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  “Donna! So pleased to see you again.” Eve isn’t staring at my face, so I guess the makeup did the trick.

  She rises to hug me. “And you’re right on time! Mr. Clancy presumed you’d be here within the half-hour.” She glances at the grandfather clock near the Oval Office door. “I’ll buzz the President to let him know you’ve arrived. He’s wrapping up a meeting with Vice President Edmonton, DI Branham, and Mr. Courtland.”

  I nod as I take a seat.

  I’m not in it for long. A few minutes later, the door opens. Lee lingers in the Oval Office’s doorway as DI Branham, Todd Courtland, and our new Vice President, Bradley Edmonton, take their leave.

  This is my first time seeing Edmonton up close. I suppose Lee chose this former senator and savvy Washington insider as Thomas Drucker’s successor—yes, because he was the former Chair of the United States Senate Committee on Armed Services, but also because he’s popular in his critical swing state and in the nation as a whole.

  Edmonton’s Twitter feed profile paints him as an aw-shucks good ol’ boy who would “rather be fishing than doing all this politicking.” People actually buy into this malarkey, despite his Harvard Law School education, his time as a Rhodes Scholar, and the whip-smart fact-laden soundbites that roll trippingly off his tongue when in front of live cameras. Political pundits have dubbed him, “the silver-haired, golden-tongued fox”—not just because of his full head of salt-and-pepper hair, but because, at forty-five, this once-widowed senior statesman is also one of D.C.’s most eligible bachelors.

  In his bespoke Brioni suit and Ferragamo calfskin loafers, he certainly dresses the part.

  By the time we’re face to face, he’s checking me out too. Not that I blame him. I’m just wondering which of my many reputations fascinates him the most. Is it that of the mysterious woman who always has the president’s ear? Or maybe he wonders how someone who’s been on the Most Wanted List—twice—can just waltz into the White House without an invitation.

  My guess: he’s gawking because, without me, he wouldn’t hold the position he now has.

  Drucker barely survived an attempt to blow up his motorcade last year, which resulted in the death of his wife, Tilly, and put the vice president in a coma. I was framed for it, but the real culprit was a super soldier whose facial features were altered because her DNA was similar enough that she could pass as my identical twin.

  When Drucker woke from his coma, Lee’s way of convincing him to resign with a get-out-of-jail-free pardon was to show him the evidence Acme found regarding his act of sabotage: covert surveillance on the President within the White House.

  I stand to shake Branham’s and Courtland’s hands.

  “Have you met the Vice President?” Todd asks. “No? Then let me do the honors. Sir, Donna Craig represents one of the Intelligence Community’s security contractors, Acme Industries.”

  When our eyes meet again, Edmonton winks at me.

  Cheeky bastard.

  His handshake lingers just a moment too long. “After all I’ve heard about the stunning Mrs. Craig, I can honestly say the pleasure is mine. At least, I hope it will be, very soon.” His words flow out as warm and slow as pine sap on a hot afternoon.

  Todd and Branham chuckle uncomfortably.

  I choose to smile prettily as I lean in and murmur softly, “So sad about Vice President Drucker’s accident, isn’t it? But I’m sure you’ll have no problem following in his footsteps—if not his limo tracks.”

  Edmonton drops my hand as if it’s on fire. He scowls as he strolls out the door.

  Well, he can’t say he hasn’t been duly warned.

  Is Bradley Edmonton’s allegiance to Lee stronger than Drucker’s was? Only time will tell. In the meantime, Lee will have his hands full with a more pressing issue: what to do to a wife willing to commit treason and murder.

  As elated as I am to be alive, I don’t look forward to briefing him about Babette’s role in this latest attempt on his life.

  Lee shows me into the Oval Office, but waits until the door is shut before leaning in for a tight hug. “Donna, I didn’t elaborate on your situation when we met in Lion’s Lair because—well, I didn’t want Ryan and Jack to feel uncomfortable. But I have to tell you how great it was to see you…alive. I thought I’d be losing you forever.”

