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"Yes, sir. 1 wanted to slam the door in her face, but I did as you told me and tried to act casual."

"What did she want?"

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"To apologize." He recounted their conversation, then answered all the man's questions with the crisp precision of a new recruit. "Mostly she asked leading questions about my mother's medical history and the treatment Mrs. Merritt received from Dr. Allan."

After a tense silence, the government man said, "You did well, Mr. Gaston.

President Merritt will appreciate your assistance."

Ralph swallowed a lump of pride. His orders had come directly from the Commander in Chief. He'd been told that Barrie Travis's desire to malign the administration was fueled by an unnatural jealousy of the First Lady.

Barrie Travis was intensely antagonistic toward the White House, ergo she was an enemy of the nation. It was still undetermined how far her subversive tendencies would go, but after the incident in Shinlin they were operating on the side of caution. That's why the President had asked to be notified immediately if she called on the Gaston family seeking information, which she then might use to further her destructive purposes.

"I'll pass this information along to the President immediately," Gaston was told. "You executed your duty well."

"Thank you, sir. Glad to be of service. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Please notify me if she comes around again."

"I don't think she will," Gaston said. "She's been fired from the TV

station. She wasn't here today as a reporter, just as a person."

"I seriously doubt that."

Spence replaced the telephone and turned to the President. "That was Gaston.

He still thinks he's talking to an FBI agent. Guess who just paid him a courtesy call?"

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"Dammit!"

When was this problem going to disappear? He had more important things to think about. He was on his way now to attend a meeting with the Joint Chiefs. Some disturbing Intelligence reports had been coming out of Libya.

In a few weeks he'd receive the reconciliation bill on next year's budget.

The cuts worked out by both houses of Congress would evoke the ire of special interest groups, and it would fall to him to pacify them. At the crux of every decision, of course, was how it might affect the outcome of next year's election.

These administrative matters required his concentration, but of necessity they were taking a back seat to this persistent problem. "She's worse than a stubborn dose of the clap," he grumbled. "She won't go away."

"She can. And so can Gray. We can pop them."

"Too risky, Spence. They've made too much news lately."

"But mostly with Clete. He's gone on record lambasting them. If they met with a violent end, the senator would be the first to fall under suspicion."

Merritt chewed on that. It was an appealing idea. One stone, two birds.

Three, counting Clete. Spence's surveillance team was keeping them informed of every move made by Gray and Barrie Travis and that old man they were shacked up with. Wiping them out in one fell swoop was tempting. It would be expedient and neat. It was an enticing proposal, but . . . Too dicey.

"No, Spence."

"I've got people who could handle it. It would be so far removed from the White House that-"

Merritt held up his hand. "Bill Yancey is too much of a wild card," he said of the attorney general. "I can't chance it. Besides," he added, "your idea is self-serving. You want a shot at Bondurant."

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"True. But it would also solve your problem."

"I want to solve the problem, but we've got to play it smart. They can't do too much harm as long as they don't get to Vanessa."

"Be reasonable, David. We can't keep her prisoner inside the White House indefinitely."

He looked at his aide. "No, we can't. Not when her condition is worsening again."

Their telepathy worked again to communicate Merritt's message. Spence nodded his understanding and reached for the telephone. "I'll call Dr.

Allan to come immediately."

Merritt took the receiver from him. "And have another heart attack victim on our hands? George assumes you're dead. Better let me make this call."

"Z

P)here the hell have you been?" Gray demanded as soon as Barrie came through the front door. "You were due back two hours ago."

"I've been uncovering some very interesting information," she said.

"Relax. I'm okay. I had my tail for company all afternoon. He peeled off at the last corner. I'm starving." She pitched her car keys to him. "Go get supper while I take a shower, then we'll talk."

An hour later, all three were clustered around the table in Daily's kitchen, the remains of their carryout meal congealing in white pasteboard containers. The radio was blaring from the corner.

Barrie apologized for worrying them. "I didn't call because I couldn't have said anything significant. You'll forgive me when I tell you what I found out."

"From Ralph Gaston, Jr.?"

"Indirectly." Keeping her voice well below the level of the radio, she described her meeting with the late nurse's son. "What was strange, he kept insisting that his mother was an excellent nurse."

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.

"So, nobody that I know of ever suggested otherwise. Why would he argue a point that hadn't been raised? That struck me as odd, so after I left him I did some investigating, including a call to one of my sources in the criminal justice building, who fed her name into the NCIC. Voila! An arrest record and an a.k.a. turned up."

The two men quickly looked at each other, then back at Barrie. "For years following her marriage to Ralph Gaston, the nurse continued to use her maiden name professionally. Jayne Heisellman."

"That rings a bell," Daily said. "How come?"

"Because, a few years ago, a terminally ill patient died while in Heisellman's care. Euthanasia was suspected. She adamantly denied the allegation, but the devout Roman Catholic family of the patient went to the D.A. and demanded an investigation. The grand jury no-billed her for lack of evidence. The patient's death was ruled a consequence of pan- creatic cancer and Heisellman was cleared of all suspicion."

"I remember now," Daily said.

"I should have," Barrie replied with chagrin. "It was one of the first stories I covered for WVUE. I didn't recognize her in the morgue. She had aged, and, well, the situation there wasn't conducive to instant recollection.

"Even though she was cleared of any criminal activity, the accusation brought on enough stress to cause her a heart attack. This too was documented in the press. She recovered, and after six months was given the green light to return to work. But not so easily done.

"The investigation left an indelible blot on her previously flawless record. She had been forced to leave the health care facility where the incident had occurred, and even after switching to her married name she was turned down for job after job."

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"Let me guess," Gray said. "Until she was hired by Dr. Allan."

