Martha leafed through the final draft of her next day's speech, sighed with irritation and began to drum her fingers on the desk. Her tour was nearly over and she was itching to return to Washington. She felt herself fortunate in that she had met with enthusiastic audiences and in some cases had even been invited back for future speeches, but at the same time she was beginning to feel like a trained dog. Walk onto stage. Smile. Bow. "You are too kind." "This country's true strength is in its people." She winced at the thought of getting onto yet another plane and doing the same thing the next day; it was beginning to feel like the days of campaigning for Charles all over again. I don't know how actors do it, she thought. By now the only thing about the trip she was looking forward to was meeting Jennifer in Dallas.

For perhaps the five hundredth time since leaving Washington she thought of Aaron and how much she missed him. Although they talked and emailed daily, at times it still required superhuman strength for her to resist the impulse to grab the phone and call him several times a day. She knew their separation was just as hard for him as for her; she also knew he was overloaded with work. With Jon accompanying her on the tour, responsibility for the Dunlap investigation had been added to Aaron's normal Service duties. Besides, the tour had been her idea, which meant that complaining about it was not really an option.

Trying to distract herself, she mentally reviewed the arrangements she'd made for Jennifer's stay in Dallas. Their flights had been coordinated so they would arrive at the airport at roughly the same time, and Martha had been in touch with the buyer she knew best at Neiman-Marcus. Her request that he review Jennifer's portfolio had been met with stunned silence at first; negotiating their meeting had required both diplomacy and the promise that she would seriously consider the purchase of a new outfit.

"Oh my God, Martha. We're finalizing the summer line, starting on autumn and you want me to meet your protégée now? Do you realize how busy it is here? I am tearing my hair out as we speak." A steady clamor in the background of their conversation bore him out.

"Yes, Neil, I know." Martha knew Neil Roston well; she'd been a steady customer of his for years, dating back to when Charles had been lieutenant governor of California. "But it wouldn't take that long for you to meet with her. Even half an hour would do it. I really think she has talent, and there's no way she can make any contacts in the fashion industry if somebody doesn't help her. She lives about an hour east of El Paso in a small town, and her parents aren't thrilled with the idea of her going into design anyway."

"I see. Well, who's to say they aren't right. The way I feel right now I'd never tell anyone to go into this line of work." He broke off, shouting instructions urgently: "No, no, Natalie. The orange! Not the green!"

"You thrive on it. You know you do. You don't have to spend the whole day with her. Get one of your assistants to give her a tour of your department, she'd love that. I just want to know what you think of her style and what her best options are for getting the training she needs."

Neil gave a theatrical sigh. "Well, my dear, for you I'll do it. It's been ages since I've seen you. You must be happy. Or did you give up shopping for Lent?"

"I am happy. I was talking to my ex-husband recently and almost the first thing he asked was whether I'd been on another shopping binge. For once I was able to tell him no."

"Ah, the rat bastard ex-husband. I was delighted when I heard you were divorcing him. No wonder we haven't seen you. The blunt truth is if it weren't for retail therapy as a cure for unhappiness I'd be out of business."

The ex-husband in question was busily cleaning toilets when he was startled by the high-pitched trill of a cell phone. The noise reverberated off the cement walls, making it difficult to locate. Eventually he saw it lying on the sink. Picking the phone up cautiously, he frowned at it for a moment and quickly looked around; no one else was in the bathroom.

"Hello?"

"Mr. President. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Graem, it has." Charles closed his eyes for a moment, chilled by the realization that his former confederate had found yet another way to communicate with him. "I had no idea you were so resourceful. How did you manage this?"

"It took a little ingenuity. Fortunately I had someone to help me. Remember Christian Whitcomb?"

Logan tensed, but tried to keep his voice calm. "Yes, I do. Very well," he answered casually, determined to volunteer as little information as possible.

"Then you remember how good he is at making friends. Recently he made a new friend at your facility. That's how we managed it. I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now, Charles. May I call you Charles?"

Logan felt his free hand clenching into a fist, but he was determined not to let his annoyance show. "Why not? Everyone around here does," he answered lightly.

