The following evening, Gus felt stronger as she sat across from Liz in the office they’d taken over. It was in the east wing of the house, far from the temporary offices Zack and Roman worked from. Gus was certain Darcy Hildebrandt had something to do with that, but this evening she couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful.

She’d slept fitfully and managed to avoid the boys all day. She’d had one text from Roman asking if he could come down and talk to her. She’d replied that she needed some time and he’d relented.

Perhaps what she needed was more space. Lots of it. Maybe she should consider finding another job and moving on. But not until she’d accomplished her goal.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Ms. Spencer?”

She looked up from her laptop. Vanessa Jones was one of the admins in the press office. She’d worked her way through the campaign’s ranks and become a press office right hand. Liz relied on her implicitly, and when they traveled, she offered to assist Gus as well. Luckily for Vanessa, Gus preferred to do most of her own work.

And many of the items on her list for this trip were far too private to entrust to anyone else.

“I think I have everything, thank you.” She looked up at the clock. It was far later than she’d suspected. The afternoon had flown by as she’d answered e-mail and approved press releases. Work was good for the soul. “Did everything go all right with the paparazzi?”

Vanessa frowned. “Do you mean did they get lots of pictures of the president and the stick he’s dating? Yes.”

“That stick is one of the world’s most photographed models,” Gus corrected with a grin. It was good to know Vanessa was sticking to the girls’ side. “And she has to be that thin. The camera really does add a bunch of pounds. She’s quite lovely in photos.”

Vanessa wrinkled her nose. “She’s like a scarecrow in person. Don’t get me wrong. I like a slender girl when it’s natural. I don’t get the world today. I wear a size two and I get called fat. They can keep it coming. I’m not giving up pizza night.”

Vanessa was a lovely young woman, vibrant and still full of hope. She made Gus feel old sometimes. “Don’t you dare. You’re gorgeous.”

Vanessa smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “Thank you. I need that sometimes. None of the boys around here want to play with me. Or the girls. Makes me sad. You’re all far too involved in each other. You know it’s like watching a foreign-language soap opera. I get it…but I don’t quite understand.”

“What have you heard?” Gus knew that tone of voice. Vanessa was fishing.

She leaned against the desk. “The rumor is the president told the Secret Service to stop you and Liz from leaving the grounds. Why would he do that?”

Because something was going on that she did not understand, and she had to guess it all came back to Mad. She’d been turning the situation over in her head all morning. It was far easier to think about the mystery of Mad’s death than to remember the terrible drama of last night.

What if Mad had known something? Something bad. Something Zack had felt the need to cover up at all costs. Or what if Mad had gotten into the sort of trouble that had gotten him killed, and Zack was hell bent on protecting the rest of them? But then why the hell wouldn’t he simply tell Liz that he was trying to save her from an eminent threat? She would comply with reasonable requests.

But Zack was a man. And men believed they were noble saviors. Really, they could be so stupid.

The possibilities kept chasing each other around in her head. The truth was, she would only solve this conundrum if she figured out what had happened to Mad.

“I’m not sure. I guess the president knows something we don’t. He’s still getting intelligence briefings,” she replied. There was no reason to bring anyone but Liz in on her sleuthing. Except maybe Zack. Damn but she wanted to demand he answer her questions. Of course if she did and Zack had done something wrong, she could find herself in a concrete bunker ten feet underground in Gitmo. Going up against the most powerful man in the world had its risks.

“Still, it’s odd since the president’s schedule hasn’t changed at all. Just Liz’s.”

Oh, Gus was sure she would be stopped if she tried to leave, too. But tonight, that might be helpful…

“Anyway, here’s the itinerary Liz asked for.” Vanessa handed her a folder. “Did she meet a guy last night? I heard you two went out with some Secret Service hotties. Come on, Gus. Give a girl a heads-up when we’re going to party.”

