The idea that the night was over, never to be repeated, sliced through Wes with unexpected pain. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen next, and she had no point of reference, other than the scent of Evyn in the dark and the silky glide of Evyn’s skin beneath her hands. Those memories and the clear and certain knowledge that she wanted both again were all she had. Pushing the covers aside, she climbed out of bed and grabbed her sweatpants and a heavy gray cotton pullover out of her bag. The hot-water radiator in the corner rattled but didn’t seem to be throwing off much heat. Dressing quickly in the cold room, she sat on the end of the bed to put on her socks. The door banged open and Evyn hurried in, bringing a gust of frigid wind and scattered snowflakes. Her face was flushed. She wore the jeans and T-shirt from the night before. She carried a cardboard takeout tray in her right hand with two large cardboard cups of coffee and a grease-stained brown bag.

Wes wanted to kiss her. “Say it’s hot and strong.”

“Oh yeah. Believe it.” Evyn grinned. “Thought you might be ready for this.”

“I am.” Wes concentrated on her socks so she wouldn’t jump up and touch her. “Have you been up long?”

“No.” Evyn set the tray down on the dresser. She shed Wes’s jacket and draped it over the back of a lone wooden chair. Water dripped from her cuffs onto the floor. She stamped snow from her boots and kicked them off, leaving them on a square of threadbare carpet that served as a doormat. She crossed to the bed opposite Wes and held out a cup of coffee.

“Black, right?”

Wes took it. “Right. Thanks. How’s the storm?”

“Dying off. The pizza place across the street doubles as a deli in the morning. There’s doughnuts there too.” She waved in the direction of the brown paper bag propped in the cardboard container. “Glazed. And cinnamon.”

“Perfect.”

“I’m having trouble making a call—I think everyone’s using the cell lines. I’m guessing it will be afternoon before we can get a flight out of here. The storm is moving up the coast. Sounds like DC is getting hammered again.”

“I guess I’d better try to call the unit and make sure there’s enough coverage.”

“Good luck. I just managed to get my neighbor across the hall to feed my cat. I couldn’t get through to the House or Tom’s cell.”

“Well, I’m sure whichever doc is around will see that we’re appropriately staffed.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. They all know what to do.” Evyn sipped her coffee and watched Wes pull on her socks. The bed behind her was rumpled, the sheets and blankets askew. They’d given it a workout. Thinking of the way Wes had made her come, more times in a row than she could ever remember, made her stomach clutch. The sex had been great—awesome—but the sleeping together had her out of sync. She didn’t usually do that—even when she spent the night with someone, she didn’t curl up with them, didn’t turn to them in the night and need to be closer. Didn’t need to be inside them the way she’d been crazy to be inside Wes.

“You okay?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Evyn was aware she hadn’t heard a single thing Wes had said for the last few minutes. Wes looked great in faded sweats that hugged her ass and thighs. Evyn fought the urge to tackle Wes and pull her on top of her. She wanted Wes’s hands on her, wanted to be under her, wanted to come for her. That wasn’t her either. She was all turned around and—

“I asked if there was anything I could do—you’ve been taking point all morning, it seems.” Wes’s gaze traveled over Evyn’s body, glinting with a hunger to match Evyn’s.

“Probably quite a few things, but we’re good for now.” Evyn glanced around the clean but shabby room, searching for a way to put on the brakes. She needed to grab the controls, get her head back on straight. “At least there’s TV. Hopefully it works. News okay with you?”

“Do we need to talk about last night?”

Evyn stopped on her way to check out the TV. The space between the bed where Wes sat and the dresser with the TV on top was tight. If she took two steps forward she’d be standing between Wes’s legs. She mentally nailed her feet to the floor. “You don’t run from the hard stuff, do you?”

“I don’t see any point.”

“Last night was great. If I think about it much more, I could probably scare myself, and I’d rather not.”

“I understand.” Wes cradled the cardboard cup between her hands and watched the coffee swirl around the rim. “If I knew enough to be scared, I probably would be too.”

“So,” Evyn said. “Since neither of us really scares easily, this should be simple. I don’t have a problem with last night.”

