W hen they called the Center for Public Policy at VCU, King and Michelle were told that Kate Ramsey was away but was expected to return in a couple of days. They drove back to Wrightsburg, where King pulled into the parking lot of an upscale grocery store in the downtown area.

"I guess I owe you a fancy dinner and a nice bottle of wine," explained King, "after dragging you all over the place."

"Well, it was a lot more fun than standing in a doorway with a gun while a politician scrounges for votes."

"Good girl. You're learning." King suddenly stared out the window, obviously thinking about something.

"Okay, I know that look. What's going through that head of yours now?" asked Michelle.

"You remember Jorst kept saying that Atticus was lucky to have someone like Ramsey, that Berkeley scholars and national experts didn't just drop into schools like Atticus every day?"

"Right. So?"

"Well, I saw Jorst's diplomas in his office. He went to decent schools, but nothing even in the top twenty. And I'm guessing the other professors in the department weren't superstars like Ramsey, which was maybe why they were intimidated by him."

Michelle nodded thoughtfully. "So why did a brilliant Berkeley Ph.D. and national expert end up teaching at a place like Atticus?"

King looked at her. "Exactly. If I had to guess, it's because Ramsey had some skeletons in his closet. Maybe from his protesting days. Maybe that's why his wife finally left him."

"But wouldn't that have come out after he assassinated Ritter? They would have checked his background with a fine-tooth comb."

"Well, not if it was covered up well enough. And you're talking a long time before the assassination. And the sixties were a crazy time."

As they meandered through the grocery store aisles gathering items for dinner, Michelle noted the whispers and glances the well-heeled patrons were giving King. At the checkout counter King tapped the shoulder of the man in front of him who was doing his best to ignore King's presence.

"How's it going, Charles?"

The man turned and blanched. "Oh, Sean, yes, good. And you? I mean…" The man looked thoroughly embarrassed at his own question, yet Sean just kept smiling.

"Shitty, Charles, just shitty. But I'm sure I can count on you, right? Got you out of that nasty tax problem a few years ago, remember?"

"What, oh, I… oh, there's Martha out front waiting. Good-bye."

Charles hustled off and climbed into a Mercedes station wagon driven by a distinguished-looking white-haired woman whose mouth dropped open when her husband started telling her of his encounter. She drove off in a huff.

As King and Michelle headed out with their grocery bags, she said, "Sean, I'm sorry about all of this."

"Hey, the good life had to end sometime."

B ack at King's house he fixed an elaborate dinner that started with a Caesar salad and crab cake appetizers and was followed by pork tenderloin in a mushroom and Vidalia onion sauce and a sideserving of garlic mashed potatoes. For dessert they feasted on chocolate éclairs. They ate on the rear deck overlooking the lake.

"So you can cook, but are you available to rent for parties?" she joked.

"If the price is right," he answered.

Michelle held up her wineglass. "Nice stuff."

"It should be, it's right in its prime. I've had it in my cellar for seven years. One of my most cherished bottles."

"I'm honored."

Sean eyed the dock. "How about a spin on the lake later?"

"I'm always game for water activities."

"There are some swimsuits in the guest room."

"Sean, one thing you'll learn about me: I never go anywhere without sports gear."

With King driving the big red motorcycle-like Sea-Doo 4TEC and Michelle seated behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, they went out about three miles, and then King dropped a small anchor into the shallow water of a cove. They sat on the Sea-Doo, and King looked around.

"Give it six weeks or so, and the colors here will be something to see," said King. "And I also love how the mountains look with the sun going down behind them."

"Okay, time for some exercise to work off that meal." Michelle took off her life jacket, then stripped off her top and sweatpants. Underneath she wore dazzling red Lycra shorts and a matching workout top.

King found himself staring at her, openmouthed, the beautiful mountain vistas no longer engaging his attention.

"Problem?" asked Michelle as she glanced at him.

"No problem here," said King as he quickly looked away.

"Last one in." She dove into the water and came up. "Going to join me?"

He stripped down and dove in and came up next to her.

Michelle eyed the shoreline. "How far do you think that is?"

"About a hundred yards. Why?"

"I'm thinking about entering a triathlon."

"Gee, why am I not surprised?"

"I'll race you," she said.

"It won't be much of a race."

"Pretty cocky, huh?"