"That's the spirit. Well, Charles, it struck me recently that perhaps I haven't been completely fair to you. Especially after the poor showing from Gene Dunlap. He was helpful for a while, but at the first sign of trouble he folded like a house of cards. He was actually ready to turn us in, if you can believe that. That danger is past, but in the process of dealing with it we seem to have deprived you of legal counsel. I apologize for the inconvenience and I'd like to make it up to you if possible."

"I see. So it wasn't a carjacking after all."

"Did you ever think it was?"

"Not really, no." Logan waited a moment and then decided to probe further. "Was this a case of our mutual friend being helpful again?"

"Oh, he's helpful in many ways, Charles. Including checking the visitors' logs. You had a guest from the Secret Service the other day."

"I told him nothing. Our conversation was mostly on personal matters."

"I can imagine. The two of you having as much in common as you do." Graem sounded amused, which infuriated Logan even more.

"Maybe you'd better get to the point. Someone could come in here at any minute. What's this favor you're offering me?"

"Yes, of course. Well, for starters I think I can get you transferred to a lower-security prison. There's a better class of people there, and I think life would generally be more pleasant for you. Then there's the matter of the financial support you requested. You've been loyal to us, and loyalty ought to be rewarded. Don't you think?"

"I do." Charles found himself beginning to relax. "That's very kind of you, Graem, and I appreciate it."

"There's just one thing. This investigation has to be stopped. Your ex-wife and her significant other came a little too close to the truth."

"I told them to stay out of it. Every opportunity I've had I told Mar—my wife to let it alone. I told Aaron Pierce the same thing."

"Ex-wife. And unfortunately, they aren't listening."

"Can you blame them? With Christian breaking in and leaving her notes—" Charles broke off, realizing he'd told Graem more than he'd intended.

"So. They know it was Christian? Did they find out through you?"

"No, not through me. They figured it out for themselves, I'm not sure how. Graem, listen to me, please. All you have to do is leave her alone and they'll let it drop. If you can promise me she's in no danger that's all you have to do. I'll take it from there. Just tell Christian to stay away from her."

There was an icy silence on the other end of the line. "This doesn't bode well, Charles."

"I have been loyal. I will continue to be loyal. But my loyalty has limits, and Martha is one of them. If she is placed in any danger at all, the agreement is off. I mean it, Graem." Logan's voice was low but intense. "I think somebody's coming. I have to go."

"Hide the phone behind one of the toilets. I'll be talking to you, Charles." The line went dead.

"Aunt Martha!" Jennifer hugged Martha tightly, practically shrieking with glee. "I'm so glad to see you! Thank you so much. I can't believe you talked Mom and Dad into letting me come." She gestured to her shoulder bag. "I've been working on my portfolio ever since they said I could."

Angie raised an eyebrow and murmured, "'Aunt Martha'?" Noticing her employer was starting to blush, she stepped forward and held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Angie Johnston, Ms. Powell's assistant. I used to know your parents way back when." They shook hands and Martha indicated Jon, who'd been glancing around the waiting area at the gate as if he were expecting someone. "This is Agent Cardona. He's in charge of my security."

"You mean like Uncle Aaron used to be?" Jennifer smiled at him.

Jon grinned cheerfully back. "That's exactly right. And speaking of your Uncle Aaron, you might want to turn around," he added with a meaningful nod towards Martha.

Puzzled, Martha obeyed. As she recognized the man standing behind her she gave a shriek very much like the one Jennifer had given a few minutes before: "Aaron!" was the only word she managed before disappearing into his arms. Angie stared wordlessly at Jon Cardona, who was chuckling with satisfaction. "He made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone," he explained. "He wanted it to be a surprise."

Angie shook her head in amazement. "I've never seen him do anything like this before."

"Neither have I."

In the meantime Aaron had bestowed a hug on his niece, who was jumping up and down with excitement. Taking Martha's carry-on bag from her, he smiled at Cardona. "Okay, Jon, let's go." They headed for the baggage claim area.

Once ensconced in the limo, Aaron leaned back and put his arm around Martha. "So what's your schedule for today?" he inquired. Angie, referring to her list, answered: "Neiman-Marcus is first, the reception starts at five, Martha's speech is at six."

"Are you tired of talking yet?" he inquired dryly.

"Yes." As her monosyllabic answer sank in, Aaron started to laugh; Martha grinned and added, "I'll be glad when this is over." She snuggled her head into Aaron's shoulder. "Do you know how much I've missed you?"

