Peter waggled his hand. “We have to liaise with the Secret Service pretty intimately, because when he moves, they move, and we go with them.”

“Separate but equal?”

He shrugged. “That’s not exactly how they see it but, technically, yes. If a situation impacts his physical security, they carry the ball. If it has to do with his medical safety, we do.”

“And if we disagree?”

He smiled for the barest second. “Depends on who has the biggest bark.”

“Or bite?”

“That too.”

Wes sighed inwardly. She hated politics. What the hell had she been thinking?

*

Evyn made her way along the veranda to the rear of the house, where they’d set up their command post. After four hours outside in the wind and cold, she was ready for a cup of coffee or ten. She had no idea how much longer they’d be stuck out here in the ass-end of nowhere, but she was pretty sure she’d be outside again before they left. Departure time was fluid, depending on how long the postnuptial celebrations went on. It didn’t matter much to her. Other than being outside in the damn cold, she didn’t care how long she worked. The more she worked, the more overtime she made and the less free time she had to figure out how to fill until her next shift. There was only so much after-work socializing she could do with the other members of the detail, only so many movies she could watch while rattling around her apartment in Alexandria, and only so much clubbing she could take in search of a few hours’ company.

There had been less and less of the last diversion lately. Sometimes the effort just didn’t seem worth the payoff. She enjoyed the physical anticipation as she got dressed to go out and drove to one DC club or another. The tingle in her belly while she spent a few hours nursing a drink and scanning the room for possibilities kept her mind occupied too. Anything that got her adrenaline surging felt good, and it was hard to complain about sex in any fashion, but more and more when the night was done and she drove home alone after leaving some near stranger’s bed at oh-dark-thirty, she felt dissatisfied. Physically sated maybe, but with the nagging feeling whatever she’d been hoping to find, she hadn’t.

So on those more and more frequent nights when she was at loose ends, the best thing that could happen would be a text telling her the duty roster had changed once again and she had to report for an extra shift, or POTUS had decided on an early-morning run and they needed more bodies to go with him. She never minded.

A couple of her fellow agents were married, and they griped and grumbled about the frequent changes in the rotation, although not so loud anyone higher up could hear them. After all, they did have the premier protection detail. What could be more important than safeguarding POTUS? Some of them tried to have a normal life after hours. She wasn’t one of them and never expected to be. She’d always wanted to do exactly what she was doing—she craved the stress and challenge and satisfaction of her work. Except for the damn cold.

Nodding to the agent huddled in his topcoat on the porch of the truly awesome house, she stamped her feet on the deck to clear the snow from her boots and pushed through the door into the big kitchen that took up half the rear of the house. Caterers and waiters and busboys bustled around, replacing half-empty champagne glasses with full ones, pulling trays of hot hors d’oeuvres from the oven, and sliding cold canapés from the refrigerator. A huge coffee urn sat on a sideboard with a stack of what looked like honest-to-God china cups next to it. No way was she drinking out of one of those. She grabbed one of the paper takeaway cups pushed back under one of the cabinets and filled it to the brim with hot black coffee. Carefully making her way around the party staff, she eased through the door into the dining room, where several agents observed video feeds from external cameras, watched computer monitors displaying overhead satellite images, and manned the radio COM center. Several greeted her, and she flicked a finger in their direction.

She shed her coat, tucked it into the closet at the far end of the room, and meandered down the hall toward the noisy celebration. The coffee was hot and strong and she sipped it appreciatively. Her fingers and toes started to warm. Maybe there was life beyond December after all. She stopped in an archway with a view of the great room and automatically scanned the space looking for the other agents. Finding them posted strategically around the perimeter, and satisfied all was as it should be, she leaned a shoulder against the archway and relaxed.

