Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

“Would you please let the agents know Captain Masters is ready?”

“Certainly.”

Lucinda turned. “We’ll get the polygraph out of the way, and that should be the end of the formalities.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wes rose. “As I said, I’ll be reviewing the president’s chart today. I would like to examine him at his earliest convenience.”

“Really?” Lucinda studied her. “Why? Everything is in his records.”

“That may be, but if I’m going to be his doctor, I need to perform a baseline physical examination and make my own assessment.”

“You don’t trust your predecessor?”

“I don’t know him,” Wes said. “But in any case, I wouldn’t presume to take care of someone I had never examined. It’s not good medicine.” She hesitated, seeing the consternation in Lucinda Washburn’s eyes. She imagined the president was incredibly busy, and finding time to meet with her would probably be incredibly inconvenient. “In my experience, high-profile patients often get poor care. Physicians and everyone else involved are reluctant to inconvenience them. Things get overlooked. That’s not fair to any patient, but it certainly is not appropriate for the president of the United States. In light of everything you’ve told me, it’s imperative I judge his status for myself.”

“I understand. I’ll see that it’s scheduled as soon as possible.” Lucinda extended her hand and Wes took it. “Welcome to the House, Captain.”

Chapter Eight

Evyn hadn’t slept much in the last few days, and she needed a coffee refill to keep her focused during the routine after-review of the wedding detail and the rest of the uneventful morning briefing. Trying not to look distracted, she sloshed milk into her Starbucks venti cup, added the always-good coffee the valets kept fresh in their command center, and settled back at the conference table with the other members of the day shift. She wasn’t herself and couldn’t figure out what was off. Usually a brisk shower, a fast fantasy, and a hard orgasm cleared her head for the day, but this morning, she’d opened her eyes and immediately replayed the evening with Wes—and the details that came to mind had nothing to do with the job. She kept stumbling over the way Wes concentrated on her when they talked, as if they had all night, the way Wes smiled at something Evyn said, her eyes glowing. And her mouth—God, she had a killer mouth—full lips, broad smile, a tiny lift on the right side that gave her a hot, sexy, rakish look. Evyn’s stomach tightened into a hard knot and a quick pulse beat between her thighs. She sucked in a breath. Whoa. Bad timing—where was that rush two hours ago when she could have taken care of it? She slugged her coffee, burned her tongue, and choked.

When she looked over, Gary was staring at her with laughter in his eyes. She tossed him a get bent look, and he smothered a grin. He always claimed he could read her mind, but she assured him he was wrong, remarking if he could, he’d be walking around with a perpetual boner and he should be so lucky.

Agents rose and started to leave the room, the midnight shift heading home and the rest to their posts. Evyn grabbed her black trench coat and coffee.

“Evyn,” Tom Turner said. “Hang on a minute, will you.”

“Sure.” Evyn dropped her coat onto a chair and tossed the empty paper cup into a nearby wastebasket. Gary hesitated, glanced at Tom, and followed the rest out, muttering, “Catch you later,” as he left.

When the room was empty, Tom closed the door and gestured for her to sit.

Her antennae went up. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done that could be problematic. She wasn’t the most senior member of PPD, but over the last year she’d sort of become Tom’s unofficial sounding board. She’d sat in the right front seat of the follow-up car a time or two, and had taken the lead when POTUS traveled. That level of responsibility told her she was doing okay, or at least she thought she had been. She waited for Tom to start, banishing a mild case of nerves, a wholly atypical reaction for her.

“Are you set to bring Masters up to speed?” Tom sat across from her and leaned back in his chair.

“She’s still clearing security but should be done sometime today. I’ll meet with her later and set up a schedule.” Evyn’s pulse jittered at the mention of Wes’s name, also unusual. She rarely showed a bump in her blood pressure or her pulse, even during simulated actions. She’d been preparing for this job since she was a kid, and she’d taught herself not to react when something hurt, or scared her, or excited her. She kept her cool. She wanted to be ice in an emergency. She usually was. But just a reference to Wes Masters had her composure melting around the edges. That couldn’t be good. She needed to clamp a lid on that.

“I had a call from Averill Jensen before the briefing this morning,” Tom said.

Evyn tensed at the mention of the president’s security adviser. The USSS answered only to the Director of Homeland Security—on paper—but Jensen had sweeping authority in security matters. “About We—Captain Masters?”

“Indirectly.”

Evyn couldn’t believe there was an issue with Wes Masters. She’d only just met Wes, but she’d spent time with her, more personal time than she’d spent with anyone in years, except the agents who’d just left this room. And they hadn’t just talked about business. They’d talked about life. Wes was solid. She was dedicated and focused, all the way through. Evyn clamped her molars together and kept her mouth shut. She needed to listen, and to do her job. Right now, the best thing she could do for Wes Masters was find out what the hell was going on.

“They went outside to bring her in,” Tom said, “and on the face of it, that’s not that unusual. What’s unusual is that with O’Shaughnessy’s sudden death, they didn’t move someone up from inside as interim director while they put the nominees through the selection process.”

“I know.” Just a few hours with Wes had blunted some of Evyn’s anger that Peter had been passed over, but she still didn’t think it was right. Wes wasn’t at fault for that, at least not as far as she knew. “Did somebody pull strings to get her appointed? Pressure someone? Is that it?”

“No.” Tom’s smooth brow wrinkled, which for him was akin to shouting. He was the epitome of control. He just didn’t get rattled, especially if he was angry or frustrated. Something serious was going on if Tom was unsettled. “Masters was brought in because she’s a qualified outsider. There seems to be some concern that we have a leak inside.”

“A leak?” Evyn took a second to let that sink in. “You mean someone in the House is passing information?”

“Communications analysts have been pulling snippets from surveillance tapes—routine Internet sweeps—that suggest potentially hostile groups might know plans we haven’t made public.”

“Jesus,” Evyn said. “And they think it’s in the medical unit?”

“They don’t know—could be anywhere—the medical unit, the West Wing, our group—”

“Us? Oh, come on, that’s just not possible. At the very least, someone is talking who shouldn’t be because they’re damn idiots—which excludes all of us. Worst-case scenario, someone is working with domestic or foreign hostiles. And that sure as hell isn’t one of us.”

Tom stared at her. “You believe it and I believe it, but that doesn’t mean everyone else does. Let’s not forget Robert Hanssen. He went undetected for decades.”

“We’re not the FBI,” Evyn said dismissively. You believe it and I believe it… “Wait a minute. You’re not saying that Wes—Dr. Masters is looking at us ?” Was that what prompted the dinner invitation and the prolonged after-dinner conversation? She remembered every word that had passed between them, and she couldn’t remember Wes bringing up anything probative. All the same, the invitation had come out of nowhere. Her heart plummeted. “Hell.”