“Derrick,” he said when the call was answered, “I got your message.”

“Yes, sir,” Derrick said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your holiday—”

“No matter. What is it?”

“Hooker wants to speak with you. I tried to put him off, but he says there’s a problem. It sounded urgent.”

“When isn’t it?” Russo trusted Derrick nearly as much as he trusted Nora. He’d plucked him out of the state campaign office a number of years before when he’d been looking for loyal staffers to run his presidential campaign. Derrick was smart, aggressive, and loyal. He was the type of man who made a perfect number two—not likely to attempt to replace Russo, but quite willing to orchestrate the demise of anyone who threatened Russo’s power. With Derrick handling the campaign machine and Nora orchestrating the public platform, Russo was well protected from any unfortunate outcomes. “I’ll speak with him if you think it’s prudent.”

“I do.”

“I’m going to take a drive and pick up another phone. If I need you, I’ll call.”

“Of course, sir. Anytime.”

“I hope you’ve had a pleasant few days’ vacation.”

“Very nice. But truthfully, sir, I’m ready to go back to work.” Derrick’s tone was eager and completely genuine. “We’ve got a big year ahead of us.”

Russo laughed. “We’ve got a big eight years ahead of us.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Russo ended the call and walked inside to collect his car keys. He told the housekeeper to inform his wife he would be gone for an hour or so.

“Of course,” answered the diffident middle-aged woman whose name he couldn’t recall. “Should I hold lunch, sir?”

“I’ll be back before then.”

She nodded, never looking at him directly. “Very good, sir.”

He didn’t bother to tell his wife he was leaving. At a nearby shopping complex, he bought a disposable phone along with a bottle of iced tea at a Rite Aid. Back in his car, he called Hooker. “What couldn’t wait?”

“Our friends in the mountains called me again,” Hooker said.

“You need to remind them we’re in charge here,” Russo said. “I already told you I would arrange for the funds to be available early.”

“This isn’t about the funds. This is more serious than money.”

Russo laughed. “I don’t believe there is anything more serious.”

“Try Homeland Security.”

A cold wave churned through Russo’s guts. “What are you talking about?”

“Our friends have friends in the local sheriff’s department. They got wind of a meeting between someone in Homeland Security and an informant. Homeland is looking at the militia.”

“That can’t be unusual,” Russo said, relaxing a little bit. “One agency or another is always looking at militias. It gives them an excuse to take a bigger piece of the budget than they deserve.”

“The timing is suspicious, considering the situation in DC.”

“It’s very likely to be a coincidence,” Russo said, aware that he was trying to convince himself as much as Hooker. “Do we know who the interested party is?”

“Not yet, but I’ve told our friends we need further details—who, when, and where.”

“And you trust the source?”

“An ATF agent in Los Angeles called the sheriff’s department requesting covert backup for a meet between an undercover agent and the Homeland agent. One of the sheriff’s deputies is a member of the militia.”

“And what about the undercover agent—are we exposed?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m worried about the gun deal. We can’t be sure what they know.”

Russo paused, considered his options. His popularity was growing, and the gap between his polls and Powell’s was narrowing. He’d wanted to cripple Powell’s campaign by creating national doubt as to Powell’s ability to keep the nation safe. Even without an assault, his odds of victory were improving, and he still had time to put together another plan. He didn’t like giving up his long-range plans, but any connection to the militia and illegal activity would effectively destroy his chances of winning the White House. “How much time do we have before the exchange?”

“Not that long. Inside a week, probably. They’ll want the money soon.”

“Can we stall—perhaps suggest the exchange is too dangerous if there’s a possible infiltrator?”

“If we pull out, there’s going to be trouble.”

“I’m sure you can handle it. After all, that’s what I’m paying you for.”

“We aren’t the only people that can help supply this group with guns, and they’re crazy.”

“If we can’t handle a rabscrabble pack of amateur soldiers, we can hardly expect to rule the country.”

“I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more.”

“I want the name of exactly who is snooping around, and where they’re getting their information.”

“That’s my top priority.”

“I’ll expect an update within twenty-four hours.”

Hooker disconnected without bothering to reply.

Russo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Homeland Security. Even the suggestion of his involvement with the militia could taint his campaign. But if he showed himself to be capable of enforcing law and order on the home front, he might be able to counteract some of the criticism aimed at his support of the NRA. After all, a leader who took on the radical fringe would appeal to the liberals. Perhaps he could turn this investigation to his advantage, even if it meant sacrificing some useful connections.


