Wes laughed, and a sandy-haired, sharp-eyed woman in a dark suit and coffee-colored shirt coughed discreetly at Emory’s elbow, her body language possessive without being proprietary. “I’m standing right here, babe.”

Emory’s face lit up with an expression Wes had never seen there before. Pure joy. Emory grabbed the lanky newcomer around the waist and pulled her close. “Wes, this is Dana. She’s my”—Emory glanced at Dana, an eyebrow raised—“fiancée?”

Dana laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. “Proposal accepted.” She held out her hand to Wes. “Dana Barnett. I’m with Emory.”

“Yes,” Wes said. “I believe I’ve heard your name mentioned a time or two…hundred.”

Dana grinned. “Same.”

“Wes,” Emory said, “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you had interviews and all that.”

“Circumstances are a little pressured,” Wes said obliquely. Emory was her best friend, but her new job demanded discretion of the highest order. “Things are moving a bit faster than normal.”

Emory’s expression grew somber. “I was so sorry to hear about Leonard. What a tragedy.”

“It was.” Wes hadn’t known Leonard O’Shaughnessy personally, but even though she dealt with death on a daily basis, sometimes the seeming unfairness of life defied rationalization. A sudden twist of fate could send so many lives, including her own, careening down paths never anticipated. She shook off the cloud of sadness. “My orders were to report promptly, so—”

Emory laughed. “Do they have any idea who they appointed? Dr. Punctuality herself.”

“Probably not,” Wes said, hoping someone somewhere had actually looked at her file, or this might be a very short posting.

“Well, it’s wonderful to see you, and now that you’ll be—” Emory broke off as a hushed “Oh!” escaped the crowd.

Wes followed her gaze. At the far end of the room, the wedding party descended the stairs. Oddly, no cameras flashed.

She’d been to a lot of weddings, including some extraordinarily elaborate ones. She would’ve expected the wedding of the daughter of the president of the United States to be a State affair. But then she thought about Blair Powell—despite her well-known public persona, there was very little about her private life in the public domain. Blair rarely gave interviews and avoided media glitz and paparazzi. Her romantic relationship with Cameron Roberts had created quite a bit of controversy in the national media news, but Blair had had very little to say other than to acknowledge the truth of the rumors. She might be the public face of the presidential family, but her personal life was a mystery.

The gathering today was small, considering the importance of the event, and Wes bet everyone there, with the exception of security, was a personal friend of the first family or Cameron Roberts’s family. There were few foreign dignitaries, no Hollywood stars, no political pundits. Only ordinary people gathered to celebrate the special day of someone they loved.

For a moment, Wes felt like an intruder. She was used to boundaries—clear, solid ones. She was about to witness an extremely personal moment in the lives of strangers, without even the excuse of professional involvement to excuse her presence. Then she recognized a face at the far side of the room from the briefing documents she’d been given earlier. Dr. Peter Chang, the acting head of the White House Medical Unit. A bulky black leather bag sat by his right leg—a bag that carried a defibrillator, emergency resuscitation equipment, surgical instruments, and drugs. This gathering might appear to be an ordinary wedding, but it wasn’t. Nothing about any event with the president in attendance was ordinary.

Chang was present along with a flight nurse and a physician’s assistant to ensure the safety and welfare of the president of the United States—the duty Wes would be assuming within a matter of days. As the chief of the White House Medical Unit—her new posting—her charge was to ensure the health and welfare of every employee, visitor, and dignitary within the White House and grounds. But above all, her number one responsibility was to the president of the United States. In a crisis situation, he was her only patient, earning her the title of First Doctor of the United States. She’d have to get used to witnessing private moments as well as world-changing ones, since she would never be far from his side again. Where he went, she went.

Right now, President Andrew Powell looked like every other proud father she’d ever witnessed. He wore a dark blue suit, snowy white shirt, and red tie. His face still held a hint of summer tan, and his thick blond hair made him appear younger than his fifty years. Blair, her arm linked with her father’s as they descended the staircase, had the same midnight blue eyes, although her hair was a deeper gold. Her full-length cream-colored dress, with its square-cut bodice and figure-hugging design, accentuated her svelte, athletic body. Her arms were sleek and muscular, her carriage confident and graceful. She was beautiful. Cameron Roberts was just behind her, holding the hand of a beautiful woman who looked very much like her. Marcea Casells, Roberts’s mother. Roberts—tall, thick black hair brushed back from her face, intense charcoal eyes—was dressed formally in a gray morning coat, silver-gray pleated tuxedo shirt, and dark trousers with a satin stripe down the side. Her gaze followed Blair as if no one else was in the room.

At the bottom of the staircase, Blair and her father turned toward an area ringed with arrangements of wildflowers and white roses in front of the glass doors opening out onto the veranda. An army chaplain awaited them. The president moved a few steps away from his daughter, allowing Cameron Roberts to take her place by Blair’s side. The guests filled the seats set up in one half of the room.

