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On this morning, as on all others, Clete avoided thinking about whether his father would be proud of Clete-the-man.

He switched on the kitchen light.

Gray Bondurant was sitting at the table. He had helped himself to a cup of coffee. "Morning, Clete."

His voice was level. His slouch was hardly a confrontational posture. But Clete knew that to Gray Bondurant, betrayal was the ultimate offense. And Bondurant was a dangerous man.

Clete wondered if his reminiscences of his father and campfires and roundups had been harbingers of his imminent death at the hands of a man he had sorely wronged. He was ashamed of the fear that fissured through him.

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Of course, he let none of his apprehension show as he poured himself some coffee and joined his uninvited guest at the kitchen table. It would have been a waste of breath to ask Bondurant how he'd gotten inside the house.

The sophisticated alarm system had been armed, but it wouldn't have deterred the recon who'd penetrated the walls of a Middle Eastern prison.

Holding Bondurant's chilly, implacable stare, Clete took a fortifying sip of caffeine. "I guess saying I'm sorry won't cut it."

"Not hardly, Clete. Call off the dogs."

"I can't. It's gone too far. It's out of my hands."

"Bullshit. You started the ball rolling. You can stop it. Or are all your boasts about the power you wield just so much hot air?"

Bondurant was a worthy adversary. He wasn't going to be put off with verbiage. Clete decided to cut to the chase. "What do you want?"

"I want to find Vanessa and return her to you. But I can't have the FBI breathing down my neck while I go about it."

"Vanessa's no longer in danger."

"You believe that?"

"She's at Tabor House."

"I know where she is."

Clete wondered how Bondurant had come by that information, but he knew it was pointless to ask. "Last night I talked to Dex Leopold. He's the ramrod there now. I've put him on notice that she better come back to me safe and sound."

Bondurant snuffled with scorn, then leaned across the table. "Did you believe anything that Barrie and I told you about Vanessa's pregnancy and the baby's so-called SIDS?"

Being the politician he was, Clete held his silence.

"If you think there's any truth to what we told you, do 358 Sandra Brown

you believe David will let it go now? You know him better than anyone, Clete, so what do you think? If he did in fact smother Vanessa's baby, do you think there's a ghost of a chance that he's going to let her live to tell about it?"

Clete mentally debated the question, although the answer was terrifyingly simple. "What do you want?" he repeated brusquely.

"Freedom to move around without fear of being apprehended. I don't care how you do it, get me out of hock with the FBI."

"How do you propose I-"

"Don't pull that shit with me. You'll think of something, and you'll be convincing. Tell them you were grossly misunderstood, misquoted, misled.

Make something up, but make it believable. Get them off my tail. In return, you'll get Vanessa back."

"I'll get her back anyway."

"The question is whether you'll get her back alive."

"David wouldn't dare go that far. I've put him on notice too."

"All the more reason for us to act quickly."

"I'll do my own acting, thank you."

"Okay, have it your way. But there's one more thing you should know.

Spence hasn't mysteriously disappeared. He's alive and well and in Washington."

"The hell you say! I thought you killed him."

"Well, I didn't, although I might live just long enough to regret it. He's back. I've seen his handiwork. Do you think he and David will allow the FBI boys to interrogate me? Never. They'll try and kill me first." "So it's your own skin you're bargaining for, not Vanessa's."

That shot caused a glint of anger to appear in the other man's eyes, but he kept his cool. "Spence won't stay invisi-EXCLUSIVE 359

ble forever. He'll materialize. When he does, they'll publicize it and have a good laugh at your expense. You'll look like a doddering old fool for raising a false alarm. Yancey and the FBI will denounce you for meddling and dragging them into a farce.

"After that, who's going to believe you when you blame David for whatever misfortune befalls Vanessa? No one. You'll be written off as delusional and senile. David will have won on all accounts."

"You're lying." Bondurant didn't honor the accusation with a denial, merely stared at Clete with those cold blue eyes. "I told David last night why I called Yancey and got the investigation going. If Silence was still alive, he would have told me."

"Would he? Or is he setting you up?" Bondurant leaned slightly forward again. "Cagey as you are, Clete, I'm sure you've cooked up a delicious plan to destroy David for killing your grandson, but your way will take time, and time is something we don't have."

The man was making sense, but Clete wasn't ready to concede. "What if I don't do as you ask?"

"Then good luck. You're on your own."

"I've been doing things on my own for a damn long time. I have a pretty good track record."

"Then why isn't Vanessa here with you now instead of locked away in some hospital, incommunicado, under the watch and care of David's lap-puppy George Allan?"

It was a good question. Clete had no answer for it. Still, it was hard for him to back down. Retraction wasn't in his nature.

"You're bluffing. You want Vanessa safely back as much as I do. With or without my intervention, you would fight off the FBI and anybody else to storm the castle and rescue her."

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"Maybe once. Not anymore."

"Got another girl, huh? Barrie Travis?"

Clete didn't expect him to rise to the bait, and he didn't. "In many ways, Vanessa is a delightful woman. But she's selfish."

"Listen here," Clete said, shaking his index finger in Bondurant's face.

"I won't have you or anyone criticizing my daughter."

