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He took a few sips of coffee. "First, I want to know exactly what happened. It's fair to assume that Brinkley-"

"Cronkite."

"Cronkite went into the house ahead of you."

"There is-was-a doggie door in the back door."

"Is that how you usually go in, through the back?"

"Usually."

"Then they probably tripped that door."

She leaned across the table. "Who? And what are you doing here? Why'd you follow me back to Washington? You did follow me back, didn't you?" "I came to warn you that you've been asking the wrong questions of the wrong people. You're on the scent of a story that the President can't allow to be told."

She turned a lighter shade of pale. Nervously, she pulled her lower lip through her teeth. "How do you know?"

"Less than twenty-four hours after you left my place I had a visit from Spencer Martin."

"Isn't he connected to the White House in some capacity?"

"You could say so. Second only to David Merritt, he's the most powerful man in the country."

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"Then why don't we hear and see more of him?"

"Because he doesn't want you to. He moves through the halls of the White House like a ghost, and that's the way he wants it because his anonymity makes him even more powerful. He keeps a low profile, but he's Merritt's chief adviser."

"You've been out of touch, Mr. Bondurant. The President's chief counsel is-"

"Forget Frank Montgomery. He's a figurehead, a lackey. Merritt throws him a bone, he fetches it. He's got a title, a nice office, and privileges, but Spence is David's alter ego. David doesn't take a leak without consulting Spence first. He's in on every decision, no matter how major or how minor. He's what you might call a facilitator."

"What does he facilitate?"

"Chores."

Barrie raised an eyebrow.

"Chores that would compromise the President if he were to take care of them himself."

He didn't have to spell it out for her. "In other words, there are some gray areas to the duties Spencer Martin performs for the President. And you know this because you were. . ."

"Also a facilitator."

"I see."

Her eyes were like mirrors of his conscience gazing at him through her glasses. "But I resigned. I hadn't seen or heard from Spence for more than year-since I left Washington. Then the day after you came to my house, he showed up."

"Coincidence?"

"No. He came to see me because he either guessed or knew that you'd been there, asking me questions about Vanessa."

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"What did you tell him? About me, I mean."

Gray knew why she'd asked-she wanted to know if he'd boasted of his latest sexual conquest to his buddy. His hand where she'd bit him was throbbing like a son of a bitch. Seconds after they met, she'd slapped him. In some regards, this Barrie Travis was gutsy and bold. But right now she looked extremely vulnerable, and hell, her dog had just been killed, so although it was a perfect opportunity to embarrass her again, he declined.

"I told Spence that you'd come snooping, that you had this harebrained notion that Vanessa had killed her baby and passed it off as SIDS." "You told him that?" she exclaimed. "No wonder they incinerated my house." "If I had denied knowing anything about it, he would have seen straight through the lie, so I had to play along. But I knew immediately that you were on to something. Why else would Spence have been nervous enough to come to Wyoming and check out what I knew?"

"You're absolutely certain that was the purpose of his visit?"

"Yeah," he said. "There was a commercial airline ticket in his breast pocket, round-trip from Washington to Jackson Hole."

"Soy"

"So, Spence told me he was on an errand to Seattle for the President. On any errand like that, he would have taken a government plane. Plus, the ticket had been issued in a phony name. Then, in Jackson Hole, he rented a car under another assumed name. He had no intention of going to Seattle.

No, Miss Travis, his was not a social call. Your story poses an extreme threat to the administration, and they'll do whatever it takes to keep it from getting out."

"My God," she whispered, raising bloodless fingers to 140 Sandra Brown

her lips. "It's just beginning to sink in. I was right. That baby did not die of SIDS."

"When did you first suspect that?" She was staring into space. "Miss Travis?"

"I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her temples. "Hearing my hypothesis from someone else makes it real. The implications are staggering-and terrifying."

"Especially to the man occupying the White House. Talk me through it,"

Gray said. "When did you first suspect that something was wrong?"

"Vanessa called me out of the blue and asked me to meet her. It was immediately apparent to me that she was holding herself together by sheer willpower."

He listened raptly as Barrie told him everything that had happened after that initial meeting and explained the steps she'd taken to produce the TV

series.

"I saw it-the segment with Vanessa."

"The Vanessa Merritt I interviewed on camera was totally different from the abjectly miserable woman I'd been with weeks before."

"Not all that surprising," he told her. "Vanessa is manic-depressive."

He watched her full lips open in astonishment. "Are you sure? When was she diagnosed?"

"A long time ago. Shortly after they married, I believe."

Clearly, Barrie was flabbergasted. "How could they keep that under wraps for all these years?"

"Because she's well treated for it and carefully monitored. Her manic episodes made her an excellent campaigner. She was always up. Always on.

Of course she's on lithium to regulate the mood swings, so they're apparent only to someone who knows her well. She takes antidepressants and antipsychotic drugs, too. When she's on her medication, she functions well.

One truthful thing Spence said

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was that the baby's death has thrown her off balance. The minute I saw her on TV, I knew that something was drastically wrong," he concluded.

"So you know her very well."

He dodged that missile by saying, "I know David even better."

"You actually believe he and his top aide are responsible for blowing up my house?"

"Haven't you been listening? Hell, yes, I believe it. Spence must have arranged it before leaving for Jackson Hole. When it's discovered that tonight's only fatality was your dog, they'll try to dispose of you by some other method."

Whey-faced, she sucked in a quick breath. In a voice that was huskier than usual, she said, "You're telling me that my life's not worth the paper it's printed on."

"Essentially, yeah."

She rested her forehead in her palm. "I think I'm going to throw up."

"Don't," he said sharply. "We can't create a scene. Breathe through your mouth."

Gray sat tensely until her nausea passed. After a while she asked for a glass of water, and he signaled the waitress. She noticed that Barrie wasn't feeling well. "Is she okay?"