Wes made her way around the perimeter toward Peter Chang. She wasn’t officially the head of the medical unit yet. Until her final security clearance, she was in limbo. She hadn’t felt quite so displaced since the day her mother met her at the bus stop after school one late June day when she was eight and said they were moving in with her grandmother. They couldn’t afford to live in the house she’d grown up in any longer. Wes pushed the uneasy feeling aside. She wasn’t eight anymore, and she had learned since then that destiny was hers to determine.

Chang nodded to her when she stepped up beside him. He’d obviously been briefed too, but there was no time for conversation. The chaplain’s deep voice filled the room.

Dearly beloved…

The president’s daughter and Cameron Roberts faced each other, hands lightly clasped, eyes locked.

I, Blair Allison Powell, take you, Cameron Reed Roberts, to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children, and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care for and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and to stay with you, for all eternity.

A willowy blonde stepped to Blair’s side, and Blair lifted a gleaming gold band from her palm. She lifted Cam’s left hand and slid the ring securely on her third finger. With this ring, I thee wed.

Cameron Roberts’s gaze never wavered from Blair’s face, her voice ringing strong and clear. I, Cameron Reed Roberts, take you, Blair Allison Powell, to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children, and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care for and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and to stay with you, for all eternity.

Roberts accepted the matching ring from a young dark-haired woman who leaned on a plain wood cane, and slipped it onto Blair’s finger. With this ring, I thee wed.

An anticipatory breath shuddered through the crowd. Six uniformed officers, the Guard of Honor, stepped in sync to form a path from the proceedings area, facing one another in a line, white-gloved hands on shining saber hilts.

By the power vested in me by the United States Army, the President of the United States, and the Commonwealth of…

The three male and three female officers drew their swords with a slick of steel, their blades raised and touching to form the Arch of Sabers.

…I pronounce you wed.

The couple kissed, the crowd clapped, and Wes turned to Peter Chang.

“I guess you know who I am.”

Chang held out his hand. “Welcome to the hot zone, Captain.”

Chapter Three

Hot zone. The term wasn’t new to Wes, but somehow she didn’t think Dr. Peter Chang was using it in the usual medical sense, meaning an area of contamination—typically bacterial or viral or chemical. In combat, the term referred to the region under fire. When teaching battlefield evacuation, Wes stressed that the hot zone was the area where the injured were still in the line of fire, and those charged to secure their safety would be too. Working in the hot zone was a way of life for a battlefield surgeon, and though her career path had been one of teaching, she’d done her tour at the front.

She hadn’t had much time to think about the tactical aspects of her new job, and she wasn’t sure who she should talk to about the specifics. One thing any team leader learned quickly was to keep their inexperience to themselves. She wasn’t too proud to ask for help when she needed to know something, but she didn’t plan to walk into her first day on the job acting like a rookie, either. No one needed to explain the critical nature of her assignment; she had only to look around the room. The president of the United States, his chief of staff, his military liaison, his daughter, her newly wedded partner, several ranking members of the cabinet, at least one member of the Joint Chiefs, the national security advisor, and the president’s security chief were all gathered in one room. A strike against this location would effectively paralyze the government of the most powerful nation in the world. It wasn’t her job to worry about the security of the nation, only the health, welfare, and safety of its leader.

Right now, that leader was dancing with his daughter, as any father of the bride would. Ushers and valets in crisp white jackets and black tuxedo pants had magically secreted the chairs somewhere out of sight. A four-piece band had set up adjacent to where the vows had been exchanged and was playing soft jazz. Waiters passed through the crowd with flutes of champagne on silver trays. The atmosphere was boisterous and relaxed. Wes didn’t feel relaxed.

She might not have officially begun her duty, but she was all but signed-on-the-dotted-line, making every individual in this room her responsibility whether she carried the black field-trauma bag today or not. She wasn’t here to socialize. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was here, but as long as she was, she intended to work if necessary.

“What’s the evacuation route to the nearest medical facility?” she asked Peter.

“There’s a EC145 Eurocopter standing by. The closest level one trauma center is about a twenty-minute ride.”

“Who flies it?”

“One of the marine pilots out of Andrews. He and our flight nurse are in the building.”

“And you’re in charge today?”

“Yes. We draw up the duty roster monthly, depending upon POTUS’s itinerary and events scheduled at the House.” Peter’s expression grew somber. “Len was supposed to have this detail.”

She wondered if Chang and the previous medical chief had been close friends, although their personal relationship didn’t really matter. The death of a colleague, especially someone you worked with every day, was painful, and no words of sympathy were ever adequate. “I was sorry to hear of his death.”

Peter nodded, watching the crowd. “Yeah. We all were.”

“I’ve seen the team roster.” Wes had been provided dossiers on all the members of the team—three docs, three flight nurses, three PAs. Not a huge group considering they covered the clinic for White House staffers, visitors, and guests, oversaw routine and urgent care for the president’s and vice president’s families, and accompanied the president on all scheduled and OTR trips. “That makes for some pretty intense scheduling.”

“It can get hectic.”

“We can pull personnel from Bethesda if we need to?”

Peter shifted slightly and met her gaze. “You can do pretty much anything you want to do, Captain. It’s your show.”