d never looked sexier. “What time is it?”

“It’s five-thirty in the morning. Look.” Alex stepped back. Dalton and Lizzy stepped forward to read what was on the glowing screen.

Shooting at The Knox tomorrow.

“That’s where Tate is,” Lizzy said. “Have you called her?”

“I came straight to you. What should we do?” Alex looked worriedly between them.

“Call the president. We need to evacuate Tate if the email is verified and have it look completely normal. We don’t want them knowing we have this information,” Dalton ordered as Alex pulled out his phone.

“Yes?” the sleepy voice said over the phone.

“Sir, it’s Dalton. Alex just came over. He discovered an email from an unknown source that says Shooting at The Knox tomorrow. Alex is working on finding out who sent the email.”

“Get Tate out of there!” the president yelled as all trace of sleepiness fell from his voice.

“I think we should verify—” Dalton began before the president cut him off.

“No, I want her out now!”

“I was thinking of evacuating her at seven-thirty. We could walk her right through the front door of the White House and no one would think twice about it,” Dalton said calmly. “And it would give us more time to determine who sent this email.”

“I want you there now. Alex can keep you informed. And tell Tate that she’s moving in here temporarily. I don’t care how much she protests,” the president said sternly.

“Birch,” Lizzy said gently but strongly, “she can’t stay there. You know that. You know someone will find out. The media shitstorm that will follow will hurt both you and our cause.”

The president sighed over the phone, and Dalton could sense his agitation. “One night. She can stay here for one night and sleep in her office. By then, we can surely find a safe place for her to stay. But, Dalton, I want you there now.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead and the three of them looked at each other. “I think he could be overreacting,” Lizzy finally said.

“Dude, they’re going to shoot someone at the same hotel where Tate is staying. This email came through just minutes after I cloned the phone. It can’t be a coincidence,” Alex said, shutting his laptop.

“I don’t know, but I have my orders.” Dalton turned and walked bare-assed out of the kitchen. “Someone call Tate and tell her I’m on my way.”

Birch paced the private quarters in the White House. He had banished the Secret Service to outside all exits, and his staff was gone for the night so he could roam freely until the butlers, ushers, and maids appeared in the early morning hours. He walked the Center Hall, leaving the East Sitting Hall. He passed the Lincoln Bedroom, the hidden staircase near the Treaty Room where the entrance to the tunnels were located, guest rooms, the Yellow Oval Room, his room, and stopped at the window in the West Sitting Hall. From there, if he craned his neck, he could see The Knox Hotel and the corner room Alex told him was Tate’s. Here he was, the most powerful man in the world, just blocks from her, and he couldn’t do anything to protect her.

Birch’s immediate reaction to the news of what had been found on Claudia’s phone had been to rush through the tunnels and storm into Tate’s room with his Army-issued gun in hand. Birch looked at the weapon on the coffee table and still had to tell himself not to do it. Dalton was there. He would keep her safe.

Birch rested his forehead against the bulletproof glass window of his gilded cage. What had he done? When he had approached Lizzy’s father, Birch was just the senator from Virginia with an idea that someone was selling classified information. He never envisioned this. He never imagined a secret organization like Mollia Domini, an organization with enough power to convince him to accept the vice presidency and then disappear quietly into the night. But when President Mitchell, who was a member of Mollia Domini, died from cancer, Birch’s eyes were opened. Asking around led to Lizzy’s father’s death. When Lizzy and Dalton had shown him the video of Dan March, an assassin for Mollia Domini who Lizzy had killed, Birch had wanted to call an end to this mission. These people were playing not only with lives but countries. They called themselves the puppet masters, and they were making the world dance by pulling invisible strings. He was putting his group at risk.

Lizzy had been forced to cross lines she’d never be able to come back from. She and Dalton had almost lost their lives, and now Tate was in danger. While they had taken down two assassins, Dan March and Bram Schmit, and their commanders, FBI Agent Phylicia Claymore and President Mitchell’s senior policy advisor, Harriett Hills, they still hadn’t found who comprised the inner circle of this organization.

