Where the hell are we going?” I ask as we head up the hallway. On Saturday, the place is near-empty. The two men are holding me tightly by the back of my arms and forcing me toward the West Exec exit.

“Stop complaining,” the one on my right says. He’s a tall black man with a neck as thick as my thigh. From his posture and build, I’m assuming Secret Service, but he’s not dressed the part-too casual, not enough polish. And there’s no microphone in his ear. More important, they didn’t identify themselves-which means these guys aren’t who I thought they were.

Skittishly, I try to jerk my arm free. Annoyed, he squeezes even harder and jabs two fingers into my biceps. It hurts like a son of a bitch, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of crying out. Instead, I bite down as hard as I can. He keeps digging, and I feel my face flush red. I can’t keep it up much longer. My shoulder starts to go numb. From the smug grin on his face, he’s definitely enjoying himself. His pleasure; my pain. “Ow!” I shout as he eventually lets go. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He doesn’t respond. He just pushes the door open and forces me out into West Exec parking. Trying not to panic, I tell myself that nothing bad can happen as long as we’re in the West Wing-security’s too high. Before I can relax, though, a sharp tug to the left lets me know that the West Wing isn’t on the itinerary. Crossing toward the north side of the White House, we head past the briefing room and toward the tradesmen’s entrance, where most of the mansion’s deliveries are made. My eyes are focused on the large yellow van that’s straight ahead. There should be workmen around, but I don’t see any. We get closer to the van. The back doors are wide open. I stop walking and start backtracking. My arms thrash to break free. I’m not letting them put me in there.

My escorts tighten their grip and drag me forward. My shoes scrape hopelessly against the concrete. My arms are held in place. As hard as I fight, it’s no use. They’re too strong. “Almost there,” one of them warns. With one last tug, we’re right behind the van. It’s empty inside. I’m about to scream. And just like that, they shove me to the right and we’re past it. I look over my shoulder and the van fades behind me. Then I look back and realize our real destination. The tradesmen’s entrance. I’m not sure which is worse.

Inside the building, they throw a knowing nod to the uniformed officer who guards the door. When he lets us pass, it becomes clear that these guys are doing someone a favor. Only Lamb and Simon have that kind of power.

The hallway is cluttered with dozens of empty crates and boxes. The smell of fresh flowers from the White House florist fills the air.

We make a sharp left and head down another long hall. My heart’s pounding against my chest. I’ve never been down here before. The white guy pulls out a janitor-size set of keys. He turns the lock and pulls the door open.

The area’s too secluded. “Tell me what’s-”

“Don’t worry-you’ll be safe.” He reaches for my arm, but I quickly pull away. This isn’t a place to meet Simon or Lamb.

“I’m not going in there!”

The first guy grabs me by the back of the neck. I lash out at him, but I don’t have a chance. They twist my arms behind my back and, with a quick shove, force me inside. Stumbling to the ground, I nearly fall on my face. As I crash-land on my knees and the palms of my hands, I finally check my surroundings. It’s a long, incredibly narrow room. In front of me is a long polished wooden floor. At the far end are ten striped pins. To my right, I hear the hum of the automatic ball return. What am I doing in a bowling alley?

“Up for a game, sport?” a familiar voice asks.

I turn to the spectator seats behind the scorekeeper’s table. Nora stands up and walks toward me. Reaching down and extending a hand, she’s hoping to help me to my feet. I refuse the offer.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask.

“I wanted to speak to you.”

“So that’s what you do? You send the Planet of the Apes to manhandle me?” I struggle to my feet and brush myself off.

“I told them not to say anything-you never know who’s listening.”

“Or who’s not listening. I must’ve called you twenty times; you never once returned my calls.”

She goes back to her original seat and motions for me to join her. It’s her way of avoiding the question.

“No, thanks,” I tell her. “Now why’d you have the Service lie when I came by to see you?”

“Please don’t be mad, Michael. I was abou-”

“Why’d you lie?” I shout, my voice echoing through the narrow room.

Realizing I need to vent, she lets it pass. It’s been a tough two days. For both of us. Truthfully, though, I don’t care. It’s my ass they’re going to pin it on, not hers.

Eventually, she picks her head up. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re sapped of your free will?”

“You know what I’m talking about. It’s not that easy.”

“Actually, it’s really easy-all you have to do is pick up the phone and dial my extension. Near as I can tell, that’s the least you can do.”

“So now it’s all my fault?”

“You are the one who took the money.”

She gives me a steady, cold look. “And you’re the last person who saw her alive.”

I don’t like that tone in her voice. “What’re you saying?”

“Nothing,” she purrs, suddenly unconcerned.

“Don’t give me that-you just… ” My voice cracks. “Are you threatening me, Nora?”

She tosses me a dark grin. Her voice is ice smooth. “Say a word to anyone, Michael, and I’ll slaughter you with this.” As the words leave her lips, I feel my heart in my throat. I swear, I can’t breathe.

“That’s what you get for being a nice guy,” she adds, refusing to let up. “Sucks to be you, huh?”

Oh, God. It’s just like Pam said…

Nora breaks into a smile. And starts laughing. Pointing at me and laughing. The whole room is filled with her playful cackle.

A joke. It was just a joke.

“C’mon, Michael, you really think I’d desert you?” she asks, still plenty amused.

The blood flushes back to my face. I look at her with disbelief. Two people-one body. “That wasn’t funny, Nora.”

“Then don’t point fingers. It’s no way to make friends.”

“I wasn’t pointing fingers… I just… I don’t like being left out to dangle.”

She turns away and shakes her head. Her whole body suddenly looks deflated. “I couldn’t do that to you, Michael. Even if I wanted to. Not after you… ” She stops, searching for words. “What you did for me… I owe you way more than that.”

I can practically feel the pendulum swing back. “Does that mean you’re going to help?”

She looks back, almost surprised by the question. “C’mon now, after all this, you really think I wouldn’t be there for you?”

“It’s not just about being there-if things go bad, I may need you to corroborate my side of the story.”

Lowering her gaze, she studies the empty scorekeeper’s sheet in front of her.

“What?” I ask. “Say it.”

Again, all she does is stare down at the sheet.

I can’t believe it. “So that’s the way it goes, huh? Now I’m suddenly back on my own?”

“No, not at all,” she shoots back. “I told you I’d never do that-it’s just that-” She cuts herself off, but finally turns my way. “Don’t you get it, Michael? If I get involved, all it does is get worse.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Do you even realize what would happen if they found out we were dating?”

Did she just say we were dating?

“They’d kill you, Michael. They’d put your picture on the front page, talk to every teacher and enemy you ever had, and eat you alive-all to see if you’re good enough for me. You saw how they tore through my last boyfriend. After three weeks of having reporters stalk him, he called me up, told me he was nursing an ulcer, and broke it off.”