Barrie formed a pistol with her fingers and fired it at him. "Right on, sport."

"They hired a nurse who had been suspected of mercy killing-"

"In the event that Vanessa died mercifully. Or, if she died by other means and the nurse intended to talk, she could conveniently succumb to a heart attack."

"Which would've been feasible because of her history of cardiac complications."

Their thoughts were so in tune that they could complete each other's sentences. She finished by saying, "However it went down, they had an ideal scapegoat."

"Good work," Daily told her.

"Thanks," she said, basking in his compliment.

"Do you think Dr. Allan killed the nurse and passed it off as another heart attack?" he asked.

Gray absently scratched his cheek. "Possibly, but I don't think so. George is . . . I don't know, weak. He doesn't strike me as ruthless, as a man who could snuff someone in cold blood. He's not like Spence. Or David." "I think the heart attack caught them all off guard. At the hospital, the doctor didn't act so much guilty as flustered." Turning to Barrie, he asked, "What about Gaston? Is he a player?"

"No. His only concern was for his mother's reputation."

"So where does all this leave us?" Daily wanted to know.

"I haven't the vaguest," Barrie replied with deflating honesty.

After a few moments of silent reflection, Daily said, "Well, I'm beat.

Besides, that damn thing's driving me nuts." He shot the radio a murderous glare.

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"Just don't let your frustration get the best of you again."

Too late, Barrie realized her mistake. She'd spoken without thinking.

Daily gave her a fulminating look, which Gray's radarlike perception intercepted.

"What's going on?"

Daily said defensively, "See here, Bondurant, this is my house, and I do in it what I like, when I like."

Gray's expression was growing darker by the second. "If something happened that I need to know about---2'

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Barrie cut in. "Let's not make a federal case of it. Daily got a little upset this morning. While you were out, a sedan kept driving past the house. He lost his temper, went out on the porch, and gave it the finger. That's all there was to it."

"Except that now they know we've marked them," Gray said, his displeasure clear.

"Daily didn't mean to-"

"I'll thank you not to defend me," Daily said curtly. Then he turned to Gray with as much defiance as he could muster. "Who are you to order me around in my own house?"

"This isn't a pissing contest between us, Daily." Gray's voice was softer and kinder than Barrie would have expected. "Anything I advise you to do is for your own safety. And Barrie's. I can't impress upon you enough how dangerous these men are. They're spoiling for a fight. Please don't give them one. I don't want your death on my conscience."

Daily looked like a child who'd been unfairly reprimanded. With a brief nod, he yielded to Gray's expertise. "Hell," he grumbled as he stood. "I'm going to bed."

Barrio volunteered to clear the kitchen and bade him good night. Gray followed him from the room. Since their treasonous conversation for the night was concluded, she

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turned off the radio and blessed the silence. When the kitchen was tidy, she turned out the light and went into the living room.

Gray was slumped in the far corner of the sofa, his head resting on the back cushions, his legs and feet stretched out in front of him. Barrie could barely make out his form in the darkness, which was unrelieved except for the jaundiced glow of the streetlight through the draperies. For the first eighteen years of her life, she'd been overlooked by two people more intent on making each other unhappy than on the happiness of the child they'd conceived in a rare second of marital harmony. Perhaps that's why she'd chosen a profession where she was constantly seen and heard.

Broadcast journalism wasn't for anyone who wished to keep a low profile.

Once a neglected child, she now had high visibility. She'd been ridiculed and rebuked, but rarely was she ignored.

Except by Gray Bondurant. It was galling that he could so easily ignore her. Not her specifically, but the intimacy they'd shared. Since the morning they met, there had been little personal exchange between them.

True, that morning in Wyoming had been a chemical reaction, an accident, certainly not an act of love or even affection. She didn't expect him to blow a trumpet every time she entered a room, but wasn't some acknowledgment called for? It was as though it hadn't happened. When he'd had the opportunity to get into bed with her in the motel, he hadn't even tried. That was the worst possible insult.

Tonight, he seemed withdrawn and particularly selfabsorbed. She debated the wisdom of walking into this lion's den. But cautious approaches had never been her style.

She crossed the room and planted herself directly in front of him. Without preamble, she said, "You can't just act like it never took place."

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"Why not?" At least he didn't play dumb. "I thought we agreed that it was no-strings-attached sex."

"We did."

He shrugged as though to say, So, case closed.

"Even if it was casual sex," she said, "can't we still acknowledge that it happened?"

"What purpose would that serve?"

"Well, it would . . . it would. . ." She sighed with exasperation. "I don't know. I just feel that we shouldn't ignore it.

"Because of your father?"

If he had started speaking in tongues, she couldn't have been caught more off guard. "What do you know about him?"

"That he was never there for your mother or for you. That he was a habitual adulterer who died among satin sheets with a lover, and that your mother killed herself over it.

"Daily certainly was thorough, wasn't he?" she said bitterly. "He had no business discussing my personal life with you."

"I held a gun to his head. Figuratively speaking."

"Why so interested, Bondurant?"

"Why so testy?"

"You've been testy whenever I approached the subject of your past." She couldn't see his eyes in the darkness, but she felt their lingering, thoughtful appraisal. "You're a contradiction, Barrie, and I was trained to study and analyze contradictions because they're usually very significant."

"Okay, I'll bite. In what way am I a contradiction?"

"For instance, the more grim the situation, the more jokes you crack. With men, you send mixed signals. One second you're fending off anything remotely sexual, the

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next. . ." He let the sentence trail. "Chivalry demands I stop there."

"You're a real prince."

"I wanted to know why you run so hot and cold. After what Daily told me, I have a better understanding of you. Your father's rejection is what made you so ambitious."