Birch was still looking into Sandra Cummings, the secretary of state appointed by President Mitchell, and Senator Epps. It had to be someone with enough power and inside information to give orders to Hills and Claymore, who in turn passed them to the assassins. Epps was the most powerful senator on all the top-secret congressional committees. And Sandra was privy to the most intimate White House discussions and had powerful contacts all over the world.

But now Tate was in the crosshairs because she’d met with the editor of a newspaper. A paper that had been against Birch’s presidency since it became public knowledge that President Mitchell was dying. All this time, Birch had been quiet. He hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Now, though, he wanted to return to his roots. Birch wasn’t some silver-spoon brat like Trip Kameron. No, Birch had been career military. As an Army military intelligence officer, he had been on the ground in some of the most dangerous locations in the world. He’d interviewed terrorists responsible for mass genocide. Now he was here, hiding in the cloak of the presidency.

Something about Tate brought out his protective side. Something he hadn’t felt since leaving the service. It had been twelve years since he lost his wife in an armed robbery. While Tate didn’t remind him at all of his wife, the natural reaction to protect her was strong. It wasn’t because she was weak. In fact, Tate was strong in a way Lizzy and Valeria weren’t. She had a positive never-give-up attitude and a dogged determination to dig at a story until she had the whole picture.

As Birch pondered Tate and the situation his group was in, the sun broke through the horizon. The first rays of light spread out over the city, and Birch knew it was time to stop playing politics. Some things were more important than winning a future election. If he only had this small amount of time in office, he was going to use it as best he could. He wasn’t going to hide behind his team. He was going to challenge Mollia Domini to a type of warfare he doubted they knew existed.

Birch looked at his watch. Tate should be getting here soon. He headed to his room and splashed water on his face. He had just finished shaving when his phone rang.

“Let her up,” Birch ordered the Secret Service agent at the check-in point for the residence. Birch stripped off his athletic shorts and stepped into his black suit pants. He pulled off the ARMY T-shirt and tossed it onto the bed. He was reaching for his light blue dress shirt when he heard Tate’s voice.

“I’m in my room,” Birch called out. He started walking toward the hall as he slipped his shirt on. “How are you?” Birch asked. He looked up from buttoning the first buttons when Tate didn’t reply. Instead she was staring at his exposed torso.

“Oh,” Tate said, blinking rapidly. “Tired. Sorry, I zoned out for a second. I didn’t get much sleep after Alex called me.”

“Where is Dalton?” Birch asked.

“He drove the town car to the door and dropped me off. He’s heading back to the hotel to take down Claudia. I just can’t figure out how they are onto me.”

“Come in. Sit down before you fall over.” Birch clasped Tate’s elbow and escorted her into his room. She took a seat on the couch, and he walked into his dressing room to get his tie.

Tate watched as Birch walked across his room and disappeared into his dressing room. No man had the right to look so good, certainly not a president who was off limits. Tate had been off and on with Fitz for years and Fitz was Hollywood idealism personified, but Birch was something more. Something real. And when she saw the light sprinkling of hair on his sculpted chest leading in a little arrow downward, well . . . her mind just refused to think of anything else except that damn little arrow. Tate shook her head. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it regardless of how she felt about the president.

“I’ve decided I’m not sitting passively anymore. I know you don’t want to draw attention, but I think it’s time to fight back in the press. I have a plan for your interview with Claudia, and I also have information on Epps. Secretary Cummings has been a little more difficult to find dirt on that hadn’t already been discussed at her confirmation hearings,” Tate called out as Birch walked out with a bright red tie draped over his neck.

Tate refused to let her eyes travel to the buttons he was finishing. Instead, she looked around the bedroom. Well, bedroom didn’t really describe it. It was larger than her small house. There were two bathrooms, a dressing room, a sitting area, and then the actual bed.

