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Obviously he'd made certain that he wouldn't. His talent for being a chameleon did not increase

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her confidence in him. In many ways it made her more mistrustful.

"So, as far as anybody knows, Spence Martin was never in Wyoming," Daily summarized.

"He didn't touch anything inside my house except the silverware he ate with, and I washed that. His avoidance of touching anything was one of the first warning signals I picked up."

"Where's Martin now?" Daily asked.

Gray was stone-faced. The awkward silence stretched out until Barrie was forced to answer. "Mr. Bondurant is disinclined to say how he managed to escape him."

She glanced at the rigid profile of the man seated beside her. She didn't doubt that he could kill someone, even a former friend. His cold eyes and that narrow slash of a mouth indicated he was capable of it. If he'd killed Spencer Martin in self-defense, that was excusable. But could she take his word for that?

Daily put into words a question that she'd been asking herself. "Wouldn't Spence Martin have checked in with the President by now?"

"Ordinarily, yes. He even excused himself from the room on the pretext of placing a call to the White House. But he wouldn't have called until he could give David a full report, including my extermination. David's probably pacing the floor tonight wondering why he hasn't heard from Spence, but he can't send anyone to Wyoming to look for him because Spence wasn't supposed to be there."

"Sooner or later somebody's bound to miss him and start looking," Barrie remarked.

',Spence never had family or close friends," Gray said. "David and his administration have been Spence's entire life. To understand that, you have to understand where Spence came from. He was a frail, nerdy kid, bullied in

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school, picked on for being small. But he was much smarter than the average kid.

"All those years of being the bullies' target made him determined to become the best bully of all. He achieved that goal-he came to be the most feared bully in Washington. It's understood that crossing Spence is tanta-mount to spitting on the Oval Office. Spence wouldn't have informed anyone where he was going. He accounted only to David."

"Even the President's top aide can't be that autonomous," Barrie argued.

"The Department of Justice, Attorney General Yancey, the FBI, the-" She broke off when Gray began shaking his head.

"Bill Yancey's a good man," he said. "Almost too good to suit the administration. Yancey and David have locked horns several times since his appointment. But believe what I'm telling you. Spencer Martin's network of agents is as elite and ruthless as the Third Reich's SS. They operate like moles in every government agency, including the Secret Service. Spence's men are kept on standby at all times. If his orders countermanded ones they'd received through official channels, Spence's would be the ones these guys obeyed."

Barrie hugged her elbows. "You're scaring me."

"These are some scary characters. Most of them are specially trained troops who have retired and don't have a war to fight."

Barrie wondered if he was aware that he'd also described himself.

"If it's something really vital," Gray added, "Spence would do the job himself."

"Like assassinating a former recon buddy."

Gray acknowledged Daily's remark with a grim smile. "Right. Like that.

Although most often he would assign the

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job to someone else. Usually it's done with Spence out of town, so he'd have an alibi if the actual perpetrator got caught or left traceable evidence.

I'm sure he made an arrangement like that for Barrie's townhouse. It's not unusual for him to be away. It will be a while before anyone becomes curious enough to start asking questions."

"Merritt will be curious."

"Once David learns that I'm alive," he said in response to Barrie's statement, "he'll know that Spence failed to accomplish what he went to Wyoming to do."

That sobering comment silenced them for a time. Finally, Daily turned to Gray. "I admire what you did over there in the Middle East."

Gray acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. "But?"

"But forgive me for saying that you could be feeding us a barrel of bullshit."

The insult seemed to have no effect on him. "You have every right to be suspicious. It's no secret that there was tension between David and me when I left Washington."

"Because of his wife."

Barrie couldn't believe Daily's temerity. He was saying the things, asking the questions, she hadn't dared.

"Vanessa was part of the final rift, yes."

"Then why should I believe anything you've told us?"

"In other words, I could be making all this up in the hope of crushing David Merritt's presidency."

"The thought crossed my mind," Daily admitted with his characteristic candor.

With more composure than Barrie would have expected, Gray said, "I didn't start this. I didn't seek out Miss Travis with a hot story. She came to me with questions about the baby's death, questions that mirrored my own suspicions."

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That came as a surprise and made her angry. "Why didn't you tell me that?

You led me to believe that you thought I was the worst kind of opportunist. You-"

"Let the man talk, Barrie," Daily said. He looked at Gray. "What aroused your suspicions?"

He rose and began to pace while he talked. "Vanessa can be charming and sweet. But she can also be the most exasperating, self-centered, manipulative creature God ever made. She's strongly influenced by her father and by David, but I've seen her turn their machinations to her advantage, and without them realizing it."

"You're not painting a very favorable picture of her. In fact, the woman you've just described fits my earlier impressions of her," Barrie admitted.

"My point is that, despite her problems, I know Vanessa wanted a baby more than she wanted anything," he said. "I know that with certainty. She was willing to go through anything to have a child, even though doctors discouraged pregnancy because of her illness."

"Illness?" Daily looked at them quizzically.

"She's manic-depressive," Barrie explained, then told him what Gray had told her.

"Son of a gun," Daily said, dumbfounded.

"It's a pity she hasn't made her condition public," Barrie remarked.

"Thousands of people could have benefitted from knowing about it. Other patients would have been encouraged by her ability to live a full and rewarding life in spite of the illness."

"Until recently," Gray said.

"Right," Barrie agreed.

"She should not have been left alone that night."

"It was reported that the White House nanny had requested the night off to handle a family emergency," Daily reminded them.

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"Her request was made in advance. The question is: Why wasn't there a stand-in nanny?" Gray said. "Why was Vanessa left alone to care for the baby, with only David and Spence as backups in case of emergency, when everyone concerned knew that Vanessa was often incapable of handling emergencies?"