Oh, but it hadn’t been a party. It had been a very careful laying of groundwork to get close to someone she needed to steal from. She hadn’t gotten hold of Matthew Kemp’s phone and she wasn’t certain that would even be possible at this point. He had probably been warned away from her. And he was a super-careful man.

Then again, a potential assassin would have to be.

“I promise the next time we’re allowed off the leash, I’ll send you an invite.” The door eased open and Liz slipped in, wearing a black Chanel suit and sky-high Louboutins. “Speak of the devil. Vanessa says our fun evening out is already making the gossip rounds.”

Luckily, the way the evening had ended wasn’t. Gus likely had Connor Sparks to thank for that small blessing.

Liz gave Vanessa a smile that didn’t reach her baby blues. “It was fun, but now we’re in full lockdown mode. I’ll be surprised if I leave this house until we go home, so everyone settle in for the week. I sent you both a briefing on what the president and prime minister are scheduled to discuss on Wednesday. I’m up to date on ninety percent of this stuff, but I need some information on the situation with Russia and the gas pipelines. Apparently we’re talking to the PM about the possibility of designing a way to bring American natural gas to Europe and circumventing Russia. I know next to nothing about the topic. Please get me the details before the press starts asking questions.”

“I’ll talk to some friends in Energy. They can send you tons of super-boring reports.” Vanessa breezed to the doorway. “I’m heading out. I’ve got tickets to a show in the West End. Maybe I can find a hot Brit to spend some time with. Bye, you two.”

“Sounds like everyone’s going to the theater.” Liz glanced up at the television on the left wall. Twenty-four-hour cable news flashed on the screen, sound muted.

There was Zack, looking perfect in a tuxedo as he stepped out of a limo. He waved to the reporters as he took the hand of the stunningly gorgeous Mimi. Yes, she was thin, but there was no denying how beautiful she was. Roman walked behind Zack and Mimi, his hand on Darcy’s back as he escorted her. Roman looked grim, but he nodded down at something she said.

Gus stared at the blonde, the woman he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with. The woman he likely wouldn’t finger fuck on a couch in an attempt to control. No, Gus was sure the extraordinarily uptight Ms. Hildebrandt would be offered the comfort of a bed when Roman fucked her. It would be oh so polite. There would be no shouting or fighting, only gentle moaning—maybe. They would be considerate.

How was your orgasm, my dear?

Perfect, darling. Please pass the tea. I require refreshment after that strenuous episode of sexual congress.

“You have a super-evil look on your face. Are you thinking about murdering someone?” Liz asked the question with pure curiosity. “Because I want in. I’ve got some aggression to work through.”

“No, I was thinking about how well Roman and Ms. Hildebrandt seem to get along.” She slanted an acidic smile Liz’s way. “And I’m wondering a tiny bit how hard it would be to replace the lube in his condoms with icy hot. I think I can make that work.”

“Oh, I want in on that, too.” Liz sank into the chair in front of Gus’s desk and stared at Zack, who stood beside his date wearing a wide smile. “They look good together.”

“Nope. She looks way too young for him.” That was the truth. Mimi was nearly twenty years younger than Zack. She also had vacant eyes. “I read an article about her recently. The interviewer asked her what her favorite political cause was. She said Jackie O because she dressed so beautifully. Yep. That’s your potential First Lady right there.”

Liz groaned as she picked up the remote and clicked the monitor off. “I think I’ll stay away from the news for a few hours. I got some of the information you requested. It looks like Matthew’s next break is the day after tomorrow. He’s requested permission to do some sightseeing. But I also did a little digging and discovered that he rented a car.”

“Why rent a car in London?” It was one of the easiest cities in the world to get around. The London Tube was famously accessible to even newbie travelers.

“Maybe because he’s leaving London for the day,” Liz mused. “The question is, where is he going? You didn’t come close to swiping his phone last night, did you?”

