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His little eyes lit up. "That'd be great!"

"Tomorrow, I'll do a follow-up story, something to do with near brushes with death, confronting one's mortalitysomething along those lines. I'll try and get sound bites from clerics and psychologists who deal with trauma victims. Maybe by the end of the week, the investigators will have determined the cause of the explosion."

"That soon?"

"I doubt it'll be a lengthy investigation," she said with a wryness that escaped him. "Anyway, once I get their ruling, I'll do a story on how they piece together the evidence to re-create the scene and find the cause."

"Jeez, you're hot. No pun intended." Taking a precau-174 Sandra Brown

tionary look over his shoulder, he whispered, "Any chance that it was intentional? Did somebody get wind of the exclusive you're working on? Could your story and the explosion be connected?"

"You've seen too many Sylvester Stallone movies, Howie. There couldn't possibly be a connection. That big story of mine?" she said with a deprecating laugh. "It was nothing compared to having my house explode in front of my eyes. So you and Jenkins can relax. I've looked death in the face. Believe me, that changes your perspective like that!" She snapped her fingers. "From now on, you'll see a very different Barrie Travis around here."

Gray had said she made a poor liar. She hoped he was wrong.

"Well, I'm mighty glad to hear that," Howie said, expanding his chest. "I knew if I stayed after you long enough, I'd whip your cute little butt into shape."

Behind her ingratiating smile, Barrie was grinding her teeth.

7he President was working out his frustration in his private gym inside the White House. He viewed the Stairmaster and other equipment as enemies that must be conquered. Sweat dripped from his nose, earlobes, chin, and fingertips. Well-toned muscles bulged as he pushed them to their limit.

The errand boy he'd dispatched to check out the situation in Wyoming had contacted him earlier that morning via computer. His report wasn't what Merritt wanted to hear. It appeared that Spence had never been to Gray Bondurant's place. When asked what Bondurant had to say about it, the gofer had dropped the second bomb-there had been no trace of Bondurant either.

Despite the report, Merritt was certain that Spence had been there. He'd just been careful to cover his tracks. He was also certain that Gray wouldn't have vanished without a compelling reason. From that, he deduced that Gray had snuffed Silence before Silence had a chance to snuff him.

If that deduction was correct, Gray was wise to them. The ramifications of that were so vast, so dismal, that Merritt had sought the seclusion of the gym. He needed time alone to think, to plot.

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Gray wouldn't be afraid to joust with the presidency. Deterrents that would cause fear and trembling in anyone else who challenged the White House wouldn't faze him. Nor would he eventually give up and go away. When Gray thought he was right, he would stop at nothing to defend his point.

His convictions were as solid as Gibraltar. That inflexibility was one reason why Merritt hated him.

When he took the oath of office, he had great plans for the three of them.

He himself was gifted with enough charisma and political savvy to convince Congress and the nation of anything. Spence was the ruthless strong-arm of the trio. He didn't require justification, he merely performed, efficiently and expediently. Gray was an expert strategist. He viewed each situation from every possible angle and always chose the best approach to take. Together, they could have been the most powerful three men in the world.

If only Gray hadn't had a lech for Vanessa and developed a conscience.

"Damn fool," Merritt muttered as he levered himself off the padded bench and reached for a hand towel. As he wiped his face and the back of his neck, someone knocked on the door. "Come in."

A Secret Service agent opened the door. Standing beside him was Gray Bondurant.

"Mr. President," said the smiling agent, "I have a surprise for you."

Merritt broke a wide grin, which felt to his face like a crack opening up in a slab of concrete. "Gray! God, man, this is a surprise."

Gray too was smiling, though, as usual, it contributed no warmth to his eyes. "I took a chance that you'd be free long enough to say hello." He gave Merritt an approving once-over. "The nation should sleep well, Mr.

President.

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You look fit enough to defeat singlehandedly all its enemies, domestic and abroad."

