Oath of Honor Read online

  we still love him.”

  “Ah, let me guess. Government service is a family thing?”

  “You could say that.” Evyn hesitated, impressed by and a little

  wary of Wes’s ability to hear more than she said. She’d have to be

  careful around her. “My father’s ATF, my aunt’s IRS, my younger

  brother’s ICE, and the next oldest went army. We’ve got a few more

  agencies covered with the cousins.”

  “That’s a heavy legacy to inherit.”

  “Not so much.” Evyn shrugged and turned onto Pennsylvania

  Avenue, passing by the House, leaving the glowing lights behind,

  and headed north toward Dupont Circle. The streets were dark, nearly

  deserted. “Wasn’t hard for me—I always knew what I wanted to do.”

  “And you love it.”

  “Yeah I do, except—”

  “—for the cold.”

  Laughing, Evyn looked over and tripped into Wes’s eyes. Under

  the streetlights, the green of her eyes darkened to the deep hues of a

  hidden glade in the heart of the forest. Splinters of moonlight carved

  out the elegant arch of her cheekbones and pooled in the hollow of her

  throat. Jesus. She was beautiful. Fixing back on the street, she said

  tightly, “You want fancy, or plain, simple, and good?”

  “I don’t need frills,” Wes said. “But good, yeah. That matters.”

  “Not one for show, is that it?” Casual, she could do casual. And

  distant. She needed distance. She had to train her, for Chrissake, and

  don’t forget Peter. What the fuck was wrong with her?

  “The only thing I care about,” Wes said as Evyn turned up

  Connecticut, “is getting the job done.”

  “So how come you’re teaching and not…you know, doing?” When

  silence ensued, she glanced over and figured from the rigid set of Wes’s

  jaw she probably could have phrased that a little more diplomatically.

  Well, she’d wanted distance. Now she had it. How come it didn’t feel

  so good? “Sorry. I take it that was an insult of some kind?”

  • 47 •

  RADCLY fFE

  Wes blew out a breath and eased back in her seat. “No, it’s not

  an insult. I’m not ashamed to spend most of my time teaching. I do

  my share in covering the ER in rotation, but I have a certain knack

  for teaching and I like it. The way things have been going the last few

  years, more troops see combat. War has changed. New weapons and

  new ways of fighting mean new types of injuries. If our medics aren’t

  fully prepared for the kinds of battlefield causalities they’ll face, troops

  die. I figure this is the best way for me to see that doesn’t happen.”

  “I get that,” Evyn said softly.

  “What you do is totally different,” Wes said. “For you, it’s a lot

  more personal.”

  “Personal?” Evyn gripped the wheel harder, uncomfortable with

  the shift of focus back to her. Her hold on the whole night was slipping.

  She should be on her way home to Alexandria to get some much-

  needed sleep. Or maybe she just needed some human contact of the

  sexual variety—too late for a club, but she still had a few women in her

  little black book who would take her call no matter how late. Instead

  of either safe option, she was on her way out to eat with a woman who

  lured her into unfamiliar territory so smoothly she never noticed until

  she was floundering for direction. “I, ah, don’t know about personal.

  I’m doing my job. It’s what I’m trained to do.”

  “True,” Wes said, “but what you do in a split second has an

  immediate and critical impact. Whatever effect I might have is at a

  distance…months, possibly years later…when a young medical student

  or resident saves a life because of something I taught them.”

  “And that’s enough for you?” Evyn couldn’t help asking, although

  she knew she should be searching for some vacuous topic like the

  Redskins’ standing in the playoffs. She pulled to the curb in front of

  Circa and swiveled on the seat to face Wes across the narrow divide.

  “Just taking on faith that down the line, somewhere, sometime…?”

  “For me, it’s the long game. I’m not looking for immediate

  gratification.”

  “Yeah, well.” Evyn cut the engine. “I don’t look much past the

  moment. Not in my nature.”

  “I guess that makes us different,” Wes said quietly.

  “Like night and day.”

  • 48 •

  Oath Of hOnOr

  chapter six

  Senator Franklin Russo glanced at the brass clock on his desk.

  Nine p.m. Headlights flickered through the trees along the

  approach road to his Idaho mountain retreat, alerting him to a vehicle

  arriving. Hooker was punctual. He expected that of those who worked

  for him. That and absolute, unquestioning loyalty.

  The doorbell rang and a moment later a soft knock sounded on his

  study door.

  “Come in.”

  The door swung open, and his personal aide Derek Sullivan, a

  thin young blond in khaki pants and a starched striped shirt, said, “Mr.

  Hooker is here, sir.”

  “Good. Have him come in.”

  A heavyset middle-aged man with a thick brown mustache flecked

  with gray strode in. His snow-crusted work boots left muddy streaks on

  the wide pine plank floors. His broad, rough face was ruddy from the

  subzero temperatures.