The whole evening had been frustrating. Worse, not accomplishing her goal had actually been the least irritating event of the night. “No, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to dupe it at all. He never let it out of his sight and I’m not even going to pretend I’m skilled enough to lift it out of his pocket. I think I’d have better luck trying to follow him when he leaves London.”

“If you’re allowed to leave the house,” Liz pointed out. “How do you feel about searching his room?”

“Like I might get murdered if he catches me.” After all, if she was right, Matthew Kemp had already killed one of her closest friends. “But if I get the chance, I’ll probably take it anyway. I can always come up with some excuse.”

A brief rap sounded at the door seconds before it opened. As though she’d conjured him up, Matthew Kemp stood in the doorway, along with his equally well-built partner, Clint Gates. Both men had changed into street clothes, showing off their muscular bodies in jeans and T-shirts. Neither one held a candle to Roman, though they were younger and obviously hit the gym on a daily basis. Somehow Roman in a three-piece suit was the height of sexiness to her. She needed to retrain her libido to focus on younger men. Absolutely no one over thirty. Any lover she took from now on would also have to be easy on the eyes—and without a brain in his head.

Unlike Mr. Kemp. Nobody joined the Secret Service on looks alone.

“Hello, Special Agent. What can I do for you today?” Besides steal your phone and illegally search your room and pray you don’t find out?

He sent her a truly sexy smile as he strode into the room. “You and the gorgeous Ms. Matthews can grace us with your presence tonight. We enjoyed talking to you two last night.”

How could she say no when that might give her another shot at his phone? “Well, we’ve been asked to stay in this evening.”

Clint backed his partner up. “We know. We’re supposed to keep a quiet watch on you, make sure you don’t get into any trouble. It’s like asking the fox to watch the henhouse, really. Look, ladies, we’re not trying to get you into trouble. We simply want to spend a little more time with you.” He looked Liz’s way. “Unless I misunderstand, and whatever is between you and the president is serious. Then I’ll back off.”

She watched Liz shake off her sorrow as she stood with a smile. “There’s nothing at all between me and the president except the fact that he’s my boss. So if we can’t leave, what do you two suggest?”

“Well, we brought in some dinner. A guy from the PM’s detail gave us a tip about the best takeout in London. We’ve got it set up in the kitchen, so it’s informal,” Matthew explained. “We might have also gotten some beer and wine and requested to use the theater room. We scored an early copy of that new spy film all the girls are crazy about.”

Liz squealed a little. “Love After Death? I read that book a hundred times. I’m so excited to see the movie. It’s the new Fifty Shades. I think we can make this work, gentlemen.” She sent Gus a wink. “There’s a brief call with a small newspaper here in Ohio I need Gus to take in about an hour. But I’ll make sure you guys aren’t too bored while she’s gone. Other than that, we’re all yours.”

Stroke of brilliance. Liz could keep the boys occupied while Gus wandered up and searched the room Matthew shared with Clint. It was the perfect cover. Liz was always on her phone. If something started going sideways, she would send Gus a 911, advising her to hightail it out of there.

“What do you think?” Liz was smiling her way but Gus saw the challenge in her eyes.

The woman knew exactly what she was doing and she was a perfect partner in crime. Gus gave Matthew the once-over. He was a gorgeous hunk. Too bad he might have killed her best friend. “I think that sounds lovely. When do you want to start?”

Matthew held a hand out to her. “No time like the present.”

She gave him a wide, totally fake smile and let him lead her out of the office, more than ready to start her real work.

 

* * * *

 

An hour later, Gus stood up and stretched. “Time for my press call. Don’t pause the movie. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Matthew looked up at her, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

She shook her head. “I’ve actually already seen it. I was invited to the premiere. It’s so good. There’s a scene in the elevator coming up that’s hysterical. Be back soon.”

Liz looked over from the screen and winked. She had her phone by her side.

They’d come up with a protocol. If Matthew left the room, Liz would text a single emoji to let Gus know he was on the loose. Gus would then hightail it out of his room and run as fast as she could back to the theater. It would be okay. She wouldn’t get caught and she would have at least a few solid minutes alone in his room.