"No, I mean you'll kick my ass."

"How do you know that?"

"You're an Olympian, I'm a middle-aged attorney with bum knees and a bad wing where I got shot doing my public service stint. It'd be like racing your grandmother with lead weights on her feet."

"We'll see. You might surprise yourself. One-two-three-go!" She took off, her strokes cutting cleanly through the warm, flat water.

King swam after her and surprisingly made up the distance fairly easily. In fact, by the time they drew close to shore they were neck and neck. Michelle started laughing when he reached over and playfully grabbed her leg. They reached land in a tie. King lay on his back and sucked in air like there wasn't enough in the entire atmosphere to satisfy him.

"Well, I guess I did surprise myself," he said between gasps. Then he looked over at Michelle. She wasn't even breathing hard, and the truth struck him.

"You shit, you weren't even trying."

"Yes, I was. Well, I mean I had to allow for the age difference and all."

"Okay, that does it."

He jumped up and went after her as she raced screaming away. Yet she was laughing so hard King had no trouble running her down. He lifted her over his shoulder, carried the woman out into waist-deep water and ceremoniously dumped her. She came up sputtering and still laughing.

"What was that for?"

"To show you that while I may be over forty, I ain't dead."

B ack at the dock as he was raising the Sea-Doo up on its lift he asked, "So how did you go from basketball and track to Olympic rowing?"

"I liked track better than basketball, but I missed the team element. In college a friend of mine was a rower, and I got into it through him. Seems like I had a natural talent for it. Out on the water my motor never seemed to quit; I was like a machine. And I loved the high you got from leaving everything you had out on those oars. I was the youngest member of my team. When I first tried out, no one gave me much of a chance. I guess I proved them wrong."

"I think you've probably spent a good part of your life doing that. Particularly in the Secret Service."

"It hasn't all been wine and roses."

"I'm not that familiar with the sport. What was your rowing event called?"

"Fours with coxswain, meaning four women pulling for all they're worth and a coxswain calling out the strokes. The focus is absolutely complete."

"What was it like to be in the Olympics?"

"The most exhilarating and most nerve-racking time of my life. I was so stressed I threw up before our first heat. But when we took the silver and came within a hair of the gold, there was no greater feeling in the world. I was still basically a kid and felt like I'd reached the pinnacle of my life."

"Still feel that way?"

She smiled. "No. I'm hoping the best is yet ahead for me."

They showered and changed into dry clothes. When Michelle came down, King was going over some notes at the kitchen table.

"Interesting reading?" she asked as she combed out her wet hair.

He looked up. "Our interview with Jorst. I'm wondering if he knows more than he's telling. And I'm also wondering what we might learn from Kate Ramsey."

"If she'll talk to us."

"Right." He yawned. "We'll think about it tomorrow. Long day."

Michelle looked at her watch. "It is late. I guess I better be going."

"Look, why don't you just stay here tonight? You can stay in the guest room where you just showered," he added quickly.

"I have my own place. You don't have to feel sorry for me. I'm a big girl."

"I do feel sorry for you because all the junk that was in your truck is now in your room at the inn. Something might be alive in there. It might come and get you in the middle of the night." He smiled and then said quietly, "Stay here."

She graced him with her own smile and a look in her eyes that seemed very suggestive. Although that might have just been the wine he'd had.

"Thanks, Sean. I'm actually pretty whipped. Good night."

He watched her go slowly up the stairs. The long, muscular legs slid into the nice, firm butt, and then her body continued into the Olympic shoulders and up the long neck and, well… Hell! As she disappeared into the guest room, he let out a sigh and tried desperately not to think about what he was so desperately thinking about.

He went around to all the doors and windows and made sure they were locked. He was planning on having an alarm company come out and wire his house. He'd never thought he'd need that here. Half the time he didn't even lock his doors. Boy, that had changed.

He paused at the top of the stairs and looked toward the guest room door. Inside, a beautiful young woman was lying in bed. Unless he was seriously mistaken, if he opened that door and went in, he'd probably be allowed to stay the night. Then again, with the way his luck was running, if he opened the door, Michelle might just shoot him in the balls. He stood there for a few moments more, thinking.Did he really want to start something with this woman? With all that was going on? The answer, as much as he didn't want to accept it, was pretty clear. He trudged down the hall to his own room.