"I think so. I've missed you just as much." He glanced over to Angie. "What do you think?" he inquired under his breath, indicating his niece. Jennifer was now talking animatedly to Martha and did not realize that she was the object of scrutiny.

"I can't stop looking at her, Aaron. I see some of Bill in her, but I see some of Ann, too." She shook her head. "I can't believe Bill's got a kid old enough to graduate high school."

Aaron grimaced. "That makes two of us."

Neil Roston was looking distracted when Martha and her group arrived. "We've got a show to put on tomorrow, with the usual number of last minute crises," he explained, clearly pressed for time. Martha worried for a moment that Jennifer might be intimidated by his impatience, but she was pleasantly surprised when Jennifer sized up the chaotic atmosphere with a glance and introduced herself politely but briefly. She opened the portfolio and stood calmly nearby while Roston flipped through it. He paused, turned back and went through some pages with focused attention.

"Your accessories are very good," he commented. "This skirt reminds me of something we're showing tomorrow." He leaned back and surveyed her. "Who have you worked with? Anyone?"

"Just my high school teacher. But I catch as many shows on cable as I can, and I read a lot."

"You live near El Paso, Ms. Powell told me." He waited for her answering nod, then went on: "As you know, the main design centers in this state are all located in either Dallas or Houston. That's where the best schools are as well. This portfolio—" he tapped it for emphasis—"could get you into any one of them. You do good work." He smiled for a moment as he watched Jennifer's face light up. "You need training, but who doesn't when they're starting out? I could recommend some schools for you to apply to, and you're welcome to use my name if you interview." He handed her his card. "I'm glad I got the chance to see your work. I've got to get back to managing this show, but I'm going to have my assistant give you a tour. Natalie!" As the assistant prepared to lead Jennifer away, Roston turned back to Martha. "Now, my dear, about that ensemble I set aside for you."

"I'll go with Jennifer," Angie quickly volunteered. "I'd love to take a look around." Martha smiled to herself, remembering that shopping for clothes was definitely not Angie's idea of entertainment.

Neil gave Aaron a quizzical look. "And you, sir?"

"I think I'll stick around. This ensemble you mentioned sounds interesting." He smiled warmly at Martha; Neil intercepted the look and interpreted it correctly. "It is just perfect for her and I think you're going to love it. Come along, my dear." He gestured Martha to a makeshift changing area set up in one corner, shooing a model or two out from behind it.

"Have pity on me, Neil. I'm not a 'rich bitch' any more."

Roston chuckled evilly for a moment, then relented. "It's not that expensive, Martha, I promise. And you were absolutely right about your little protégée. She's gifted indeed. It's a pleasure to see someone with that much natural talent. I didn't want to promise her this, but once she graduates from design school I think I could find a place for her here. Now, try this on for me." He rolled a small rack in behind the changing screen and stepped back. "Who is that delicious fellow escorting you?"

"His name's Aaron Pierce. He's someone I've been seeing for a while." Martha finished changing and stepped out from behind the screen.

"Ah, it looks just as good as I thought it would. Let's see what Mr. Pierce thinks of it." Roston gave a few tweaks to the jacket and stepped back, watching with satisfaction as Aaron shot to his feet.

"It's fantastic, Martha. He's right, it's perfect for you." The appreciation in his eyes was all Martha needed to see; she turned to Roston with a mock sigh of defeat. "I'll take it, Neil."

Martha delivered her speech that night with more zest than she'd had in days, knowing Jennifer and Aaron were in the audience. It was well received, and they celebrated with a late dinner in the hotel restaurant.

"So the tour's been going well, then?" Aaron inquired of Angie.

"Really well. We've gotten enough enquiries to do another one of these in six months, easy." Angie laughed at Martha's horrified look. "Well, a year. The talk shows liked her, too."

"My mom recorded your shows for me, Aunt Martha," Jennifer contributed. "They were really good. Grandma Pierce saw them, too."

"Did your grandmother like them?" Martha inquired.

"I think so. She watched them twice, so she must have. And Aunt Barbara told everybody at church." She giggled as Martha blushed. "Tomorrow's going to be fun."

