“Does he advise the president?”

“As a friend, if asked.”

“He was an assistant secretary of state-”

“For about five minutes for an administration that was not John Wesley Poe’s.”

“They get along?”

“Very much so.” She sat back, studying the man across from her. “Special Agent Collins asked me many of these same questions, you know.”

Nate surprised her again by smiling. “But he was asking them because he’s conducting an investigation. I’m asking because I’m curious.”

“I think you’re looking for distractions.”

“Maybe. I’ve worked with your brother for four months. I didn’t have a clue he was pals with the president. I need a little time to adjust.”

Sarah doubted he’d needed more than a half second to adjust, but she didn’t call him on it.

“Rob visited your folks in Amsterdam a few weeks ago. Were you there?”

She thought of the man in the park and felt her stomach tighten, even as she reminded herself it had to be a case of mistaken identity. “I flew in from Scotland. We don’t get that many opportunities to be together as a family.”

“I’ve never been to Amsterdam.” Nate finished the last of his beer. “What’s it like?”

“Narrow streets, a mix of old and new buildings, crowded, fascinating, more diverse than you might think. Lots of bicycles. The canals are beautiful-we all did a canal tour.”

She didn’t mention the Rijksmuseum, because if she did, her anxiety would show, Nate would see it, and she’d have to tell him about the man in the park and what a nutcase she was for thinking she’d recognized him from the museum. But that had been such a strange day, her, Rob, their parents, playing tourist, trying to be a family in that foreign city because that was where they’d found themselves together.

She couldn’t eat any more and took one last sip of beer, her glass still half-full. She offered Nate money for the tab, but he refused. As he pulled out his wallet, she noticed that he favored his injured arm and saw him wince in pain. She regretted how close she’d come to losing it in the park, to the point that he’d obviously felt he’d had to whisk her off for a beer and something to eat. However bad the past day and a half had been for her, they’d been so much worse for him and her brother.

The evening air had turned chilly, but Sarah felt hot, agitated. Nate was watching her closely-too closely, as if he believed she was trying to hide something from him. Not a pleasant position to be in. But she didn’t consider herself to be hiding anything. She’d been mistaken about the man in the park.

And Nate was recovering from a bullet wound and a shocking attack that could have killed him.

She had no business reading anything into his actions, his questions, the way he looked at her.

“I should get back to the hospital,” she said. “It really was serendipity that you followed me. Thanks.”

He stepped off the curb to flag a cab. “I don’t believe in serendipity.”

She smiled at him. “Of course not.”

When they arrived back at the hospital, Rob was out for the night-and Nate was done for. Sarah could see it in the dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes, the hollow look to his cheeks. “Do you have a car?” she asked him when they returned to the waiting room. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“That bad, huh?” He grinned at her, a sudden spark in his eyes. “You can drive me home another time, Dr. Dunnemore. When I don’t look and feel like death on a cracker.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

He laughed, and although he sounded exhausted, she felt a tingle of pure sexual awareness dance up her spine.

After he left, Juliet Longstreet put down the magazine she’d been staring at and shook her head. “That man. Total hard-ass, married to the job and absolute hell on women. They all fall for him.”

“Did you?”

“No way.” She grinned. “I go for the southern frat-boy types.”

Sarah laughed.

“I think Nate liked following you. Gave him something to do. He does not tolerate idleness well.” Juliet got to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. “Which should be a warning to you.”

Not knowing what to say, Sarah peeked in on her brother. He looked better. Not well, but better. She wondered if he wanted her out of town not so much because of snipers in the park, but because of the reputation of his senior deputy-but that was a lot of silliness. She rejoined Juliet in the hall and set out to her apartment for another night with the fish and the plants.

Nine

John Wesley Poe had heard that the junior senator from Massachusetts, elected in November along with the new president, was one impressive cuss, and it was true, even more so in person. Hank Callahan strode into Wes’s private study-Wes wanted to keep this visit as quiet and unofficial as possible-with the confidence of someone who’d come under fire in more ways than one in his forty-something years. Even his enemies said he was a man of the highest integrity, a retired air force rescue helicopter pilot whose first wife and young daughter were killed in a car accident while he was serving overseas.

Last fall, he’d stumbled into the headlines twice, once before the election, once after-and both times in dangerous incidents involving the Winter family of Cold Ridge, New Hampshire. His now-wife, Antonia, when she encountered a stalker. Then his sister-in-law, Carine, when she stumbled upon a murder.

Now, here was another Winter in trouble. This time it was the brother, Nate.

“Mr. President,” Hank Callahan said, remaining on his feet, his military bearing evident. “It’s good to see you.”

Wes rose from the sofa and shook hands with the younger senator. “Thank you for stopping by. Here, have a seat. I won’t keep you. I understand that one of the marshals shot yesterday in Central Park is your brother-in-law.”

Callahan took the most uncomfortable chair in the room, his signal, Wes thought, that he didn’t plan to stay long. “Nate Winter is my wife’s brother, yes.”

“He’s doing all right? You’ve seen him?”

“He’s in good shape. The other marshal-”

“Rob Dunnemore is a family friend.”

Wes didn’t mince words. The story had just broken. It was all over the news now, but from his blank reaction, either Callahan hadn’t heard of Wes’s relationship with the wounded deputy or was pretending he hadn’t. “I didn’t realize he was a friend. I’m sorry.”

Wes had just issued a statement through his press secretary. It was a balancing act. He didn’t want to give the impression, no matter how unintentionally, that anyone in his administration-anyone in law enforcement-believed that the shooting in Central Park yesterday was in any way connected to him.

“I understand Rob’s had a rough time of it,” Wes said. “We came close to losing him yesterday.”

“Antonia-my wife-says his chances for a full recovery grow with every hour he goes without complications, especially from blood loss.”

“Did you see him? Rob-how did he look? Under the circumstances, it’s difficult for me to go up there myself. There’s nothing political here, by the way. This is an entirely personal conversation.”

But their surroundings begged the question-was anything personal, was anything private, when one was president?

Callahan stayed unreadable. “Of course, Mr. President. No, I didn’t see Deputy Dunnemore myself.”

Wes nodded, wondering why he’d bothered to invite Callahan over to the White House. To assuage his own guilt at having neglected Rob in recent years? Wes hadn’t approved of him becoming a marshal. Rob’s own father hadn’t approved, although Stuart Dunnemore’s reasons were different and he’d have been more subtle about his objections. The kid was smart, well connected, personable. He could do anything with his life. Why spend it in the gutter catching criminals? Now that he was in the Oval Office, Wes thought, he had a different view. The work the USMS did was vital, and it needed good people like Rob Dunnemore.