She knew everyone at the gathering, either personally, by sight, or from reviewing the guest list at the morning briefing. The only person out of place was the woman standing directly across the room from her. Captain Wesley Masters. Evyn would have noticed her under any circumstances—and who wouldn’t? Her face was a striking combination of elegant angles and sweeping planes, her eyes that vivid sparkling green, her toned body showcased in the immaculate uniform. Uniforms really didn’t do much for her, since she was surrounded by people wearing them all the time, but just the same, Masters looked good in hers. Very good. Lean hips, medium breasts, narrow waist, and slightly broader shoulders. Evyn didn’t have to work hard to conjure up a fantasy of wrapping her legs around those tight hips and twisting her hands in those thick, sun-kissed locks. Instantly, she banished the image. Masters was not fantasy material. She was all too real and was probably going to be a pain in the ass.

POTUS was about to embark on his reelection campaign, which meant constant traveling, insane hours, unpredictable changes in the itinerary, and very real threats at every stop. It was game time, and no one, including the green medical officer across the room, was going to have the luxury of time to adjust to the new circumstances. Masters would have to hit the ground running, and hopefully she’d be able to absorb everything she needed to know in record time.

“Have you met the new WHMU chief yet?” a rumbling voice asked from beside her.

She turned toward Tom Turner, her boss and head of PPD. “Saw her when she came in. Surprise, surprise.”

Tom winced. “You know how it is. Decisions get made, people forget to share.”

“Uh-huh.” Politics—same old BS. “Kind of rushed to just drop her in like this, don’t you think? We never even had a briefing.”

“I’m sure the other members of her team will brief her on the medical end of things,” Tom went on.

Evyn sipped her coffee, watching Masters move away from Pete until she was standing alone at the edge of the crowd. Her face was composed, unreadable really, as she carefully focused on first one individual in the crowd then another, as if she was memorizing their faces. Maybe she was.

“She’s never worked with a security detail before,” Tom said. “She’s going to need indoctrination.”

“And pretty damn fast too,” Evyn said absently, fascinated by the intense, absorbed expression on Masters’s face. The fantasy in her head changed from the hot, anonymous body pressing down between her thighs to a glimpse of a captivatingly beautiful face leaning over her, fierce concentration in her green, green eyes. She imagined how it would feel to be the focus of all that intensity, and something fluttered under her rib cage. Her heart rate jumped and raced. Pulling her eyes away from the navy captain, she tried to capture the last few words Tom had said. No luck. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m assigning you as her unit liaison.”

Evyn stiffened. “I’m sorry? Me?”

“She’ll need basic training to know how the unit runs, how we communicate, protocols for various threat situations, and obviously, we’ll need to evaluate how she’s going to handle different types of medical threats and emergencies.”

“And you expect me to be the one getting all this done?”

Tom smiled. “You’re not complaining about a week or so off regular rotation, are you? Ought to be a slam dunk.”

Evyn slid her eyes back to Wes Masters, who was no longer looking at the crowd. She was looking directly at Evyn, her expression assessing, thoughtful, inscrutable.

The fluttering in Evyn’s belly coalesced into a hard, unsettling pulse of arousal. What the hell? She felt like prey instead of the predator, a definite role reversal and not a comfortable one. She held Masters’s gaze and threw back a little heat of her own. Masters smiled, shook her head ever so slightly, and looked away.

The instant Masters was no longer studying her, Evyn wanted those green eyes back on her. Her skin burned from just a glance. She wouldn’t try to imagine what a real touch would do to her—not while she was in public. That little fantasy would have to wait.

Chapter Four

“Captain Masters.” The president’s chief of staff, an imposing, auburn-haired woman in her early fifties dressed in a deep green Versace suit, appeared next to Wes.

“Ms. Washburn,” Wes replied, extending her hand. Among a room full of power players, this woman seemed surrounded by an aura of command befitting a four-star general. Wes resisted the urge to come to attention. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’m glad you were able to join us today.”

“It’s an honor.” Wes had been ordered to attend, but this was a very special event and she felt privileged to witness it.

“I realize we’re dropping you into the deep end, with very little notice, but circumstances being what they are, there was no choice. The president will be traveling extensively very shortly, and we must have the White House Medical Unit fully staffed and at peak efficiency.” Lucinda sipped from a glass of sparkling water and regarded Wes steadily. Taking her measure.