W hen he climbed into her truck, King quickly observed the interior of Michelle's vehicle and could not conceal his disgust. He picked up a power bar food wrapper off the floor by his foot that still had a hunk of stale "power chocolate" inside. The backseats were full of items haphazardly strewn around: water and snow skis, assorted oars and paddles, gym clothes, sneakers, dress shoes and a couple of skirts, jackets and blouses and a pair of pantyhose still in its packaging. There were warm-up suits, books, a northern Virginia yellow pages, empty soda and Gatorade cans and a Remington shotgun and a box of shells. And that was just what King could see. God only knew what else was lurking in here; the smell of rotten bananas was hammering his nostrils.

He looked over at Michelle. "Make a note to never, ever invite me to your place."

She glanced at him and smiled. "I told you I was a slob."

"Michelle, this is beyond a slob. This is a mobile garbage dump; this is total and complete anarchy on wheels."

"So philosophical. And call me Mick."

"You prefer ‘Mick' to ‘Michelle'? Michelle is an elegant, classy name. Mick sounds like a punch-drunk boxer-turned-doorman in uniform braids and fake medals."

"The Secret Service is still a guy's world. You go along to get along."

"Just drive them around in this truck one time, and you'll never be mistaken for anything but a guy, even if your name was Gwendolyn."

"Okay, I get the point. So what do you expect to find down there?"

"If I knew that, I probably wouldn't be going."

"Will you visit the hotel?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't been back since it happened."

"I can understand that. I'm not sure I could ever go back to that funeral home."

"Speaking of, anything new on the Bruno disappearance?"

"Nothing. No ransom request, no demands of any kind. Why would you go to all the trouble to kidnap John Bruno, including the murder of a Secret Service agent, and possibly the man he was going to pay his last respects to, and then do nothing with him?"

"Right, Bill Martin, the deceased. I thought he must have been killed."

She looked at him in surprise. "Why?"

"They couldn't very well plan this whole scheme and hope the guy croaked in accordance with their time schedule. And they couldn't exactly work it the other way. The guy dies, and then they scramble to put it all together in a couple of days, coincidentally right when Bruno is passing by. No, he had to be murdered too."

"I'm impressed with your analysis. I heard you were the real deal."

"I was in investigation a lot longer than I was a human shield. Every agent works so hard to get to protection and especially the presidential detail, and then once there they can't wait to get out of it and back to investigation."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Ungodly hours, in control of nothing in your life. Just standing around waiting for a shot to be fired. I pretty much hated it, but it's not like I had a choice."

"Were you assigned to POTUS?"

"Yes. Took me years of hard work to get there. I spent two years at the White House. It was great for the first year, and then afterthat, it wasn't so great. It was just constant travel, having to deal with some of the biggest egos in the world and being treated like you were a couple of notches below the White House gardener. I especially like the staff members who were all of about twelve years old and truly didn't know their ass from a hole in the ground busting our chops over everything they could think of. Ironically enough I was just coming off that assignment when they put me on Ritter's detail."

"Gee, that's heartening considering I've spent years of my life trying to get there too."

"I'm not saying don't go for it. Riding on Air Force One is a thrill. And having the president of the United States tell you you're doing a good job is damn nice too. I'm just saying don't believe all the hype. In many ways it's like any other protection gig. At least with investigation you get to actually arrest bad guys." He paused and looked out the window. "Speaking of investigation, Joan Dillinger recently came back into my life and made me an offer."

"What sort of offer?"

"To help her find John Bruno."

Michelle nearly drove off the road. "What!"

"Her firm's been hired by Bruno's people to find him."

"Excuse me, doesn't she know the FBI is on the case?"

"So? Bruno's folks can hire anyone they want."

"But why involve you?"

"She gave me an explanation that I don't really buy. So I don't know why."

"Are you going to do it?"

He looked at her. "What do you think? Should I?"

She glanced quickly at him. "Why ask me?"

"You seem to have your suspicions about the woman. If she was involved in Ritter's killing and now she's involved in another third-party candidate matter, don't you find that interesting? So should I or shouldn't I…Mick ?"

"My first inclination would be no, you shouldn't."

"Why, because it might turn out to bite me in the butt?"

"Yes."

"And your second inclination, which I'm sure is a lot more self-serving and conniving than your first?"

She eyed him, saw his amused expression and smiled guiltily. "Okay, my second inclination would be for you to do it."

"Because then I'd have the inside track on the investigation. And I could feed you everything I find out."

"Well, not everything. If you and Joan rekindle your romance, I don't really want to know the details about that."

"Not to worry. Black widows eat their mates. I barely escaped the first time."