"Morning sickness," Gray said, thinking how goofy his fake smile must look. "Except she gets it at night."

"Oh, that'll pass after the first few months, honey. How far along are you?"

"Uh='

"Three months," Gray said.

Patting Barrie on the shoulder, the waitress offered to bring her a cup of hot tea. "She'll be fine," Gray said. "But thanks."

Reassured, the waitress moved away. Barrie took several sips of water.

"You lie very well."

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"YOU don't."

"I know."

Gray realized that she was still in shock. Tears were close to the surface.

"I've dragged you into this, haven't I, Mr. Bondurant?"

He gave an indifferent shrug.

"I have," she insisted tremulously. "Because I went to see you, your life's in danger too. You share the story they can't allow to be told." The more she talked, the more anxious she became.

"You took an awful risk by coming here. You should have stayed in Wyoming.

If you go home now, maybe they'll forget that you know. They'll think that you dismissed me."

He was amused by her naivete but kept a straight face. "They don't forget.

They don't leave any loose ends, either. Geography doesn't matter. They want whatever happened to the baby, and whatever's going on with Vanessa, to be deepsixed. And our curiosity along with it."

"How'd you get here so fast?"

"I trashed Spence's computer and turned in his rental car by dropping the keys and the paperwork into the quickcheckout box at the airport. Then I used the return portion of his ticket."

Knowing there were a limited number of commercial flights into Jackson Hole, Barrie asked, "Were you on my plane?" He nodded. "I didn't see you."

"You weren't supposed to."

"Oh." She paused, trying to figure out how he had escaped her notice. "Why didn't you just warn me somewhere along the way? If you had, Cronkite might still be alive."

"I miscalculated. I didn't expect their first warning to be the coup de grace. I thought they'd start with a veiled

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threat, like your source at the hospital probably received. But they're not screwing around. They didn't want you scared into silence-they wanted you dead."

"So you've said." She gnawed on her inner cheek. "Where'd you leave it with Spence?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how'd you get hold of his airline ticket? How'd you manage to elude him?"

He held her stare for a long time, wondering how much he should tell her.

Finally, all he said was, "I didn't."

Barrie loved Daily for not making an issue of their showing up on his doorstep at two o'clock in the morning. He didn't chastise or barrage them with questions. He merely grunted as he stepped aside and waved them in.

It was obvious they'd gotten him out of bed. Spikes of thinning gray hair radiated from his scalp like the points on the Statue of Liberty's crown.

He was wearing a threadbare undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts that reached almost to his knobby knees. A pair of black socks did nothing to flatter his white, virtually hairless legs.

Upon leaving the coffee shop, they'd agreed that they needed a place to stay where they could rest, regroup, and decide what their next course of action would be. Gray had followed her directions to Daily's house. Now, she could tell what he was thinking: If this was the best they could do in terms of refuge, their future was indeed perilous.

Daily's little house was hardly a fortress, and, to a stranger's eye, he appeared to be a terribly ill man whose life depended upon his modest pension check and breathing

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apparatus-all of which was entirely, and unfortunately, correct.

"I know this is a terrible imposition, Daily," Barrie said as he went around the living room switching on lamps. "But there was nowhere else to go .... They killed Cronkite."

His hand froze on a light switch. "Killed Cronkite? Who did?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got all night."

The pain in his expression reflected what she was feeling. He opened his arms, and she walked into them. Customarily she was the one to hug him, while he acted the curmudgeon and spurned her displays of affection. This time, he not only initiated the embrace but held her, patting her back, a bit awkwardly but earnestly. "Sick sons of bitches. What'd they do, poison his food? If I ever catch 'em . . . Who did it?"

Barrie stepped away from him and removed her glasses to dry her eyes.

"There's a lot to tell."

Daily went automatically to his recliner, wheeling his canister of oxygen with him. She took her usual seat on his sofa. Gray remained standing. So far, Daily had shown no curiosity about why the retired national hero had emerged from seclusion and was standing in the center of his living room in the middle of the night.

Now, he nodded toward Gray. "What's he doing here?"

"My house was blown up tonight."

"Blown up? You mean like ka-boom?" He looked at her, then at Gray, then back at her.

"It's gone, Daily. Destroyed. Everything. Including my tape library," she said bitterly, thinking about the irreplaceable videos that had taken years to collect. "Bondurant thinks the back door was booby-trapped.

Cronkite went in ahead of me, through his doggie door."

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Daily was aghast. "Who would do such a thing?"

"The President."

"Excuse me? The President of the United States?"

"Bondurant thinks the explosion was meant to kill me because of the questions I've been asking about Vanessa's health and her baby's death,"

Barrie explained.

"Jesus." Daily looked up at Gray. "What makes you think-Sit down, for chrissake. You're making me crane my neck."

For the first time in hours, Barrie felt like smiling. Gray sat down on the only other available spot-beside her on the sofa.

"What makes you think Merritt would go this far to keep Barrie quiet?"

Daily asked him.

"He dispatched Spencer Martin to handle me simply because I'd talked to her."

"Definèhandle.' "

"Assassinate."

"I thought you two were friends."

"We were. Nevertheless, he came to Wyoming to assassinate me because he was afraid that Barrie had told me her theory about the baby's death. That should give you some indication of how determined they are to put a lid on her story before it gets out."

Frowning, Daily smoothed down a few spikes of his crown. "You sure about this?" he asked skeptically.

"He's sure," Barrie said. "Tell him, Bondurant."

While he recounted for Daily the peculiarities of Spencer Martin's visit to Wyoming, she wondered how she could have failed to recognize Gray among the passengers on her flight back to Washington. She hadn't paid much attention to her fellow travelers, but wouldn't he have stood out?