Michelle dropped the car keys on the kitchen counter. “Help yourself to a beer. I’m going to grab a quick shower and change into some fresh clothes. Then maybe we can get some dinner.”
“I’ll give Waters a call and check on Gabriel.” He smiled. “This dad thing isn’t so bad.”
“Yeah, that’s because you missed all the sleepless nights and dirty diapers.”
Sean opened a soda and sat down on the couch and called Waters. Gabriel was doing great, the agent said. When Sean talked to the little boy the happiness in his voice confirmed this. As he put the phone down Sean heard the shower turn on in Michelle’s bedroom. He tried to watch TV but the plot of the crime drama he happened on was so flimsy and uninteresting compared to the events he’d just lived for real that he turned it off. He sat there with his eyes closed, trying to forget much of what had happened over the last months, at least for a few seconds.
When he opened his eyes, he noted that Michelle had not come back. He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes had gone by. He could hear nothing from the bedroom.
“Michelle?”
No answer. “Michelle!”
He muttered a curse, rose, and looked around. With all the crazy shit they’d been involved in, who knew? He pulled his pistol and slowly made his way down the short hall. He flicked a light on by hitting the switch with his elbow.
“Michelle!”
He eased open the door to the bedroom.
A small light was cast from the adjacent bathroom.
He said in a softer voice, “Michelle? Are you okay? Are you sick?”
He heard the hair dryer start up and then he sighed with relief. He turned to leave, but then he didn’t. Sean just stood there, looking at that crack of light from under the bathroom door.
A couple minutes later the hair dryer turned off and she came out wearning a long thick robe, her hair still damp. It wasn’t a sexy number like the one Cassandra Mallory had worn. Michelle was completely covered up. Not a trace of makeup. And yet to Sean, there was no comparison. The woman he was looking at was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
“Sean?” she said in surprise. “Are you okay?”
“I just came back to check on you. I was worried.” He looked down, embarrassed. “But you look like you’re fine. I mean you look… great.”
He turned to leave. “I’ll be out front. Maybe some dinner—”
Before he could even reach the door she was next to him, took his hand in hers, and drew him farther into the room.
“Michelle?”
She took the gun from him and put it on the bureau.
“Come here.”
They moved to the bed and sat down next to each other. She slipped off her robe and started to unbutton his shirt as he ran a hand lightly over her bare hip.
“Are you sure about this?” he said.
She stopped unbuttoning. “Are you?”
He put a hand to her lips, traced them with his index finger.
“Actually, I think I’ve been sure for a long time.”
“Me too.”
Michelle lay back on the bed and pulled Sean down to her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Michelle, a first among equals in our first family.
To Mitch Hoffman: You’re still my editor, so you must like me, you must really like me! Seriously, thanks for another great job.
To David Young, Jamie Raab, Emi Battaglia, Jennifer Romanello, Tom Maciag, Martha Otis, and all at Grand Central Publishing who keep lifting me to new heights.
To Aaron and Arlene Priest, Lucy Childs, Lisa Erbach Vance, Nicole Kenealy, and John Richmond, for all they do to help keep my life reasonably sane.
To Maria Rejt and Katie James at Pan Macmillan for taking care of me across the Pond.
To Grace McQuade and Lynn Goldberg for a great job helping people realize that I am not, in fact, John Grisham.
To Spencer and Collin, just because I love you more than anything.
To Dr. Catherine Broome, and Drs. Alli and Anshu Guleria, for technical medical support.
To the charity auction “name” winners, Pamela Dutton, Diane Wohl, David Hilal, and Lori Magoulas, I hope you enjoyed the ride. For those of you who unfortunately didn’t survive the book, my apologies, but thrillers are a dangerous business.
To my buddy Chuck Betack, for involuntary use of your surname. However, please note that I made you taller than you actually are, and I didn’t charge a dime extra for it.
To Steve Jennings for his experienced eye on government-contracting matters.
To Lucy Stille and Karen Spiegel for giving me excellent comments on the story.
To Ann Todd and Neal Schiff at the FBI for their technical help.
To my buddy Bob Schule for his wise input on issues both political and grammatical. Any leftover gaffes are mine alone.
To Lynette, Deborah, and Natasha for keeping the corporate and philanthropic sails full of wind and on course.
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