Mallinson had been in the Situation Room when she stuck her head in. He was quietly reviewing classified material for a change. They had a surprisingly pleasant discussion about her experiences overseas. He was an intelligent and insightful man, as long as she didn’t mention the current situation.

So, at a loss for where else to go, Linda had once again crammed Special Agent Harvey Lieber into Captain Baxter’s office, with Thor at her feet.

“What do you know that I don’t?”

Lieber leaned back against a file cabinet with his arms crossed over his chest. “What are you talking about, Hamlin?”

“How did you know that the attack would be at tomorrow night’s reception in the Residence?”

Both men flinched and looked at her aghast.

“You didn’t know?”

They exchanged a quick glance, briefly suspicious of the other, before understanding that they were both in the dark. They hadn’t known. But…

“Then why, the last time we met, did you ask if I could pass in a high-society environment if it wasn’t to place me in that reception?”

Again that careful exchange of glances.

Linda considered the satisfaction of knocking their heads together versus her career having a future. She could feel that her nerves were frayed. She’d slept little the last two nights. The first night and a half because of Clive’s splendid attentions and the last half because—she couldn’t think about that.

“We have a source,” Baxter began, then compressed his lips together.

“A very reliable one,” Lieber acknowledged with equal reluctance.

“Let me guess, a woman in the basement.”

“No.” Again the dual blank look. “What woman? Which basement?”

Miss Watson. Subbasement Two, Mechanical Room 043. Librarian? Spy? Or something else entirely? Linda had no way to know Miss Watson’s role, but something told her to keep that to herself. She held her silence until they got back on track.

Baxter finally rose to his feet, shoving Lieber aside, which almost pushed him into her lap because there was so little space. It was a good thing for Thor’s sake that he was small enough to fit under her chair. Baxter unlocked the file cabinet, opened the top drawer, and then used a thumb print to open a safe mounted inside the drawer. He pulled out a slim folder with that same scary yellow-and-red fly sheet of an “Eyes Only” file. He handed it to her.

She opened it while the men reshuffled to their former positions.

It was dated the same day she’d passed the course at James J. Rowley Training Center.

“Who’s WHPF?”

Lieber merely growled that it was Baxter’s problem.

“We don’t know. Something set up by the prior administration. We’ve learned that their advice is always good—and I mean always. But we have no idea who they are. They simply came online one day with a note from President Peter Matthews and Lieber’s predecessor Frank Adams that said they had both personally certified the WHPF.”

“Frank wouldn’t tell me shit about who they were,” and Agent Lieber’s voice made it clear just how happy he wasn’t about that. Then he held up his hands in resignation to the inevitable. “It stands for White House Protection Force and they’ve proven that they’re good at it. Damned if I know where they get their information.”

Linda could take a good guess. But maybe not. She remembered her two talks with Miss Watson. The matron was definitely in the loop, a piece of it, but last night in Lafayette Square she’d been reaching for answers as hard as Linda had. The simple memo in her hand spoke of a deep knowledge, or perhaps a broader reach than seemed likely from Mechanical Room 043.

“And Level White protection?”

Again the snarl from Lieber.

Baxter, on the other hand, actually smiled at his friend’s upset expression. “It means that while you work for me, you’ve also been assigned undercover to the PPD.”

Linda could feel the blood drain out of her face. The Presidential Protection Detail? Nobody got on that. It was the gold star times a thousand. Granted only after years of exceptional service.

“Wait! Undercover? Who else knows?”

Baxter, clearly enjoying his comrade’s foul mood at having an undercover agent watching his own team, pointed a finger at the two of them. “Us and whoever the hell is behind the WHPF.”

Linda couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

“We need a way to slip her in. Can’t just put her there as an agent,” Baxter pointed out.

Lieber looked her up and down with all the joy of inspecting a rotting piece of meat. “She and her dog as special guests for their fine work in Lafayette Square. Give Chief of Staff Cornelia Day a heads up. She’ll alert the President and VP and get Hamlin on the guest list. Leak it to the press—they’ll like a story about that. Do not reveal her true role.”

“Of course not,” Baxter shot back. She could hear the Duh! that Baxter didn’t give voice to. She was starting to see the tight relationship between these two men. Their brotherly snarls back and forth would never be shown in public. But that they showed it in front of her made her wonder just what she’d suddenly stepped in the middle of.

Then she focused on what they’d just said. A special guest of the First Family? But she’d never met any of them.

“By the way, Hamlin,” Lieber practically sneered at her. “Reception is tomorrow night. Can’t wear your uniform if you’re going undercover. You’d better go out and buy a dress.”