  “Close the door, Derek,” Franklin said, “and see that we’re not

  disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Derek backed out and pulled the door shut.

  “Hooker,” Franklin said, “what do you have to report?” He didn’t

  offer Hooker a seat. The man was a hired gun, muscle. Necessary, but

  not part of his inner circle. He paid him well, and that was all that

  mattered.

  “I’ve got a contact with the connections we need in DC,” Hooker

  said. “It won’t be cheap.”

  • 49 •

  RADCLY fFE

  “Money is not a factor,” Franklin said, “but discretion is.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. He doesn’t know who I’m

  working for. He doesn’t want to know.”

  “All the better.” Franklin leaned back in his leather swivel chair

  and steepled his hands in front of his chest, regarding Hooker carefully.

  His presidential campaign was gaining strength in the heartland, but

  Andrew Powell was a popular incumbent. He needed to cast doubt

  on Powell’s ability to lead the country through increasingly troubled

  times. He needed insurance. This man promised it to him. “What about

  obtaining the material?”

  “He’ll set me up.” Hooker shrugged. “But we might have to get in

  bed with the militia to accomplish the actual acquisition.”

  Franklin shook his head. “I don’t like exposing ourselves to

  hotheads, and after the fiasco at Matheson’s compound, the whole

  bunch of them are going to be under surveillance. I can’t afford to be

  linked to them.”

  “That’s what you hired me for—I’ll run interference and make

  sure nothing blows back on you.”

  Hooker smiled, a slow just-short-of-ugly smile that set off warning

 
blips on Franklin’s radar. If Hooker hoped to put him in his debt, he was

  wrong. Throughout his rapid rise to power in the senate and on the

  path to winning the presidential nomination, he’d had to make deals

  and promise paybacks, but he was always careful not to give anyone

  leverage on him. He never let anyone other than Nora Fleming know

  the whole of his plans. Nora Fleming was more than his campaign

  manager. She was the only one who shared his vision—not his wife,

  not his children, not his staff. As the leader of the Patriot Party, he was

  running for president on a platform of reinstating traditional American

  values of family, morality, and religion. His family was an essential

  element of his image—but Nora was his true support.

  “Just remember—plausible deniability,” Franklin said. “We need

  a lot of distance between my campaign and the activities of these

  radicals.”

  “Not to worry. The inside man at Eugen Corp—”

  Franklin held up his hand. “I don’t want to know names or details.

  Just get it done.”

  “Of course.”

  “And when it’s over, everyone involved needs to disappear.”

  • 50 •

  Oath Of hOnOr

  Hooker winced as if Franklin had breached some unspoken rule

  about what could be spoken out loud. Franklin almost laughed. As if

  his security wasn’t the best in the world. Even Andrew Powell’s inner

  sanctum wasn’t as secure as he thought.

  “The only way to ensure secrecy is by guaranteeing silence,”

  Franklin said softly. “I don’t care how you do it.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Hooker finally said. “And the targets?”

  “I want the country to know Andrew Powell is not only soft on

  terrorism and foreign affairs, his whole government is soft. When

  the people see he can’t protect them, even within our own borders,

  they’ll make the right and logical choice at the polls.” Franklin lifted a

  shoulder. “I want a public forum, with media coverage.”

  “Civilian casualties could backfire. Look at what happened in

  Oklahoma.”

  “The threat alone will be enough. And if there are casualties…”

  Franklin waved a hand. “McVeigh and Nichols were amateurs.

  Hotheads. That’s exactly the reason I don’t want to get involved with

  another one of these militia groups.”

  “You still need foot soldiers—more than that, you need followers

  who are willing to sacrifice for the cause. You don’t have much

  choice.”

  “Then I want absolute containment. No breaches. No leaks.

  Nothing that ties us to them or the events.”

  “I understand.” Hooker’s eyes went flat. “You don’t need to

  worry.”

  “If we time this right,” Franklin said, “Powell’s standing will

  plummet before his campaign even gets started. The groundswell of

  negative publicity will bury him.”

  “I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Contact me by phone when you have more for me. Good night.”

  Hooker let himself out, and Franklin turned off his desk light,

  letting the room fall into shadow. Through half-closed eyes, he watched

  the dim glow of Hooker’s taillights recede down the mountain into

  the darkness. He was forced to consort with unsavory characters in

  order to achieve his goals. That didn’t bother him. His was the path

  of righteousness. Someone needed to take back control of the nation,

  to redirect America’s course and restore her to greatness and power.

  Someone needed to remind Americans of the true path. Andrew Powell

  • 51 •

  RADCLY fFE

  needed to be removed from office. His daughter, who Powell flaunted

  in the face of God-fearing people, was a sinner, even more so for her

  insistence on pushing her unholy relationship in the faces of good

  Americans. Blair Powell was becoming a national icon, and that too

  must end. He wouldn’t rest until both were gone.

  v

  “So,” Evyn said, pushing her empty dishes aside and drawing her

  coffee cup nearer, “do you come from a family of doctors?”