  “I’m very happy—and very blessed—to be alive,” I assure him. It feels good to have someone who cares for you show his joy about it with no remorse.

  I wonder if Lee would react as Jack did if I told him that all my intuitions regarding this mission were based on clues I’d received from those in the Afterlife? Would he wince at the madness in my methods, or would he let the outcome speak for itself?

  Over Lee’s intercom, Eve says, “Mr. Clancy is now on the line.”

  As I pull away, Lee sighs reluctantly. He walks over to the desk, hits his intercom button, and mutters, “Thanks, Eve. Patch him in.”

  I’ll have my answer soon enough.

  “Donna is already there, I take it?” Ryan asks through the speakerphone.

  “Yes, I just walked through the door,” I assure him. “I’m ready, at the President’s behest.” Broad hint: I don’t want to be the one to break the news to him.

  “Good. Then I’ll begin.” Ryan takes a deep breath. “So, Sir, I presume that by now you know that the nuclear briefcase that has been in possession of your security detail may, in fact, contain fake or compromised Gold Codes.”

  Lee winces. “Yes, I was informed of this very disturbing fact. The aides in charge are being investigated now.”

  Poor Gordy.

  Could it have been an inside job? If Eric never regains consciousness, we’ll never know. In any event, it’s a black mark that now taints the careers of the few who had the privilege to serve in this very important position.

  “As for the attempt on my life,” Lee continues, “Rappaport divulged that Scarlett Hancock was the shooter, but that she was exterminated by Mrs. Craig. Needless to say, Babette was quite upset.”

  I’m sure she was, but not for the obvious reasons.

  Ryan is quiet before adding: “We have proof that Hancock had co-conspirators.”

  “By that, you mean Eric Weber?” Lee asks.

  “Not just Weber.” Ryan clears his throat. “We have reason to believe that Babette also conspired with Scarlett and Eric in your assassination, and in the theft of the Gold Codes.”

  Lee’s eyes meet mine, but neither of us says anything. Finally, I nod.

  “Please, explain,” he mutters.

  Ryan now plays the recording of Scarlett’s comments to me as she watched them through the West Wing Window.

  My eyes are solely on Lee. He frowns at her sarcastic declaration that they make a cozy picture—“…like Jack and Jackie just before Oswald’s second hit.”

  He frowns when she declares, “Blood splatters on the peignoir will be a wonderful touch, don’t you think?”

  His eyes widen when she purrs, “It was her idea to wear it. I even helped her pick it out. I made her model it first, though.”

  And his face becomes a granite mask when she adds, “I’ll bet you wish you’d been there, eh?”

  Ryan ends the recording.

  Lee sits silently for what seems like a lifetime. Finally, he murmurs, “I didn’t hear my wife conspiring with an assassin. I heard an assassin laughing about the fact that a kill shot—to me—would spatter Babette with my blood and possibly send her into an emotional tailspin. And I can only imagine what would have happened if Babette were hit instead of me.” He closes his eyes at the thought. “In fact, considering Ms. Hancock’s professed ardor for her, maybe her target was Babette after all.”

  “We don’t think so.” Ryan clears his throat: his tell that more bad news is in the offing. “In fact, we have verification that the First Lady conspired with Ms. Hancock and Eric Weber.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lee’s shock, leavened by anger, warns Ryan that he’s on thin ice.

 
; “I’m sorry to say, Sir, but she admitted as much to Mrs. Craig,” Ryan informs him. “Her confession was recorded.”

  I feel my cheeks redden as Lee turns to stare at me.

  If the eyes truly are the windows to the soul, I am looking at a man whose has just lost his.

  Not all marriages are grounded in the fertile soil of love. But to learn that your marriage is so fallow that only the seeds of murderous intent are left to sprout is enough to kill one’s soul.

  I know this first hand.

  Ryan adds, “I’ll play that conversation for you now.”

  I shift my hand within Lee’s reach.

  He looks down at it, but leaves it where it is.

