“Ms. Washburn sends her apologies for keeping you waiting. She’s ready to see you now.”

“Thank you.” She followed him through an archway, down a hall, and into another small waiting area. He tapped on the heavy, carved walnut door and responded to something that only he could hear. He pushed open the door, and Wes entered Lucinda Washburn’s office. The south lawn was visible opposite her through French doors framed by floor-to-ceiling white brocade drapes. The Oriental carpet under her feet looked expensive and old. A closed door on her left probably led into the Oval Office. Wes stood at parade rest in front of Ms. Washburn’s desk while the chief of staff signed off on a call.

Lucinda replaced the handset, stood, and held out her hand. “Good to see you again, Captain. Hang your coat up over there, and have a seat.”

Wes shrugged out of her topcoat and added it to several other winter coats on a wrought-iron coat tree just inside the door. She took one of the two leather chairs facing the desk and waited.

“Do you have any objections to taking a polygraph?”

“No, ma’am,” Wes said, seeing that they were about to get directly down to business.

“Good. That’s really the last of the formal security items.” She shrugged. “Protocol only. Your record has already been reviewed.”

Wes said nothing. She wouldn’t be sitting there if her service record and probably everything that came in her life before that hadn’t already been scrutinized in intimate detail. Pro forma.

“Have any questions?”

“No, ma’am.”

Lucinda smiled. “I am not in the military, so you can dispense with the formalities. And feel free to speak. None of this is on the record.”

“May I ask how I came to be considered for the position?”

“Of course.” Lucinda gestured to a coffee urn and a row of plain white mugs sitting on a linen-draped sideboard. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

While Lucinda poured, she talked. “Obviously, Dr. O’Shaughnessy’s death was unexpected. The position is a critical one, and with POTUS about to embark on a series of national and international movements, we need the White House Medical Unit to be at full staff.”

“I understand.” Wes waited for the rest of the story. The White House medical staff usually came from the military, and there were plenty of military physicians available. But she’d been short-listed. Not just short-listed but fast-tracked.

Lucinda handed her a cup of coffee and angled the adjacent chair to face Wes. When she sat, their knees were a few inches apart. “As you can imagine,” Lucinda said calmly, “an election year is a volatile time for the nation and disruptive to both parties. Emotions run high.”

“If there’s something I need to know about the president’s health, I assume it will be in his records, but if not, then I need to know…off the record.”

Lucinda’s eyes glinted as if she was pleased with Wes’s statement. “This isn’t television. There’s nothing we’re hiding about the president’s health. He has some food allergies which you will note in his chart, an old ligamentous injury to his right knee, and some annoying, but I’m told not dangerous, floaters in his right eye. Other than that, he is remarkably fit and healthy.”

“Excellent. I will be reviewing his records today.”

“We have excellent security,” Lucinda went on, “and the president and I have total faith in his detail. In an election year, we always see an escalation in death threats.”

Wes nodded. “I’ll need to know the nature of the threats, the analysis of the threat level, and what the Secret Service containment policies are.”

“You see,” Lucinda said, smiling more broadly now, “you’ve just proved my point. We need someone in charge who knows how to approach these kinds of issues in a scientific fashion.”

“Any physician should be able—”

“But not with the facility of someone whose job it has been to set up treatment, triage, and interventional protocols under battlefield conditions. That is a fairly unique skill.”

“Do you expect an attack on POTUS?”

Lucinda sipped her coffee and finally said softly, “It isn’t a question of if the president will be attacked, but when. That is the presumption we all work under, Captain Masters. As long as we believe that, we will be prepared for anything.”

“I understand.” Wes decided to push her luck. “And the current staff? Isn’t it customary to advance members from within?”

Lucinda shrugged. “There is nothing customary in the White House, Captain. The guard changes every four to eight years, and many of the personnel change at the same time. The rules, if there are any, are almost totally dependent upon who occupies these rooms.” Lucinda regarded her for a long moment, and Wes sat under her dissecting gaze calmly. “The White House Military Office is your counterpart, and they felt no internal candidate was qualified for the unique demands of this position at this point in time.”

“I can assure you, Ms. Washburn,” Wes said, “I am prepared.”

“I’m very, very glad to hear that.” Lucinda set her cup aside, and her expression took on the kind of intense focus Wes recognized from the field when an engagement was imminent.

Lucinda Washburn was about to tell her the real reason she’d been hired. Everything else was reasonable, but that about-to-do-battle glint in Lucinda’s eyes said there was more.

“Need-to-know, Captain,” Lucinda said softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We have a security breach, as yet unidentified, but we suspect the individual has intimate access to the president. You’ll be with those closest to him every day.”

“I’m not a security agent, I’m a doctor.”

Lucinda smiled. “And as such, a trained observer.”

Wes asked, “Who are the likely suspects?”

Lucinda drew a long breath and listed the limited pool of individuals with close, continuous access to the president. Evyn Daniels was one of them. Wes thought back to the hours they’d spent together the night before. If she’d had this information then, maybe she wouldn’t have suggested dinner, even though she couldn’t imagine Evyn betraying her country. But then, she didn’t really know her at all. All she had to go on were nebulous feelings, and feelings had no place in her job.

“I’ll be read in on any security updates?” Wes asked.

“Yes—need-to-know.” Lucinda stood, indicating the interview was over. “Questions?”

“No, ma’am. I do have a request.”