Shaking hands and slapping each other on the back, they played out the charade. There was no reason for the Secret Service agent to doubt their cordiality. Rumors of a rift between them had been vehemently denied. When Gray had left the White House, their friendship was supposedly as strong as ever, perhaps even stronger because of the spectacular success of Gray's mission.

It required all of Merritt's acting skills to mask his rage. He'd been blindsided by a master. Hadn't he just been thinking about what an expert strategist Gray was? This was a well-planned ambush made to appear innocent. Gray had come straight to the mountain, unannounced and disarming. White House staff knew him well and wouldn't be suspicious.

He'd come to see his pal the President, and how nice of him.

What galled Merritt most was that he had to continue Gray's game, at least until he figured out what he was up to. When they were alone, he moved to the juice bar. "What can I get you?"

"Whatever you're having."

Merritt poured two glasses of orange juice. "Goddamn, it's good to see you," he said, clinking their glasses in a toast.

"Don't let me interrupt your workout."

"I was about to quit. Can't take as much as I once could," he said with a self-effacing grimace.

"I doubt that."

"Mind if I get in the whirlpool?"

"Not at all."

Merritt slipped out of his shorts and stepped into the swirling, bubbling water from which a cloud of steam was rising. "Ahh, feels great. Want to join me?"

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"No, thanks." Gray dragged a chair to the edge of the whirlpool and sat down.

"Your hair's gone grayer."

"Heredity," Gray replied. "Didn't I ever tell you that my dad was prematurely gray?"

Basically, Gray Bondurant was unchanged. His body was still hard and taut, his expression still resolute. Envy was a rare emotion for the man who'd brought himself all the way from a trailer park to the White House; but envy was the foundation for his hatred of Gray.

He was more handsome than Gray. Perhaps even more intelligent. Equally as strong, physically.

But Gray had a steely core of self-confidence and morality that allowed him to look any other man in the eye without flinching. Even in the good of days, when they were in the Corps together, long before their clash, Merritt had always been the first to look away from sustained eye contact with Gray. He resented how comfortably and well Gray wore honor and nobility and despised him for his principles, while secretly envying the additional strength they gave him.

"Your belly's still flat," he observed. "I'm glad to see that Wyoming hasn't turned you into a wuss."

"It's tough country, but if I hadn't earned my spurs in Washington, I couldn't have handled it."

Merritt chuckled. "I've missed your sense of humor. It's dry as dust, but you could always make me laugh." He spread his arms along the tile rim of the whirlpool. Thinking he already knew the answer, he asked, "What brings you to Washington?"

"A woman."

He hadn't seen that one coming. Gray had thrown him another curve ball. He covered by laughing. "A skirt? A woman has finally toppled the mighty Bang

'em Bondurant? Hard to believe."

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"Sad, but true."

"Please," Merritt groaned. "Don't ruin my image of you by telling me you've acquired some sensitivity. You haven't turned into ànineties kind of guy,' I hope."

Gray offered his grim half-smile. "Never. That's why this one perfectly suits my needs. She's good to look at, has a voice straight out of a porno film, and, best of all, she's not too bright."

"Does this girl wonder have a name?"

"Barrie Travis."

Merritt winced. "You've got to be kidding. She's a royal pain in the ass.

Granted, the voice is sexy. Face and figure definitely earn high marks.

But, Gray, buddy, she's trouble. If she reads anything more than sex into the relationship, she'll latch on to you and you'll never be able to shake her. Are you sure you know what you're getting into?"

"Right now I'm getting into her."

The two shared a bawdy snicker. "That can't be all bad," Merritt conceded.

"It's good enough to get me off my ranch and back here."

"For how long?"

Gray shrugged. "Until I get my fill of her and go back."

Merritt finished his juice and set the glass on the tile, then eased himself out of the whirlpool. He wrapped a towel around his middle and took a chair near Gray's. Pursuing this conversation with his former friend might get him into hotter water than he'd just gotten out of, but he couldn't resist. If Gray could continue this parody of a friendly reunion, so could he. When it came to acting, his skills were far superior to Gray's. He'd had more practice.

"Where'd you two meet? I want all the juicy details."