  By being the messenger, I may have inadvertently accomplished one of Babette’s goals: killed Lee’s feelings for me.

  Hate truly is the Grim Reaper.

  I watch Lee as he listens:

  My Voice:

  Seriously, Babette, is that why you let her go? Or, was it all part of an act to cover up the bigger plan?

  * * *

  Babette’s Voice:

  I don’t know what’ you’re talking about!

  * * *

  Me:

  Scarlett admitted it. To her credit, she thought she was talking to Eric at the time while she took aim at Lee from the fourth floor of the EEOB. But you already know she was his shooter, don’t you? In fact, you felt comfortable enough with her marksmanship that you offered to distract Lee—in your sexy nightie, no less.

  * * *

  Babette:

  How dare you insinuate—

  * * *

  Me:

  Sorry, Babette. Her remarks were recorded. Lee will be briefed on them. shortly.

  [Muffled sounds of a struggle]

  Babette:

  You bitch! If you think Lee will take your word over mine—

  * * *

  Me:

  Lee deserves to know the truth.

  * * *

  Babette:

  He already knows it! He also knows that there is nothing he can do about it. He needed me to get here, and he needs me to stay here.

  * * *

  Me:

  You’ve done everything to undermine his presidency—including conspiracy for treason! For the good of the country, he’ll do the right thing.

  * * *

  Babette:

  You’re such a fool! He’s boxed in. Admitting that I tried to kill him will be his political undoing. If I go down, so does he—

  [Harrison’s cries cut her off.]

  Lee has sat stoically throughout the conversation but he winces when he hears the slap.

  When he turns to me, I look away.

  He pushes my hair away from my face. He must see the ghost of her hand mark because he groans softly. He is moved to stroke my cheek lightly.

  “Sir?... Are you still there?”

  The concern in Ryan’s voice is enough to guilt Lee into dropping his hand. Still, he is defensive enough to counter, “Did Babette know she was being recorded?”

  “Of course not!” I exclaim.

  “Then it is inadmissible as evidence,” Lee declares.

  “Washington, D.C. has a ‘one-party consent’ law,” Ryan reminds him.

  “Covert recordings in the White House are a treasonous offense,” Lee insists. “Former Vice President Drucker found this out the hard way—thanks to Acme. I’d hate to ask the DIA to file charges against Mrs. Craig.”

  Ryan’s silence weighs heavy in the room. Finally, he mutters, “Babette committed treason.”

  “That is still your supposition and yours alone. I don’t agree with it in the least,” Lee declares darkly. “Unless you have corroboration from one of her supposed co-conspirators. Do you?”

  “As you know, Sir, Hancock is dead, and Weber is in a coma,” Ryan retorts dryly.

  “And if Weber never wakes up, you have nothing other than the ramblings of a new mother suffering from postpartum depression while Mrs. Craig attempts to browbeat a confession from her,” Lee points out.

  “I did no such thing!” I insist.

  “Mrs. Craig, shall we test my theory on the American public, who reveres the First Lady of the United States?”

  Ryan and I say nothing.

  “Good,” Lee says. “And I’m sure that, like me, Acme will do its best to quash any unfounded rumors of the First Lady’s involvement.”

  Ryan’s retort is just as steely: “Sir, if you’re asking Acme to cover up her crime—”

  “I’m not asking Acme to do anything of the sort,” Lee counters. “But should such a bizarre story be leaked to the press, needless to say, all branches of U.S. Intelligence would be hard pressed to offer Acme any future contracts.”

  I’m steaming at Lee’s threat. I can only imagine how Ryan feels about it.

  His silence speaks volumes. When he finally speaks, it’s softer than I’d ever thought possible. “Watch your back, Mr. President. In any event, we will always do our best to keep it covered.”

  Lee doesn’t answer, but by his nod, I know he gets the message loud and clear.

  I wait until Ryan hangs up before muttering, “You’re an idiot, Lee Chiffray.”

  He shrugs. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, Mrs. Craig.”

