Capitol Betrayal (41 page)

“Entre nous
, I’m not sure I want you working in the White House anymore.”

“You have something against the president?”

“No, I have something against you throwing yourself at bombs and interfering with the plans of dangerous madmen.”

“I doubt if that will happen every six months. But since you mentioned the job, I have news for you.”

She nestled in closer, burying her face against his chest. “Me too.”

“No! This is my turn!”

“Oh, grow up. My hero. What’s your news?”

“The president is saying that because he’s so grateful to me and all, he might appoint me to work at the International Court. In the Hague! In time I might even be appointed to a foreign embassy. He thinks I’m not only qualified but that Congress would approve me without blinking. Isn’t that fantastic?”

She smiled. “I want to go to France.”

“Well, duh.”

“I’d settle for Belgium.”

“I think we’ll be lucky to get Liechtenstein.”

She kissed his chest. “You know I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“I like the sound of that. Okay, so what’s your news?”

“Oh, honestly, Ben. Have you really not already guessed?”

“How could I?”

“I’ve been giving you clues all day!”

“You have?”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re such a great detective. Except, it seems, in your own home.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ben, have you not been listening to me? I’m hiring an associate to help out in the office. Your mother is redecorating the spare room. I’m taking your name. Chloe is moving nearby.”

“Ye-es?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Why do I feel so stupid?”

“Because you are!” She leaned up on one elbow. “Ben, when you stopped that bomb, you didn’t just save one life… you saved two.”

“Actually, I think I saved thousands.”

She blew air upward, making her bangs flutter. “Ben—you’re going to be a daddy.”

His eyes expanded like balloons. “You’re—you’re joking!”

“Nope.”

He grabbed her arms. “You’re sure?”

“Got the ultrasound photo to prove it. So I’ll need more help at the office, and your mother is turning the spare room into a nursery, and Chloe can be our nanny.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“You’re ready. I can’t think of anyone better to raise my children.”

“If I’m going to be the father of your children, does this mean you’ll stop calling me a chowderhead?”

“No.”

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

He pulled her closer to him, feeling her warmth. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you back.”

“So… is it a boy or a girl?”

She grinned so broadly the freckles danced on her cheeks. “Yes.”

As you may have gathered, Ben Kincaid feels strongly that we need to end our dependence on oil and move to natural gas and other alternatives as soon as possible. The best discussion of these issues I’ve read is in a book called
The Braking Point: America’s Energy Dreams and Global Economic Realities
, by my friends Mark Stansberry and Jason P. Reimbold.

I hope you enjoyed meeting Seamus McKay. Seamus will return—now relocated to Hawaii—in my next novel,
The Idea Man
.

I also want to thank my early readers: James Vance, John Wooley, Barry Friedman, my editor Junessa Viloria, and Marcia Bernhardt. Their contributions greatly improved this book.

Most important, I want to thank my children, who have let me beg out of a Clue game so I could finish this book tonight, and my splendiferous wife, Marcia—my Christina—who showed me what it was like to have a real partner.

William Bernhardt

WILLIAM BERNHARDT
is the author of more than twenty novels, including
Primary Justice, Murder One, Criminal Intent, Death Row, Capitol Murder, Capitol Threat, Capitol Conspiracy, Capitol Offense
, and
Nemesis
. He is one of fewer than a dozen recipients of the H. Louise Cobb Distinguished Author Award given “in recognition of an outstanding body of work in which we understand ourselves and American society at large.” He is also one of the country’s most popular writing instructors, teaching at various conferences throughout the year. A former trial attorney, Bernhardt has received several awards for his public service. He lives in Tulsa with his wife, Marcia, and their children.