“Hamilton, I am going to kill you,” Dar told him, seriously. “I have tickets on the one p.m. flight out of here.”

“Phone call will take care of that for you, so just you relax.” The lawyer chuckled. “C’mon now. How often do you get to get up on TV and get a medal pinned on you?” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s duck into the Batmobile. We’ve got an hour or two before the first TV spot. Wait here.

I’ll find a good way out.” He ducked out the door, leaving them staring at each other.

“I am not going to stand here for—” Dar started in, her voice rising, as Kerry put a hand on her arm.

“Dar,” Andrew spoke very quietly, making his daughter fall silent,

“ah have a box of medals for killing folks. Ah think I’d like just one for saving ’em.”

You could have heard a pin drop easily in the silence that followed, Kerry mused, just like that old cliché.

“Okay,” Dar replied in a subdued voice. She walked over to a bench near the door and sat down to wait, letting her briefcase rest on the floor.

Ceci walked over and sat down next to her, but didn’t speak. Kerry just stood next to Andrew, cradling her arm, unable to come up with a thing to say.

DAR SQUINTED, SHADING her eyes as the bright lights invaded what Hamilton had insisted on dubbing the Batmobile. Technicians bustled around, moving cables and arranging cameras, and the interviewer was off to one side, going over some notes with two assistants. It was cramped inside the bus, but it was private, and the news people appreciated the closed environment and ready access to phones, power, and a fax machine.

Kerry was curled up in one of the leather chairs nearby just watching and Dar’s parents had taken over the long couch, also reviewing the chaos with interested eyes as though it had been arranged for their benefit.

Hamilton had wanted Dar to dress up, but she had put her foot down, refusing to force her still tired and aching body into a wool skirt 428 Melissa Good and blazer, not to mention heels. She stubbornly insisted on her faded jeans and sneakers and had grudgingly agreed to wear her gunmetal gray jacket over her plain white T-shirt as her only concession.

A makeup person approached, carrying a case. Dar glared at her until she slowed down, pausing hesitantly outside her reach and giving her an overly bright smile. “Hi.” The woman was of middling height and athletic build, with wavy blonde hair not very different from Kerry’s.

Dar strategically lifted an eyebrow. “Got a problem?”

“Well, I thought you might like some powder…or…something…eye shadow?”

“No thanks,” Dar replied. “I’m allergic.”

“Oh.” The makeup woman smiled easily. “It’s hypoallergenic. It’s safe, really. I mean, you don’t need any blush or anything, maybe just a little color…fluff your hair?”

Dar’s nostrils twitched and she rotated an eyeball over to where Kerry was biting her knuckle to keep from laughing. “Can you make my hair look like hers?” She indicated her lover’s wavy locks.

“Um, no. I don’t think so.” The woman eyed Kerry apologetically.

“Then forget it.” Dar settled back, sipping her root beer. “I’m just fine as is, thanks.” She glanced up as the interviewer came over and settled down in the chair next to her.

Cheryl Abramson was tall, almost as tall as Dar herself, and slender, with exotic, high cheekbones and rich chestnut hair. She had a tiny spattering of freckles and intense hazel eyes, which she turned on Dar along with a dazzling smile. She wore a meticulously tailored navy blue suit, with a pale blue silk shirt, and the effect was clean and sophisticated and quite attractive.

“Ms. Roberts? Let’s go over a few things before we start.” Abramson spoke in a low, melodious voice. “I have most of the details I need on you, but I want to just check a few things.”

Dar leaned on the chair arm and sucked at her straw. “Sure.” She deliberately injected a touch of the South into her speech. “What would you like to know?” The other woman glanced up at her and unconsciously straightened, a hand going up to touch her hair in an instinctive gesture Dar well understood. Interesting.

“Well, we’ve got your professional details—ILS provided them to us.

You’ve been with them for fifteen years?” Her voice lifted in question and she peered over her papers at Dar’s youthful appearance.

“That’s right.” Dar didn’t see any reason to relieve her confusion.

“Okay.” Abramson went back to her checklist. “You’ve been the CIO

of the company for…six months? And before that you were the VP of Operations for three years, is that right?”

“Yep,” Dar agreed readily.

“Right. You normally work in Miami, correct?”

Dar nodded.