  I glare at him. “Seriously? You don’t feel that Babette should pay for the crime of attempted murder—on you, of all people?”

  “I think…I think that my wife has been going through a lot lately, including a difficult pregnancy.”

  I roll my eyes. “You sound like a lawyer who’s testing a defense theory in the hope that it will win your client sympathy votes from the jury.”

  “If you’re saying I shouldn’t protect her, well then you don’t know me as well as I thought,” he replies firmly.

  “I’m just saying that it’s time Babette quit hiding behind you. Hell, Lee! What I’m saying is that she doesn’t deserve you!”

  He looks sharply at me. “Even if you’re right about that, it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t have the one woman I want.”

  I throw up my hands. “I appreciate all you do on my behalf. I—”

  In a second, he’s at my side. “Don’t patronize me, Donna. I’m not asking for your ‘appreciation.’ I’m asking for your love.”

  “You have my loyalty. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Sorry, but no! Look—I almost lost you once. If something should happen to you again, I’d”—the thought stops him cold—“I don’t know what I’d do.” He sighs. “I once…I asked you to marry me. You were still unconscious—”

  “I know.” My cheeks heat up at my confession.

  Lee frowns. “Jack told you?”

  “He didn't have to,” I reply. I take a deep breath and then add: “I heard everything.”

  “Jesus!” Lee shakes his head, awed. “I’ve heard of cases like that…” His voice trails off as he realizes the consequences of his actions.

  “Well, I was one of them.” I sit down beside him. “And I appreciated what you said at the time: about loving my honesty, and my strength, and my…my loyalty to you.”

  “I’m married to a traitor who’d much rather see me dead. At the same time, I’m in love with the one woman who can save me.” His wry laughter echoes through the room. “What if she were out of the picture, Donna? Would you reconsider?”

  “Don’t, Lee! Let’s not play the ‘What if’ game! In real life, there is no what if, only what is.” Placing my hand over his, I add, “We have a very odd friendship—more so because neither of the two people with whom we’ve tied our fate accept the role we play in each other’s lives.”

  Tenderly he strokes my fingers. “What is that role, Donna?”

  “We are faithful friends and trusted allies against those who would harm our country.”

  He tilts my chin so that I can only look him directly in the eyes. “Is that all?”

  “What could be more important?” I counter.

  “Your love.” He t
akes both my hands in his. “Do you also remember that I told you I loved you, and that should you live, I’d ask you to consider spending your life with me?”

  “Yes.” My voice is so soft that it sounds a million miles away.

  “You’re alive, Donna. And I’m asking you.”

  His eyes won’t let go of mine. In their depths I see hope.

  But I shatter it when I say: “Lee, I love Jack. And I always will. Forever."

  He lets my hand drop in my lap. "I know.”

  He gets the message loud and clear.

  Can you stop someone from loving you? I think you can—with betrayal.

  It killed the love I had for Carl.

  I wonder if Lee now feels the same way about Babette? If so, would he admit it to me? I think we are close enough that he would.

  But now is not the time to ask. I need to leave him on a high note. I try for levity. Slyly, I ask, “Tell the truth, Lee: what if I'd woken up and said yes to your proposal?”

  This time, his laugh is genuine. “I’d have been the happiest man alive. Unlike Babette, you wouldn’t try to kill me!”

  “Don’t be so sure. All wives feel like killing their husbands at least once.”

  He snorts. “And unlike Babette, you’d succeed!” His grin disappears. “And if not, I’d fight tooth and nail to keep you out of jail.”

  “Just as you’re now fighting for Babette,” I reply sadly.

  For the longest time, he gazes into my eyes. Then, very slowly, he nods.

  Don’t, Lee. She hates you…

  But it’s no use. He’s made up his mind.

  It is said that a dearly departed’s loved ones go through five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Can the same be true for the death of a marriage?

  And, if so, surely Lee has been in denial for quite some time.

  How long will it take for him to pass through the other stages and accept her role in his attempted murder? For Babette, will his acceptance mean her demise, or will his inaction lead to her resurrection?