“I’ve requested field reports on anything that might remotely be connected to a potential attack and run probability algorithms on everything I can think of,” Cam said. “Another aerial assault, dirty bombs, a lone gunman, a group attack.”

The matter-of-fact tone in her voice chilled Lucinda to the core. “As has Averill, I’m sure.”

“Right. And neither of us hit on anything with greater than random probability.” Cam paced to the windows overlooking the gardens. Her face in the cast-off glow of the walkway lights was marble smooth and stone hard. “So I started looking at everyone who surfaced in connection to suspicious events. I’ve got a flimsy…” She laughed and shook her head. “Whatever is flimsier than flimsy, that’s the connection I’ve got.”

“Any connection is something more solid than what we have now.” Lucinda joined Cam by the windows, squeezed her arm. “You are the best there is. I trust your instincts—I trust you with Blair and Andrew. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Cam rolled her shoulders, blew out a breath. “One of the technicians with regular access to a missing biocontagion at a Level Four lab outside Atlanta is from Idaho. Went to a Christian college there. So did Lieutenant Jennifer Pattee.”

“So you think they might know each other?” Lucinda struggled to see a connection.

“On the surface—no. There’s a six-year age difference, which means they weren’t in college at the same time.”

“Hometowns?”

“According to records, not the same.”

“What do you mean, according to the records? You don’t believe the records?”

“Here’s the thing that made me look harder at the two of them—they were both homeschooled before college.”

Lucinda paced around her desk. “Not so unusual in Idaho.”

“No—but another point of intersection and another point of commonality. So I looked a little bit deeper—parents, siblings, other possible connectors. And I didn’t find anything.”

“You’re right, that’s not much,” Lucinda said, disappointment sitting like a hard weight on her chest.

“No, what I mean is, I didn’t find anything. Their families are off the grid.”

“No record of their parents or sibs?”

“None. For homeschooled kids to go to college, they have to show GED or equivalent scores, SAT scores, and a personal affidavit.” Cam slid her hands into her pockets, rocked on her heels. “That’s the starting point for colleges, the beginning of a paper trail. But there’s no road leading back to any place I can find.”

“Are you postulating we’re dealing with a domestic sleeper cell? Americans raised to carry out some long-range act of terrorism?”

Cam sighed. “I think so—yes.”

“It’s pretty coincidental, but I agree, there might be something there.” Lucinda shook her head. “What do you advise?”

“We need to put someone on her. We need to know more about her, and we may not have a lot of time.”

“Put agents on her.”

“That’s my plan.”

“One of Blair’s?”

“I was thinking we could pair one from PPD and one from Blair’s detail. An insider who won’t be obvious to the lieutenant, and one she doesn’t know.” Cam grinned, a chilling, predatory grin. “One might be a distraction and she’ll miss the other.”

“Fine, do that.”

Cam regarded Lucinda steadily. “I wouldn’t ordinarily suggest this, but I don’t know what kind of timetable we’re working with here. If there is any potential for a bioterrorist attack using the missing specimen, it’s likely to be soon. We need as many eyes on this as we can get.”

“What else?” Lucinda asked.

“Captain Masters seems to think Jennifer Pattee expressed more than a professional interest in her. Masters might be the best person to give us early warning.”

“She’s not a trained agent.”

“No, but she’s a navy captain. She’s smart, she’s steady. We use what we have.”

“Individuals like this—extremists, fanatics—their goal is to make a point, no matter the cost. If we thwart their operation, they may opt to make an even bigger statement.”

“I know. And that’s a risk—and if what I suspect about Pattee is right, and she realizes we suspect her, she could become volatile, unstable. That’s a recipe for disaster, but I think we have to take the chance.”

Lucinda nodded. “It has to be voluntary. The captain has to agree—I won’t order her to do this.”

“Do you think you’d have to?”

“No, I don’t think we need to order her. Will you see to it?”

Cam nodded sharply. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

“And, Cam, I know this will be difficult, but don’t bring Blair in on this right now. We need to keep her at a safe distance.”

Cam’s jaw tightened. “She might not forgive us for that.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“She’s mine to worry about.” Cam walked to the door. “And mine to protect. Good night.”