“Go ahead,” Lucinda said, a note of curiosity in her tone.

“I’d like to see the autopsy file on Dr. O’Shaughnessy.”

Lucinda’s jaw tightened. “You’ll have that today, Captain. As soon as the last of the paperwork is completed.”

“Thank you.”

Lucinda Washburn leaned across her desk and pushed a button on her phone. A voice came over the speaker. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Would you please let the agents know Captain Masters is ready?”

“Certainly.”

Lucinda turned. “We’ll get the polygraph out of the way, and that should be the end of the formalities.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wes rose. “As I said, I’ll be reviewing the president’s chart today. I would like to examine him at his earliest convenience.”

“Really?” Lucinda studied her. “Why? Everything is in his records.”

“That may be, but if I’m going to be his doctor, I need to perform a baseline physical examination and make my own assessment.”

“You don’t trust your predecessor?”

“I don’t know him,” Wes said. “But in any case, I wouldn’t presume to take care of someone I had never examined. It’s not good medicine.” She hesitated, seeing the consternation in Lucinda Washburn’s eyes. She imagined the president was incredibly busy, and finding time to meet with her would probably be incredibly inconvenient. “In my experience, high-profile patients often get poor care. Physicians and everyone else involved are reluctant to inconvenience them. Things get overlooked. That’s not fair to any patient, but it certainly is not appropriate for the president of the United States. In light of everything you’ve told me, it’s imperative I judge his status for myself.”

“I understand. I’ll see that it’s scheduled as soon as possible.” Lucinda extended her hand and Wes took it. “Welcome to the House, Captain.”

Chapter Eight

Evyn hadn’t slept much in the last few days, and she needed a coffee refill to keep her focused during the routine after-review of the wedding detail and the rest of the uneventful morning briefing. Trying not to look distracted, she sloshed milk into her Starbucks venti cup, added the always-good coffee the valets kept fresh in their command center, and settled back at the conference table with the other members of the day shift. She wasn’t herself and couldn’t figure out what was off. Usually a brisk shower, a fast fantasy, and a hard orgasm cleared her head for the day, but this morning, she’d opened her eyes and immediately replayed the evening with Wes—and the details that came to mind had nothing to do with the job. She kept stumbling over the way Wes concentrated on her when they talked, as if they had all night, the way Wes smiled at something Evyn said, her eyes glowing. And her mouth—God, she had a killer mouth—full lips, broad smile, a tiny lift on the right side that gave her a hot, sexy, rakish look. Evyn’s stomach tightened into a hard knot and a quick pulse beat between her thighs. She sucked in a breath. Whoa. Bad timing—where was that rush two hours ago when she could have taken care of it? She slugged her coffee, burned her tongue, and choked.

When she looked over, Gary was staring at her with laughter in his eyes. She tossed him a get bent look, and he smothered a grin. He always claimed he could read her mind, but she assured him he was wrong, remarking if he could, he’d be walking around with a perpetual boner and he should be so lucky.

Agents rose and started to leave the room, the midnight shift heading home and the rest to their posts. Evyn grabbed her black trench coat and coffee.

“Evyn,” Tom Turner said. “Hang on a minute, will you.”

“Sure.” Evyn dropped her coat onto a chair and tossed the empty paper cup into a nearby wastebasket. Gary hesitated, glanced at Tom, and followed the rest out, muttering, “Catch you later,” as he left.

When the room was empty, Tom closed the door and gestured for her to sit.

Her antennae went up. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done that could be problematic. She wasn’t the most senior member of PPD, but over the last year she’d sort of become Tom’s unofficial sounding board. She’d sat in the right front seat of the follow-up car a time or two, and had taken the lead when POTUS traveled. That level of responsibility told her she was doing okay, or at least she thought she had been. She waited for Tom to start, banishing a mild case of nerves, a wholly atypical reaction for her.

“Are you set to bring Masters up to speed?” Tom sat across from her and leaned back in his chair.

“She’s still clearing security but should be done sometime today. I’ll meet with her later and set up a schedule.” Evyn’s pulse jittered at the mention of Wes’s name, also unusual. She rarely showed a bump in her blood pressure or her pulse, even during simulated actions. She’d been preparing for this job since she was a kid, and she’d taught herself not to react when something hurt, or scared her, or excited her. She kept her cool. She wanted to be ice in an emergency. She usually was. But just a reference to Wes Masters had her composure melting around the edges. That couldn’t be good. She needed to clamp a lid on that.

“I had a call from Averill Jensen before the briefing this morning,” Tom said.

Evyn tensed at the mention of the president’s security adviser. The USSS answered only to the Director of Homeland Security—on paper—but Jensen had sweeping authority in security matters. “About We—Captain Masters?”

“Indirectly.”

Evyn couldn’t believe there was an issue with Wes Masters. She’d only just met Wes, but she’d spent time with her, more personal time than she’d spent with anyone in years, except the agents who’d just left this room. And they hadn’t just talked about business. They’d talked about life. Wes was solid. She was dedicated and focused, all the way through. Evyn clamped her molars together and kept her mouth shut. She needed to listen, and to do her job. Right now, the best thing she could do for Wes Masters was find out what the hell was going on.

“They went outside to bring her in,” Tom said, “and on the face of it, that’s not that unusual. What’s unusual is that with O’Shaughnessy’s sudden death, they didn’t move someone up from inside as interim director while they put the nominees through the selection process.”