In keeping with the less formal WHMU protocol, she dressed in tailored black pants, a thin black leather belt, low black boots, and an off-white open-collared shirt. At 0600 she flagged down a cab in front of the hotel and instructed the driver to drop her off at the northwest gate.

“You work there?” asked the cabbie, a friendly young woman with red-rimmed eyes. Judging by the empty coffee cups and fast-food wrappers in the front seat, she’d been driving all night.

“Yes,” Wes said. “Long night?”

“Yeah, but the money is good so I’m not complaining.” The cabbie maneuvered down the single cleared lane in the middle of a two-way street, swerving around abandoned cars and piles of snow. Fortunately, the streets were nearly deserted—snow-covered cars clogged intersections and narrow side streets. The trip usually took fifteen minutes. Today was closer to forty-five, but she was still early for her meeting with Evyn when the cabbie let her out.

“Thanks,” Wes called. “Have a safe one.”

“You too.”

The cab’s wheels spun, then caught, and the vehicle sluiced away. Wes nodded to the officer at the gate and showed her ID. “Can you point me to my office?”

“Ground floor, halfway down on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Wes hung her coat on the wooden rack inside the door, sat in the leather swivel chair behind the desk, and took stock. The room previously occupied by Len O’Shaughnessy had been cleared of personal effects and now resembled every duty office she’d ever seen—the bookcases and desk were wood, not metal, but even so, they had an institutional look to them. The nicely framed prints on the wall were generic renditions of American historical events that had taken place in the region surrounding the capital. The titles in the bookcases were standard medical classics—Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine, Schwartz’s Principles of Surgery, Chance’s Introduction to Biochemistry. Next to them, white loose-leaf binders were neatly labeled with black script: trauma protocol, acute surgical conditions, medical emergencies, toxic exposure, poisoning, and so on down the line of emergency situations. She’d have to review them all.

The computer was running and she booted up. O’Shaughnessy’s password had already been swept. Her name appeared with a prompt to enter a password. She chose one, repeated it as directed, and was in. She clicked a desktop icon for an e-mail program, and a list of e-mails appeared in the in-box. Generic messages appeared from various White House departments—the press corps, communications—and, at the very bottom, one from edaniels@uswh.org. She looked at the recipient and smiled at the wmasters@uswh.org. Apparently someone was taking care of the details. Hopefully they’d arrange for quarters for her soon. She opened Evyn’s message.

Good morning, Doc. I’ll wait for you in the ready room—it’s in the basement of the OEOB. Thought you might be running late due to the nasty weather. ED

Wes checked her watch. She still had time, but none of the other e-mails looked important. Since the WHMU was set to run without her until she officially took charge and entered the rotation, she had nothing else to do. Good morning, Doc. I’ll wait for you…

A rush of unexpected pleasure warmed her. She closed the mail program, grabbed her coat, and went in search of the ready room, Evyn’s slow smile playing through her mind.

*

Evyn poured a cup of coffee and dropped onto a sofa opposite a widescreen TV in the ready room where she and the other agents hung out between shifts or while waiting for Eagle to go out. She had the place to herself and was glad of it. She wasn’t feeling talkative and definitely didn’t want to spar with Gary about where she’d spent the night or what she’d been doing. She hadn’t had time to go home after waking up at Louise’s to discover the city buried under snow. Fortunately, she’d had a change of clothes in her car—she always did—although the blue long-sleeved polo shirt and dark khakis weren’t what she usually wore to work. Gary’d take one look at her and know she hadn’t been home—he knew by now what she packed in her go bag.

She closed her eyes and tuned out the news anchor, leaving her alone with her thoughts. That was a mistake. Her internal third degree was almost as bad as Gary’s would have been. She hadn’t had a one-night stand in months, although maybe one-night stand wasn’t accurate since it wasn’t the first time she’d been with Louise. The whole evening had come out of nowhere, and she wasn’t usually impulsive when it came to women. When she wanted company, she found it, but it was always planned. Not last night. Why had she stayed when her mind was only half in the moment? Louise didn’t know her well enough to notice. At least she hoped Louise couldn’t tell she’d drifted away a few times, very nearly starting to think of someone else before she’d caught herself. Hell. That was just low. She’d never done that before and didn’t want a repeat.

The door opened and Wes Masters walked in, looking just as good out of her uniform as she had in it. She walked as if she was still wearing her dress blues—confidently, her expression unhurried, untroubled, and sure. Looking just as good as she had for the briefest moment last night when Evyn had imagined how that tight body would feel covering hers.

“Morning, Doc,” Evyn said, feigning a cool she didn’t feel, conscious of her own slightly rumpled appearance. At least her clothes were clean. Still, a niggle of unease burrowed in her belly, and she wondered if Wes could tell she’d come straight from a bed that wasn’t hers. Not a one-night stand exactly, more like a legitimate date—second date, even—and she’d made plans to see Louise again later in the month, schedules permitting. Evyn’s skin prickled at the thought. She didn’t do repeats—well, she hadn’t in a good long time—but Louise had been fun, sexy and passionate, and completely undemanding. When she’d said she had tickets to a holiday show and invited her to go, Evyn couldn’t think of a single reason not to say yes. So she had.

“Have any trouble getting in this morning?” Wes asked.

Looking up with a start, Evyn stood, wondering how long she’d been daydreaming and if anything showed in her face. “No. You?”

“Got a cab. No problem.” A faintly puzzled look crossed Wes’s face and was quickly gone.

“Ready?” Evyn heard the curt tone in her voice and consciously relaxed her shoulders. Wes was too sharp not to pick up on her tension, and she didn’t intend for Wes Masters to have an inkling of what was going on in her head.