“Good night, Cam.” Once the door closed, Lucinda sagged behind her desk and pressed her fingertips to her eyes. She picked up her phone and made a call. “I’m sorry, were you sleeping? I need to see you. No, I’ll come there.”

Lucinda turned out the lights and stepped outside through the French doors and started for the residence. She thought of all those who would sacrifice everything to serve and protect, and of how many times she had asked for that sacrifice. More times than she could count, and probably many more to come.

Chapter Twenty-eight

At 0430, Evyn got the text from Cameron Roberts telling her she needed to be at a briefing at 0600. She’d been asleep an hour. When she got home from Wes’s, she was still wired, her body still humming. She’d come out of her mind with Wes barely touching her, but the orgasm was already a distant memory and her body craved more. More of Wes. Adrenaline, that’s all it was. When she got amped up during a tense training exercise or something heated up out in the field, she always got a sexual buzz. That’s all it was. Adrenaline.

Whatever she called it, the burn in her blood was enough to keep her up channel surfing, with Ricochet sitting nearby, watching her warily. He didn’t seem to trust her mood, because he wasn’t in her lap or draped around her shoulders, where he usually perched while she chilled out. He was probably smart not to get too close because she wasn’t chilling out. She was too uncomfortable in her skin to unwind. She finished the one beer she allowed herself, but it didn’t settle her enough to sleep. Finally, exhaustion won out and she stretched out where she was on the couch and fell asleep in her clothes. She dreamed of running through a tangled forest, breathless, lost, pursued by a faceless menace coming ever closer. Roberts’s text had awakened her, saving her from what she feared she might find—the pursuer was her and she was running from herself.

Now, after a quick shower and two shots of espresso, she was walking through the West Wing in her least wrinkled pair of black trousers and her last pressed white shirt. Staffers hurried by, already looking harried. She settled in the briefing room. There wasn’t any coffee—must have been a very hastily assembled meeting. A minute later the door opened and Paula Stark walked in followed by a young agent she recognized from Blair Powell’s detail, but didn’t know personally.

“Hey,” Evyn said, nodding to Paula. Their details often overlapped when the first daughter was traveling with POTUS. She liked Stark—she was on top of things without being super territorial.

“Hi, Evyn. This is Randy Block.”

Evyn leaned over the table to shake hands with the new guy. “How you doing.”

“Fine. Good to meet you.” Block looked like a typical college jock—fair-haired, blue-eyed, strong jaw, good shoulders. A lot like Gary, a wholesome, all-American guy. She wondered what was going on and if Stark knew something she didn’t. But she wasn’t about to ask.

The door opened again and she expected Tom to walk in. She barely managed to keep quiet when Wes sat down across the table from her.

“Morning,” Wes said, glancing around the table. She was wearing charcoal pants, a crisp pale blue shirt open at the throat, and a matte silver bracelet on her right wrist with some kind of intertwining pattern, subtle, understated. Sexy. Her gaze passed over Evyn’s face in the same friendly but distant fashion in which she regarded everyone else in the room.

At precisely 0600, Cameron Roberts walked in. “Morning, everyone. Thanks for getting here on such short notice. I think the only one needing introductions is Captain Masters, the new chief of the White House Medical Unit.”

Stark and Block introduced themselves to Wes and they all shook hands. Evyn wondered why Tom wasn’t there.

“This is need-to-know,” Roberts said as if reading her mind, “and I won’t be giving you much in the way of details.”

Evyn sat still, keeping her shoulders relaxed, preventing the tension curling around her spine from showing in her face or body. She’d learned years ago to school herself, to never give away anything, but it was hard with Wes only a few feet away. She had what she wanted—an impersonal, cordial working relationship, and she hated it. She hated that Wes would walk into a room and not seek her out first, not connect with her in a way she didn’t connect with others. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be satisfied with the way things had always been? Why did she want things now that she’d never wanted before? Why did Wes Masters make her yearn?

Wes looked over at her as if she had been broadcasting her thoughts, and Evyn quickly looked away. She wasn’t certain she could hide what she was feeling from Wes, and she didn’t want her to know she regretted the night before. She regretted walking out. She regretted letting Wes think she could walk away without bleeding inside.