“And you were in Washington for…” She looked up in question.

Why indeed? Kerry and Dar had discussed what they were going to Eye of the Storm 429

tell the press, who had been sniffing interestedly around Kerry as well, and now Dar stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles before she answered. “My co-worker, and friend, Ms. Stuart, was called to testify in her father’s hearings. I was just here for moral support.” Strict, absolute truth.

Abramson glanced at Kerry who had slumped in her chair, curling a leg over one arm of it and dozing off. “I see.” She scribbled a note.

“You’re headed back to Miami now, I take it, after the ceremony?”

Dar nodded.

“Okay.” Cheryl scribbled more notes. “Let me make sure I’ve got this down. You arrived. You were involved in the ATM shutdown, you were interviewed by one of my colleagues, you went to the hospital to visit Ms.

Stuart’s sister, the explosion happened, you dug out some survivors, you directed the escape and rescue of the people you found, then you got out…are those the high points of your week?” Her tone was dryly humorous.

“Essentially.” Dar chuckled, finding herself liking the woman. “We were hoping for a short investigation, a few days sightseeing, and maybe a tour of the White House, but you take what you can get.” Her face relaxed into an easy grin.

Cheryl looked up and met her eyes, then went back to her writing, the edges of her own lips twitching a little. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

“No,” Dar answered. “I leave that to the police.”

“Do you think the senator was the target?”

Dar shook her head. “Again, that’s not something I want to speculate on.”

“Okay.” Abramson nodded at the cameraman. “We’re ready. Do you have a good angle?” She shifted in her chair and motioned the makeup woman over, checking herself in the hastily provided hand held mirror.

The makeup woman took out a rotary brush and carefully fluffed the anchorwoman’s bangs, then backed off to study her work. “You want highlighter?”

Cheryl peered at her reflection, then took a sideways glance at Dar, who ran her fingers through her dark locks, settling them in sort of an order, before she folded her hands over her stomach in a waiting attitude.

“No. I’ll be fine.” She nudged the makeup woman out of the way and carefully arranged herself, posing with her pad in Interviewer Position A.

“Ready?”

Dar cocked her head. “Whenever you are.”

“WELL, DAR, I have to admit, you do one hell of an interview,”

Hamilton complimented. “You were made for the camera. Now, just one more little jaunt up on to that stage out there and you can get on your little plane and make tracks for the Sunshine State.”

“Great.” Dar exhaled, wishing she had half a bottle of aspirin at her 430 Melissa Good fingertips. “Dad, you ready?”

“Dar, do you think you could put on a collared shirt? You look like a beach bum,” Hamilton complained.

“No.” Blue eyes pierced him. “One more comment like that and I’ll pick up the damn thing in my sports bra.”

The lawyer tapped a long finger against his teeth. “Hmm. Be good, Hamilton, be good.”

Andrew walked over and laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Ah think she looks just fine,” he said. “Leave her be.”

“Or?” Hamilton inquired archly. “I have to know what the conse-quences are of giving up my favorite entertainment.”

Andrew blinked at him. “Or I will take hold of them parts that makes you a man and pull them up out your eardrums,” he rasped seriously.

Dar watched Hamilton’s face with interest, knowing the level of unflappability the corporate legal chief possessed. Certainly, she’d never been able to put a dent in it. Hamilton eyed the taller, burlier Andrew, then shifted his eyes to Dar.

“You know, Dar. I always knew I’d find something to redeem you in my eyes. I just never expected it to be that you had a proper Southern daddy.” He inclined his head towards Andy. “My pardon, sir. I’ll leave her be.” He wandered over to the bar and poured himself a drink, chuckling under his breath.

Dar paced across to the window of the bus, leaned her arms on the wall and tried to stretch her tense back out. The long interview with charming Cheryl had made her stiffen up and she just wanted to get the ceremony over and leave. Kerry was curled up in a corner of the couch, the painkillers she’d been taking for her shoulder making her very sleepy, and Ceci had settled her coat over the blonde woman’s shoulders and was seated next to her, sketching.

Dar stared out at the gathering crowd, watching the various technicians preparing the platform, putting cameras in place, and setting up microphones. She felt a warm hand on her back and turned to see her father peering over her shoulder.

“You all right, Dardar?”