*


“I can walk,” Loren muttered, pushing feebly at Quincy’s arm.

“Sure you can,” Quincy snorted, “on water too, I’ll bet.”

Sky checked over her shoulder to be sure they weren’t going to do anything stupid like let Loren try walking on her own, and then hurried to unlock the hotel room door. “Put her on the bed.”

Quincy and one of the prospects half carried, half walked Loren to the bed and none too gently deposited her on her back in the middle of the single king.

“Next time, wait till you got backup before you take on a bunch of Lobos,” Quincy said good-naturedly. “Don’t know who was watching the door, but Ramsey is probably chewing them a new one right about now for letting a rival club crash our party.”

“Thanks,” Sky said as Quincy and the prospect walked to the door.

“Keep her in here tonight,” Quincy said.

“I plan to.” Sky closed the door and turned all the lights off except for a small lamp on the desk. She searched in the TV cabinet for an ice bucket. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“Where you going?”

“Ice.” Sky studied Loren’s eyes. Both pupils were equal and reactive although slightly unfocused. Her cheek was swollen, the corner of her mouth bleeding. Sky ran her fingers lightly along the edge of Loren’s jaw, looking for any evidence a fist or foot had fractured it. She concentrated on what needed to be done and not the terror that had gripped her when Loren had gone down and she’d lost sight of her beneath a melee of flying fists and legs.

Loren gripped Sky’s wrist. “You okay?”

Sky laughed wryly. “I wasn’t the one getting hammered on back there.”

“I should have stayed with you. Shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“You should’ve let me handle that asshole,” Sky said sharply even as she gently brushed hair away from Loren’s eyes. “Or, like Quincy said, waited until a few more of the Renegades were around before picking a fight with some gatecrashers.”

“Tired of everyone pawing at you.”

“No one was pawing. I don’t allow pawing.” Sky leaned down and kissed Loren’s forehead. “Unless you’re doing it.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m worried. Just lie still. I’ll be back in a minute. If we don’t get ice on your face, you won’t be able to open your jaw in the morning.”

“Looks worse than it is.”

“I sincerely hope so, because it looks bad.” Sky laughed before she vented her anxiety and fear on Loren. Maybe Loren had been playing a part when she’d gone after the asshole who’d probably left finger marks on her arm, and maybe Loren really had reacted on instinct. Either way, Loren couldn’t help being who she was, and browbeating her while she was hurt wasn’t fair. “Stay put.”

Sky filled the bucket with ice from a machine in an alcove down the hall and hurried back, afraid to leave Loren alone too long. Sure enough, Loren had managed to get to a sitting position and was trying to get her boots off.

“What part of lie down don’t you understand?” Sky slammed the bucket down on the TV cabinet hard enough to spew ice cubes onto the floor. She stepped over the ice and grabbed Loren’s right boot. “Lie back, I’ll get these off.”

“Don’t like being helpless.”

“No, I don’t imagine you do.” Carefully, Sky eased Loren’s boots off and sat beside her on the bed. “I’m going to take off your vest and jeans. I’ll go slowly, but I think it’s going to hurt.”

Loren tried for a grin, the swelling in her lower lip blunting her devastating smile but not completely obliterating the appeal. Even bruised and battered, she was the most exciting woman Sky had ever seen. “You have to stop trying to protect me.”

“It’s my job. You’re my old lady.”

“Don’t try to manage me.” Sky carefully unbuttoned Loren’s vest and opened it. Loren was naked underneath and just as beautiful as Sky remembered. A multicolored dragon wended its way up her left side and ended along the curve of her breast. Sky had seen the tattoo from a distance, but now the backs of her fingers traced the graceful arch of the ancient warrior demon. “This is beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Loren raised a hand, caressed Sky’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m going to pull this out from behind you. Don’t try to sit up. I can get it.” Sky concentrated on getting Loren’s vest off and not on how striking her body was or how electrifying her touch. After dispensing with that, she unbuckled Loren’s wide leather belt and opened her fly. Grasping the waistband of Loren’s jeans, she tugged the pants down over her hips. She’d been prepared to find nothing beneath, but the impact of Loren’s naked body was still a blow. Loren was beautiful, and if she hadn’t been hurt, Sky wouldn’t have resisted the urge to touch her. But a bruise as big as both her hands spread over Loren’s right hip onto her lower abdomen, tempering her desire. Sky lightly stroked the purpling skin. “This looks bad.”