“Absolutely. Can’t wait to get started.”

Evyn laughed at Wes’s dry tone. The uneasy churning in her stomach disappeared and she smiled. “I’ll just bet.” She walked to the door and locked it. “Take your jacket off.”

Watching Evyn sort through a gear box she’d placed on the table, Wes shrugged out of her jacket. “Shirt too?”

“Ah, no,” Evyn said, busying herself untangling the lines for the earpiece and wrist mic Wes would need to wear. She hadn’t thought of Wes naked for all of five minutes, and she’d really like to make it ten—years—or so before she had to squelch another image of Wes’s tight body sliding over hers. Her thighs twitched. Hell. She held up the radio. “This clips on the back of your pants. Turn around.”

Wes complied. “I’ll be on your channel?”

“That’s right.”

Evyn secured the radio with the minimal amount of contact possible. Even clothed, Wes had a great body. Unclothed, she’d be incredible. She smelled really good too—kind of woodsy and crisp, like the breeze on Whitley Island before the storm had rolled in. Clean, sharp, exciting. Evyn stepped away before her skin burst into flames. “That’s it. You can dre—put your jacket on.”

“That’s it?”

“You need something else?” Evyn asked around the knot in her throat. Maybe she ought to move up her date with Louise. This hair-trigger arousal thing was new and damn annoying. A little regular sex might put a lid on it. “Ah…any questions?”

“Nope. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done, right?”

“That’s the theory.” Evyn searched for a hint of resentment or anger or resistance but found only the cool, confident tones she’d come to associate with Wes’s approach to everything. Her body cooled off and her head started working again. Game time. “Let’s go test it.”

“Where are we headed?” Wes asked, matching Evyn stride for stride as they left the ready room. A trio of black SUVs waited outside.

“The James J. Rowley Training Center—but we just call it Beltsville.”

“What are we—”

“If you’re not in the president’s vehicle, you’ll be one behind it,” Evyn said as they climbed into the rear of the second car. “Ordinarily you’d have your own field-trauma kit, but you can use our FAT kit today.”

“If I’m expected to use this equipment for any reason today,” Wes said, “I’d like to see what’s in it before we leave.”

“You’ll have what you need if anything comes up. You can customize your own later.”

Evyn settled next to the big guy Wes had seen at Whitley Manor. He extended his hand. “Morning, Doc. I’m Gary Brown.”

“Wes Masters.” Wes shook hands and settled across from him and Evyn. The cloak-and-dagger treatment was already starting to get old and she’d just started. She understood she needed to know how PPD operated, but she didn’t see why she needed to be in the dark. “So, will I have to pass the physical before I get to play with the big kids?”

Gary coughed and looked out the smoked-glass windows. To Wes’s surprise, Evyn colored faintly.

“Can you?” Evyn asked.

As a matter of fact, she’d just had her annual re-quals and part of that had been a fitness eval, but that had to be in her records. Which Evyn had undoubtedly seen. “Well, I do spend an awful lot of my time at a desk, but pushing papers around can be pretty tiring.”

Evyn grinned as if Wes’s sarcasm pleased her. “No sit-ups for you today, Doc, but I hope you can run.”

Chapter Thirteen

The first blast rocked the vehicle about forty-five minutes into the trip. All Wes could see out the window was a tree-lined road and a brilliant flash of orange somewhere ahead of them before a cloud of dust—or smoke—enveloped the SUV. The vehicle swerved hard right and she bounced against the door frame. Pain shot down her left arm. She grabbed for the medical kit at her feet with her other hand and held on.

“What’s the situation?” she shouted over a series of deafening roars. The road beneath the heavy chassis vibrated.

“Rocket attack,” Gary yelled back.

Evyn pressed her fingers to her earpiece. Her mouth was moving, but Wes couldn’t make out the words. She jolted forward as the SUV jerked to a stop.

“Out, and stay with me,” Evyn said, pushing the rear door open.

Gary went out the opposite door and Wes scrambled after Evyn, the FAT kit clenched in her fist. Acrid air stung her eyes and burned her throat. Her ears rang. She expected to find craters in the blacktop and wished for a flak jacket and helmet. Her heart pounded in her throat. Everything she knew about battle training flashed through her mind. She followed Evyn’s path exactly, thinking about IEDs and severed limbs and crippling burns. Another flash overhead, another bang. Her pulse shot up and her belly writhed.

That couldn’t be live ammo, these people weren’t that crazy, but she ducked all the same at the sound of weapons fire. The lead car was stopped crosswise on the road, smoke coming from under its hood. Two men and a woman crowded around the rear door of the limo. Evyn ran to them and Wes pushed forward, nudging Evyn aside to get a look in the interior.

“POTUS is unconscious.” A heavyset Asian man pointed to a man she didn’t recognize—the president’s stand-in—sprawled half-off the rear seat.

More explosions, more noise. Wes couldn’t make out most of what was coming over her radio, and she shut the chaos out of her mind. Her only job right now was stabilizing her patient.

“Don’t move him,” Wes ordered, climbing into the back.

“We have to—we’re not secure,” the agent said.

“Not yet.” Wes flipped the locks on the FAT kit and surveyed the contents. Two seconds later she spied the cervical collar and pulled it out. “Hold this.”

“I got it,” Evyn said, crouching next to Wes’s left shoulder.

Wes handed Evyn the collar, yanked out her earpiece, and fitted the stethoscope to her ears. She checked for bilateral breath sounds, made sure his airway was clear, and did a fast visual survey of the victim. No other injuries. “I’ll take the collar now, thanks.”

She secured the collar and said, “Okay—let’s go. You”—she pointed to the big agent—“stabilize his head and neck while we move him. Evyn, get three others on torso and limbs.”