"She tracked me down. Just showed up one day last week out of the blue."

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"What for?"

"A story. Or rather a new angle on an old one. She wanted to do a follow-up piece about the hostage rescue mission."

"And you didn't tell her to take a hike? You never liked reporters."

"It's not her profession I'm fucking, David."

Merritt laughed. "See? There's that dry wit again." Then he drew his brows into a steep frown. "I just remembered. Her house burned to the ground last night."

"Yeah. It was the damnedest thing."

"I saw her on the news this morning, talking to reporters. She's one spunky chick."

"That's what makes her challenging."

"So, where are you two staying? Hotel?"

"No, with a friend."

Barrie Travis's friend was a retired newsman named Ted Welsh. Even in Spence's absence, his intelligence network had provided Merritt with pictures of Welsh in a bathrobe, retrieving his morning paper from a weed-infested front lawn. The old geezer was reported to have emphysema and looked about as dangerous as a housefly.

Quite a pair, Travis and Welsh, living in Welsh's ramshackle house, as they plotted the destruction of his presidency. It was laughable. In one swoop, he could be rid of them both.

Gray was the problem. With him as their ringleader, the trio reached a level of menace that wasn't so laughable.

"Speaking of friends," Gray said, "I'm surprised you don't already know the juicy details about Barrie and me. I thought Spence would have told you. He came to see me shortly after her visit to the ranch."

Merritt's smile slipped a fraction. Even the most accomplished actor couldn't have maintained one. "Spence

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is taking some vacation time. Practically had to force him to go, workaholic that he is. He said he might stop by your place, but I haven't heard from him since he left. Did he say where he was headed after Wyoming?"

"He didn't mention any plans. But you know Spence. He'll turn up when you least expect it. I certainly wasn't looking for him when he showed up at my place."

Merritt had clung to a thread of hope that Spence was still alive. He now knew with certainty that he wasn't. Spence was dead. Gray had killed him.

Merritt couldn't let himself get sentimental about it. He didn't need Spence anyway. He didn't need anybody. But then, Spence had been extremely handy to have around. Men with his talent and blind, unquestionable loyalty and obedience were rare. Even more rare were men with absolutely no conscience.

Gray had robbed him of this valuable asset and was sitting here cracking jokes about it, a guileless expression on his face. Merritt wanted to smash it. But he carefully schooled his anger. To reveal it would be self-incriminating.

Besides, he didn't want to waste energy on a situation that couldn't be reversed. Spence would be the first to agree that mourning was counterproductive and only the weak would indulge in it.

"I was wondering, is the First Lady around?"

Gray's question served as a cattle prod on Merritt's private musings. "Uh, no, she's still away."

"At this ùndisclosed location'?"

"That's right," Merritt replied. "And I'm sworn to secrecy."

Gray leaned forward, propped his forearms on his thighs, and assumed a confidential posture that Merritt frequently used himself. "David, I've been worried about her.

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Is she okay? Level with me now. Don't give me the bullshit that Neely feeds to the media. How is Vanessa, really?"

"Are you trying to get a scoop for your new bedmate?"

"When we're in bed, she's got better things to do than interview me."

"Hard to talk with her mouth full, huh?"

Gray grunted the required laugh. Then his lined, lean face turned serious again. "Vanessa hasn't seemed herself since the baby died. Is she ill?"

Had Merritt had a choice at that moment, he would have gone for Gray's throat. This man had made him a cuckold. The gossip about him and Vanessa had been quelled, but not soon enough.

How many people had concluded that Gray, not he, was the father of Vanessa's baby? How dare the son of a bitch mention the brat without so much as a glimmer of apology in his arctic blue eyes?

By a force of will, the President of the United States reined in his fury.

How could he have explained Gray's drowning death in the whirlpool of the White House gym? Even Spence wouldn't have been bold enough to try and sell that one to the attorney general and the American public.

Suppressing his murderous impulse, he bowed his head and plowed his fingers through his hair. "I don't mind telling you, Gray, it's been rough.