“Funny, I’ve been thinking the same thing. What do you have in mind?” Birch asked as he moved to a mirror and started to tie his tie.

“I want to use Flint Scott to push stories with our point of view. We have to be careful, though. I don’t want anything at my press conference to be worded the same. I was thinking of sending him snippets of facts, documents, and so on, but not tell him what they’re for. It’s better for him to research and write it in his own words,” Tate explained.

“Do you think it will cause Flint to be in the crosshairs of Mollia Domini?” Birch asked.

“Yes. I do. But I think we should give him the first round and see what he does with it. Then I can slip information to all major news sources of a complete story. If they don’t run it, someone else will, and they’ll look as if they’re not on top of the story. Then the third thing is to change up my press conferences. I’m going to run the narration, and the White House will issue press releases to rebut every false story out there. We will use the truth to show the biased and purposeful manipulation of some members of the press. I just don’t want to sit quietly by anymore,” Tate said vehemently as she stood and walked over to Birch who was struggling with his knot. “What do you think?”

Tate stopped in front of Birch and reached up to his tie. Their hands met and her eyes shot up to find him looking down at her. “Let me. I had to help my brother all the time with his.”

Birch slowly lowered his hands but kept looking at her. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ve decided it’s time to wield the power of the presidency as well. I believe a joint press conference will be good after I make some calls. Plan it for right after Claudia’s interview airs. We won’t tell the press until an hour before.” He winked at her.

Tate pulled the knot tight and worked it up to his collar. “There.” She let her hand rest for a second on his tie before dropping it. This was not the time to be thinking of what else the president could do with the tie.

“Good. And I want you to stay here tonight. You can have your pick of the rooms.”

Tate blushed as her thoughts turned even more sexual. “I have a couch in my office. You know all our work would be undermined with even a hint of you having a personal life.” Tate’s eyes went wide. “Not that we would be, but they would assume we did—”

Birch’s chuckle stopped her rambling. “I know what you mean. I just want you safe.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go downstairs and you tell me what you’ve found on Senator Epps.” Birch placed his hand on the small of her back and escorted her to the stairs. Tate tried to banish the thought of spending the night with Birch, but the longer he kept his hand on her, the harder it was.

“Good morning, sir.”

Tate watched as Secret Service flanked them as they headed for his office. Once safely inside, Tate pulled out her laptop that had thankfully been in her hotel room at the time of her robbery.

“First, I looked into Secretary Cummings. She comes from old money, but I couldn’t find stories of her having dealings with any of the countries we’ve crossed paths with. She has a public record against the rebels in Africa that Phylicia was helping. She was an invited guest of the Netherlands’ Queen Anja’s thirtieth birthday celebration. She has opposed China’s actions in the South China Sea. The only thing I found was her support for private military companies helping local police protect federal property.” Tate closed her notes on Sandra and opened the ones on Senator Epps.

“Now, for Epps, I reached out to some of my old contacts. It’s clear he’s mad that he lost the election, and he fully intends to run against you. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mollia Domini put up multiple candidates in both parties, thinking it would be a win-win for the group. Epps is known for overstepping. I found travel to Africa buried in his office’s budget. I tracked down the former African president’s secretary, and she said they had no American visitors during the time Epps was in Africa. I’m guessing he met with the rebels because after that trip, he supported a bill to sell weapons to them, which Congress shot down. Further, he met with Prince Noah at the United Nations just before his arrest.”

Birch leaned over her shoulder to look at her notes. “What are you going to do with all this information?”

“Release it, and let the remaining honest reporters do the job of tracing all of this for us.” And with a couple of keystrokes, the material was sent. Now she needed to look into Claudia as only a reporter could. Valeria could check her bank accounts all she wanted, but there was something about hitting the phones and the streets to ferret out the truth that strummed through Tate’s veins.