It wasn’t as good as downloading his phone, but she had to try something. She needed information, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Gus picked up the pace the minute she left the theater room, finding the stairs and rushing down one flight, followed by another until she reached the basement where the servants’ quarters were. Lara had been quite vocal when she’d discovered there was a whole floor nowhere near as lovely as the rest of the manor merely housing the help. Luckily, everyone was out on the town this evening, so the actual servants had the night off. The remaining people—the security staff—were concentrated outside the building.

Gus knew this was her one shot. She wouldn’t get another.

The floor beneath her squeaked. Wincing, she paused, hearing the house moan again. Was that sound a door opening?

She shook off the worry. Time was limited, so she forced herself forward once more. If she got caught, she had an easy lie on the tip of her tongue: she’d gotten lost after receiving a text from one of her staffers who needed to find a working printer. Since the one in the office wasn’t functioning, she’d had to go looking for another. Actually, that wasn’t a total prevarication. The printer in the office truly wasn’t working. She’d loosened a cord personally before they’d gone to the kitchen for dinner. If she got caught, she would bat her eyes at Matthew or Clint and ask them to fix the infernal machine for her. When they discovered the dangling cord, she would laugh at herself and pretend embarrassment with her abysmal technological shortcomings. They would believe it because they were men and she had boobs.

The ploy would work.

Her heart fluttered with every creep forward. She would have been an awful spy.

As quietly as she could, she turned the handle on the door to the room Matthew shared with Clint and entered, thanking whatever higher power deserved credit for the miracle of having a door without a lock. She waited until she quietly eased the door closed to turn on the light.

The room was Spartan. Nothing but two twin beds, matching nightstands, a dresser, and a mirror.

There was a small notebook and pen on the nightstand. She picked it up, flipping through it, but all it seemed to have was a list of names. Darcy Hildebrandt was the first name on the list, along with a few others. She pulled out her phone. It was likely nothing more than a list of people who would be in and out of the house while the president was in town, but Gus didn’t recognize some of the names. She took a picture of the list and thumbed through the rest of the notebook.

The agent liked to doodle and he was fairly good at it. There was a sketch of Marine One, the helicopter that took the president to the airport. She flipped another page. The president was frowning, his brows furrowed, and a caption under him. No white socks with your suit, Matthew. Are we barbarians?

She smothered a giggle.

There was a sketch of herself and Liz in the White House pressroom. Instead of their normal designer business suits, he’d drawn them as superheroes, with skimpy costumes and knee-high boots. It might have been insulting if not for the caption. Badass Bitches are the Best.

Men. Even when they were complimenting a girl, they were looking at her boobs. With a little smile, she flipped the page.

When she caught sight of the next image, her entire body went cold.

Maddox Crawford. He was wearing jeans and a collared shirt, and he was standing by his airplane, giving the artist the thumbs-up sign.

How long had Matthew stood there? Had he watched Mad go through his preflight check to make sure the bomb he’d placed on the plane hadn’t been discovered? Had he hidden in the shadows and drawn the man he was about to murder?

She closed the notebook and noticed a small pad of sticky notes by the phone. There were indentations, as though someone had written a note, the pressure of the pen leaving the details on the page beneath. She pulled off the top three and shoved them in her pocket.

Where was his luggage? She opened the closet door, ready to go through anything she could find.

How much time had passed? Four, maybe five minutes?

The closet was divided into two sections, but oddly looked exactly the same. Four black suits and white dress shirts hung on either side. There were loafers below, again the same, though one set was slightly larger than the other. The standard Secret Service uniform.

There was a duffel bag to her right that she thought she recognized as Matthew’s. She dropped to her knees, ready to rifle through it. Behind her, the bedroom door opened.

Gus went stock-still and prayed she wasn’t discovered by someone who had no qualms about murder.