"Well, that's one word for it," Angie agreed dryly. She raised an eyebrow at Aaron, who grinned back at her. "Ann, Bill and Barbara all know you're coming," he explained. "They know you work with Martha now. We've both been talking to them—" he looked at Martha, who nodded in confirmation—"and everything's going to go fine. Just relax." Glancing over to Jennifer, he added: "Your mother told me you had homework to do."

"Well, I do," Jennifer agreed reluctantly. "My teacher gave me an essay I've got to finish." As she rose from the table, Angie joined her. "I have paperwork to do myself. See you in the morning." She touched Aaron on the shoulder and added, "Thanks."

Aaron escorted Martha back to her room. "Are you coming in?" she asked teasingly at the door.

"I think so." He smiled back at her and switched on the light, revealing a half-bottle of Champagne waiting on the corner table in a bucket of ice, along with two glasses.

"Oh, Aaron, you didn't have to do this!"

"I wanted to. I wanted tonight to be special, and this is our first chance to really talk since I got here. I've got a lot to tell you."

"Is everything all right, Aaron? Is this about the investigation?"

"Everything's fine. And no, it isn't. It's about something much more important than that." He gestured her to the sofa, sat next to her and handed her a glass of Champagne.

"I went to see Charles last week," he began. "I told myself I was going there to ask him about the case, but that wasn't the real reason. I went because I knew I had to go. I had to come to terms with what happened, and that was the only way I could do it." He paused and looked at her. "I thought a lot about what you told me, and the truth is you were right. I don't hate him now. I didn't realize what a burden I'd been under until after I'd seen him." Martha had set her glass aside and was holding his hand tightly. "It isn't holding me back any more, but if it weren't for you…" He searched for words and then shook his head. "You'll never know how much you mean to me."

Martha slid her arms around his neck and held him close. "I'm so glad, Aaron," she whispered. "You look better, somehow. I'm so glad you told me."

He kissed her. "The last two weeks without you taught me something. I missed you more than you can imagine, and I want to be with you all the time. I'm ready to move in with you any time you want. But I want to ask you something first." Reaching into his pocket, he handed her a small box. "Open it."

The flash of diamonds as she opened the box stunned her; she stared at him wordlessly.

"I knew someday I'd ask you to marry me. I told myself it was too soon, that you weren't ready, but the truth is I was the one who wasn't ready. Now I am. Will you—"

"Yes."

He gazed at her anxiously. "You're sure?"

"You have no idea how sure I am." She traced her fingers lightly over the side of his face. "Life without you… I don't even want to think about it." She handed him the ring. "Put it on for me, Aaron."

Five minutes later, the Champagne still untouched, she lifted her head from his shoulder and whispered, "Can we tell Jennifer now? And Angie?"

"You mean, right now?"

"Right now. I want to tell everybody in the world."

Graem Bauer stared absently out the window of his study at the setting sun. Coming to a decision, he picked up his phone and quickly dialed a number.

"Yes?"

"It's Graem, Christian." Noting music in the background, he added, "Where are you?"

"You'll never guess. I'm at a fundraiser for Hal Gardner. He's decided to run for election. Of course he doesn't have a chance, but I thought I might as well show my support for the home team. He should be paying me to be here, considering the favor we did him—"

"Keep your voice down. This is no time for jokes, Christian. Are you somewhere you can't be overheard?"

"Yes. Is this another assignment?"

"No, just a warning. Your mission with the cell phone was successful, and I talked to our friend yesterday. He gave me some disturbing information."

"And what is that?"

"His ex-wife knows about you. That means we have to assume the Secret Service knows you're the one who's been getting access to her apartment."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Anything else?"

"He guessed you were responsible for the incident involving his attorney."

"You're right. That is disturbing. I haven't noticed anything. No inquiries, no one's been following me that I know of."

"That doesn't mean it won't happen. I want to give Logan the benefit of the doubt. He's proved himself so far and kept his mouth shut. He's done better than I thought he would, certainly better than that idiot Dunlap. His only weak point is his ex-wife. He's still devoted to her, God knows why."

Whitcomb shrugged. "Guilt, probably. I've never let it bother me, but it's certainly a powerful motivator for some people." He looked around. "I've got to get back to the party. Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Just be prepared. We may have to move quickly on this. If you can make arrangements, I'll need to talk to Logan again."

"You got it. And thanks for the heads up." Whitcomb snapped his phone shut, picked up his drink and quietly merged back into the crowd surrounding Beth Gardner.