Wes heard the emphasis on last night. Sounded a lot like past tense, as in over and done. Okay. She could accept that. The pain in her chest didn’t mean anything. Her turn to step up and make this simple. “Neither do I. My number one priority is to be sure we can still work together—that there’s no disruption to the team.”

“I don’t see why what happened should interfere with anything,” Evyn said quickly. Wes was giving her a graceful way out of a potentially sticky situation, just the kind of exit she usually wanted. She didn’t feel all that happy about it, but her emotions were screwed up and she couldn’t trust them anyhow. Better to ignore them. “We’re both adults, both professionals.”

“Yes,” Wes said, counting on Evyn to be rational and in control. Especially now, when she didn’t really feel that way herself. “We both have jobs to do. And considering the circumstances, we can’t afford any distractions.”

Evyn stiffened, hearing what Wes wasn’t saying. “You know about the problem with POTUS.”

“Yes.”

“You have me on the short list of suspects?” Evyn had to ask, even as her body went cold thinking Wes might consider her capable of such betrayal.

“No, Evyn,” Wes said softly, “I don’t.”

“Why not? You should.” Evyn knew she sounded angry. She was angry. The whole situation made her crazy. The president was at risk, and it was her job to protect him. She couldn’t do that effectively when someone she thought she could trust was a traitor. Her impotence stoked her fury. “You don’t know me. A roll in the hay isn’t exactly a great judge of anything.”

Wes jolted. She didn’t run from reality, she never had, and Evyn was making their reality very clear. Last night was a physical encounter and nothing more, and really, why would she think it was anything more. “So we keep doing our jobs.”

“No reason it can’t be that simple.” Evyn shrugged, relieved to settle back into her comfortable pattern again. “We aren’t the first two people to spend the night together and then go back to business as usual the next day. In fact, around here, it’s more business as usual than not.”

Wes might not have indulged in battlefield trysts, but she knew plenty did. Evyn apparently had. “No reason for last night to change anything.”

“Right.” Evyn quickly turned to switch on the TV. “None at all.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Senator Russo received a text in the middle of breakfast. The alert read HK1. He’d been waiting two days for this update. Setting his fork aside, he swiped his thumb over the banner alert and read the five words that sent a swell of satisfaction streaming through him. The item is in hand. He deleted the message, wiped his mouth with a pressed linen napkin, and said to his wife, “I’m sorry, my dear, I need to return this call. The car will be here in half an hour. You’ll be ready?”

He wasn’t really asking, but his wife seemed to do better with the stresses of campaigning when she could cling to the trappings of civility she’d been raised with. She wasn’t fond of public appearances under the best of circumstances, and even less so now that his speeches increasingly drew protesters from some liberal leftist group or another. He’d assured her this was expected when someone with his strength of conviction and popularity engaged the people and spoke the truth. Her Southern belle sensibilities would have annoyed him more if her family name wasn’t helping him to carry the Deep South.

So he played the game she needed, as long as she did as he wanted. She understood she had to be by his side during these events—he was running on a family-values platform, and she was the figurehead of his, naturally. Thus far he’d managed to keep the whole issue of his eldest daughter’s absence from the campaign trail in the background. Nora had spun Jac’s history as a war veteran into some very positive press while simultaneously downplaying her sexual escapades and questionable choice in partners. Since Jac had made it plain she wouldn’t take part in his public appearances, that was the best they could do in terms of damage control. Fortunately, he had another daughter, a younger, feminine, wholesome daughter who didn’t have any choice about participating.

“Yes, of course I’ll be prompt,” his wife said quickly, an altogether artificial smile failing to erase the anxious shadows in her eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “Wear the blue suit. It looks good on camera. And goes so nicely with your eyes.”

“Thank you,” she said, her attention on her plate. “I will. Yes.”

He strolled toward his study, mentally reviewing his remarks for the town meeting Nora had scheduled later that morning in Nevada. He wanted to use the community forum to demonstrate his solidarity with the American people and distance himself from the recent emphasis by members of the press on his private wealth. He might live differently from most Americans, thanks to his wife’s family money, but he was still one with the people. He unlocked his study door and walked in, pleased with the way things were going for the moment.