  Wes carefully placed her fork beside her plate and reached for

  her espresso. They’d spent most of the meal talking about the job—the

  daily briefings between PPD and the WHMU, coordinating schedules,

  protocol when POTUS traveled, security and medical preparation for

  potential threats—safe topics. This one wasn’t so safe, and she was

  a little surprised that Evyn, who had maintained a cool professional

  distance all night, breached the neutral zone into something personal.

  “Sorry,” Evyn said with no inflection, “is that a sensitive

  subject?”

  Wes shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Sorry. I was just thinking.” She

  waited while the server cleared their places. “I’m the middle child,

  more or less, of four, and the first in my family to go to college. My

  mother and father were blue-collar workers. My mother in the garment

  industry, my father on the docks. He died in an accident when I was

  six.” “Hey, I’m sorry. If this is—”

  “No, that’s okay. I have a great family. I grew up in my

  grandmother’s house in South Philadelphia with my mother and my

  sisters. It was pretty crowded, but it was…” She thought about the

  shared bedrooms, the squabbles over the bathroom in the morning, the

  big wooden table in the sunny kitchen smelling of home-cooked food,

  counters crowded with dishes and everyone jostling for a place at the

  table. “It was noisy and warm and full of life.” She smiled. “It was

  great.” She looked up from her espresso. Evyn was staring at her as if

  she were a stranger. She wondered what she had just revealed and then

  realized it didn’t matter. She had nothing to hide.

  “You miss them,” Evyn said softly.

  • 52 •

  Oath Of hOnOr

  “Every day.” Wes’s chest tightened, as much from the tenderness

  in Evyn’s eyes as from the memories.

  Evyn sipped her coffee. “Okay—not following in the family mold

  like me. Why did you want to be a doctor?”

  Wes laughed. “You know, I practiced that answer a hundred times

  when I was applying to medical school, knowing I would be asked about

  it over and over again. I never did have a very good answer. I just knew

  I wanted to touch people. Make a difference somehow.” She looked

  out across the empty restaurant. They were the last ones at a table, but

  the servers hadn’t rushed them and none were in sight now. They were

  alone. She hadn’t been alone with a woman in longer than she could

  remember. She didn’t date—given her circumstances it wasn’t that easy.

  She might not necessarily agree with all the navy’s regulations, but

  she followed them. Most women she might have connected with were

  below her rank and off-limits. She sometimes thought that might be a

  convenient excuse, but then, what did that matter. If she was fooling

  anyone, it was only herself. No harm, no foul. And those rare nights

  when she was restless and vaguely unsettled, she went for a run until

  she was tired enough to sl
eep.

  Wes caught herself up short. This wasn’t a date, even if the whole

  evening was something out of the ordinary. Evyn was still watching

  her. What had Evyn asked? Oh, the “why a doctor?” question. She

  almost gave a stock reply, but the intensity of Evyn’s gaze derailed her.

  “Maybe I thought if I made a difference in someone else’s life, it would

  make mine mean more.”

  “Sounds like you got your wish, then. You’re about to have a

  patient whose health affects the whole world.” Evyn paused. “Does

  that make the job harder?”

  “No,” Wes said instantly. “If and when the time comes he’s my

  patient—and hopefully that day never comes—I’ll be taking care of

  Andrew Powell, not the president.”

  “His office doesn’t intimidate you?”

  “No, but Lucinda Washburn does,” Wes said, laughing.

  “You and everyone else.” Evyn grinned.

  “What about you? You said you always knew what you wanted to

  do?” For a few seconds, Wes thought Evyn wouldn’t answer. Sometimes

  Evyn’s face closed so quickly it was like watching shutters slam against

  • 53 •

  RADCLY fFE

  a window in a storm. Then Evyn’s posture relaxed and she smiled, and

  the shutters opened once again and sunlight streamed through. “Well,

  come on. In my family? Like there was really anything else to consider.

  Don’t we all want to grow up like our heroes?”

  “So who was yours?”

  “Oh, my father, no question. He’s big and blustery and solid and

  brave. I didn’t get to be big, but I hope…” Even in the dim candlelight,

  her blush was apparent. “Never mind.”

  “You hope you’re solid and brave?”

  “Geez, forget I said that, will you?”

  “I’ll pretend I’ve forgotten, if you’d like.”

  “Okay,” Evyn said, blowing out a breath. “Change of subject.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So…what about…besides your mother and grandmother and

  sisters. Anyone else…close?”

  “My grandmother passed on at the grand old age of ninety-six,”

  Wes said, sorting through the obscure question and deciding Evyn was

  asking whether she was single or not. While trying to formulate an

  answer, she was saved by her phone signaling a text message. At this

  hour, it had to be important. “Excuse me.”

  She fished her phone out of her pocket and checked the message.

  “Someone keeps late hours. I’ve just been informed by the duty officer