"Being manic-depressive, Vanessa would have far more than the normal feelings a woman experiences following the birth of a child. Feelings of resentment, inadequacy, entrapment, and so on." Barrie looked at Gray.

"That's why you didn't share your suspicions with anyone, isn't it? You wanted to protect her."

"I was protecting her with my silence, but not in the way you mean. You see, I don't agree with you. Vanessa did not smother her baby."

"I'm confused," Barrie said irritably. "You agree that he didn't die of SIDS."

"Correct."

"That makes no sense," she said softly. "If Vanessa didn't smother him, then who..."

The argument died abruptly on her lips. She glanced at Daily, who had been following the discussion. Their eyes connected, held, and she saw that his sudden realization matched hers.

She swung back to Gray. "Merritt?"

He nodded.

"But why?"

"What would make a man hate a three-month-old enough to kill it?"

She did not need to think about it. "If the baby wasn't his."

He nodded brusquely, then turned his back on her and walked to the window.

Of course. This explained so many prevalent questions.

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Vanessa's distress and utter helplessness. The waiver of an autopsy. The violent attempts to stifle the story. Bondurant's involvement. Especially Bondurant's involvement.

Slowly her gaze moved to him. He was still standing with his back to the room, peering through the crack in the faded draperies.

Daily stood. "Well, I think accusing the President of the United States of baby killing is enough excitement for one night. At least it is for an old fart like me. I'm going back to bed. You two are welcome to stay here as long as need be."

The trolley carrying his oxygen tank had a squeaky wheel. It could be heard as he made his way down the hall and into his bedroom. When he closed the door behind him, a thick silence descended over the house. Barrie said quietly, "The President gave me his hearty approval to interview her."

"To throw everybody off track. Which is more suspicious: publicly addressing an issue, or keeping it hush-hush?"

"I suppose you're right."

"I'd bet everything I own."

"You're afraid for Vanessa, aren't you?"

He turned around and looked at Barrie, but he said nothing.

"As long as she appeared well adjusted," Barrie said, organizing her thoughts as she spoke, "you dismissed your suspicions about the baby's death. But when you saw my interview with her, you realized that she wasn't herself, even considering her fluctuating moods and behavior. That caused you to entertain more doubts. Then I came to see you, and my theory echoed what you'd feared all along-that the baby's death wasn't caused by SIDS.

Spencer Martin's visit clinched it for you.

"Now you believe that Vanessa's life is in jeopardy, EXCLUSIVE 153

too. If David Merritt killed an infant, what compunction would he have against killing his wife to ensure that his first crime is kept secret?"

"None whatsoever," Gray said. "If you don't believe anything else I've told you, believe that. He'll do anything to protect his presidency and get a second term. Anything."

Barrie rubbed her arms to ward off a sudden chill.

"You look ready to drop," he remarked. "We'll take this up again in the morning. Get some sleep."

"Are you serious? I won't be able to sleep."

"Lie down and close your eyes. You'll sleep."

Too tired to argue, she gestured toward the back of the house. "The guest room, for lack of a better word, is at the end of the hall. There's a cot in there, but I don't recommend it. Cronkite was the last to sleep on it."

He looked toward Daily's closed bedroom door. "Do you trust him?"

"With my life."

"Then it's likely they'll know to look for you here."

"No one knows I come here."

"Care to explain that?"

"No, I don't." Her friendship with Daily was something she kept just between the two of them, and she didn't feel moved to share with Bondurant the reasons why. "No one will look for me here. For the time being, we're safe."

"Okay," he said, grudgingly. "I'll sleep out here. You take the cot." She started down the hallway, almost too tired to place one foot in front of the other. She didn't remember ever feeling so physically and emotionally spent.

In the bureau in Daily's second bedroom, she found a pair of pajamas that were atrociously ugly even for Daily's nondiscriminating taste. She took the pajama top into the bathroom with her and filled the tub.

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She'd gone almost twenty-four hours without sleep. Her eyes were gritty.

Her joints and muscles ached. She had skinned her knees. She swallowed two aspirin tablets taken from Daily's medicine chest, then gratefully submerged herself, even her head, in the hot water. After soaping and shampooing, she reclined against the back of the tub and closed her eyes.

As her physical discomforts were eased by the bath, her emotional injuries began to hurt more. Her heartache was profound. Considering how many human lives were taken by natural disasters, disease, war, and murder, it seemed petty to mourn the demise of a mutt. Nevertheless, she felt a crushing sense of loss. Try as she might, she couldn't keep from sobbing.

Droplets of water leaked from the faucet into the tub, making soft little splashes that were oddly comforting. Tears rolled down her cheeks, off her chin, onto her chest, then followed the valleys of her body into the water. Each time she thought she had cried herself out, she would remember something else endearing about Cronkite and the cycle would begin again.

Fresh tears would find their way through her closed eyelids and eventually into the bath.

It wasn't until she felt cool air against her skin that she realized she was no longer alone. She opened her eyes. Bondurant was standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the jamb, eyes fixed on her.

Barrie didn't move. It would have been useless to reach for something to cover herself. He'd already seen everything there was to see. He'd already touched everything, too. Intimately. Her body began to respond similarly to the way it had that morning in his bedroom, with a fluttering heat.

"Are you okay?"

Unable to speak, she nodded.

"You've been crying."

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She couldn't think of an appropriate response, so she said nothing and continued to hold his stare. It wavered only once, when his eyes flickered over her body before returning to her face. Gruffly, he said,

"Rocket, Tramp, and Doc." Puzzled, she shook her head slightly. "My horses.

They do have names." He stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door closed.

Chapter Sixteen

c5enator Clete Armbruster arrived at the White House early the following morning, demanding to see the President immediately. He was informed that the President was awake but hadn't yet left his private quarters.