Ignoring him, Bondurant continued. "She learned early on to cover her own ass, and she had a damned good teacher in you. Vanessa always gives herself top priority, and never so much as when I resigned my White House post. She let me bear the brunt of the gossip about us, never uttering a single word in my defense, never interceding with David on my behalf."

"So why are you offering to help her now?"

"Patriotism."

Clete snorted. "Self-aggrandizement is more like it. You're a hero. Saving the First Lady is an irresistible challenge."

"Nothing as romantic as that, Clete. An innocent baby is dead. Shouldn't his killer be punished? I also want closure on my association with David's presidency. I want it to be over with once and for all, and that'll never happen until his administration is upended and the ugly underbelly is exposed. And while Vanessa no longer holds my affection, she certainly doesn't deserve to die."

"Saint Gray," Clete said snidely.

Bondurant came to his feet, signaling that he'd done all the haggling he intended to do. He seemed exceptionally strong as he stood over the table.

Clete suffered by comparison. The younger man's sinewy strength made him feel old and soft and weak.

"What's it going to be, Clete? Do I implement a rescue?"

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"I'll think about it."

"Not good enough. Call Bill Yancey-now-or I disappear, and Vanessa's life rests in your hands alone. You're mean and cunning enough, you might defeat David and survive. She won't."

Clete never surrendered. Never. But he knew from his football days at Ole Miss when it was prudent to fall back and punt.

As she was making her way from the fresh grave back to her car, two men fell into step with her, one on each side. "Miss Travis?"

"Yes?"

They showed her their FBI badges. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Now?" she asked incredulously. "In case you haven't noticed, this is a funeral."

"We noticed," one said. "We're sorry about Mr. Fripp. We've had a problem locating you and figured you'd be here."

"Your insensitivity is unforgivable," she said.

Pathetically few people had attended the brief, secular service at Howie Fripp's interment, which was a sad commentary on his life. Almost exclusively, those in attendance were co-workers from WVUE, most of whom had used the funeral as an excuse to take an extra hour at lunch. In chatty groups, they were hurrying back to their cars, having upheld their moral responsibility and now free to socialize on company time.

Barrie's tears were real. She genuinely felt sad, not only for the horrible way in which Howie had died but because there would be no atonement for the crime and because no one really cared anyway.

One of the agents nudged her from her lament. "Even 362 Sandra Brown

though this is an inconvenient time, Miss Travis, we'd still like to talk to you."

"Since you've got me surrounded, what choice do I have? But do you mind if we move a little farther from the grave?"

"Not at all."

When they reached her car, she blotted her eyes one last time and turned to face them. "I told the police everything I know about Mr. Fripp's murder. They took my statement at the scene."

"That's not why we're here," one of the agents said.

"No?" she said, pretending to be taken aback and puzzled. "Then what's this about?"

"Gray Bondurant."

"Oh, him," she said in a drop-dead voice. Folding her arms across her chest, she assumed a bored but disgruntled pose. "What do you gentlemen wish to know about our nation's erstwhile hero?"

"For starters, where he is."

"I don't know. I don't want to know. He's a creep."

The agents exchanged a look. One said, "It's our understanding, Miss Travis, that the two of you have been spending a great deal of time together."

"That's right, we have. Had, rather. Until yesterday, when he turned up as one of America's Most Wanted. As if I didn't have enough problems," she said, rolling her eyes. "First my house blew up, killing my dog. Then I had a shouting match with Senator Armbruster, during which he did all the shouting. That incident got me fired from my job.

"Then I indulged in a . . . well, you know," she said demurely. "I got involved in a thing with this guy. But what woman wouldn't be attracted to him? He's a national hero, for heaven's sake. The strong, silent type.

Very sexy. And he has these eyes that just . . ." She shivered in mock delight.

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"Well, anyway, we were getting along pretty well, then yesterday his mug shows up on a news bulletin. Scared the hell out of me. I told him to get lost and he did." She sighed wistfully. "I should have known he was too good to be true."

"When did you last see him?"

"Just as I said, yesterday."

"What time?"

"Hmm, let's see. Midafternoon."

"Can you be more specific?"

"No. Up until I saw the news flash, I wasn't watching the time."

"What were you doing?"

She shot him a telling look.

"I see. You were having an . . . assignation?"

She giggled. "How quaintly put."

"Where did it take place?"

"Some motel. I don't remember the name."

"Location?"

"You got me. It was along a freeway, I remember that. I didn't pay any attention to where we were going."

"You don't have any idea what part of town you were in?" Bowing her head, she pulled her lower lip through her teeth, looking distressed. "I, uh . .

. God, this is so embarrassing. Gray, Mr. Bondurant, was driving, see. And I . . . Oh, jeez! Can I just say that on the way to this motel I wasn't exactly sitting up straight in the seat and that my head was below the dashboard?"

The agents exchanged another look. One's eyebrows were encroaching on his receding hairline.

"I'm not even sure the motel had a name," she continued. "He picked the place. Between you and me, it was kind of sleazy. You know the type of place. Rooms rented by the hour. Clean sheets optional. On top of being wanted for questioning by the feebs-Oh, sorry, guys. I meant no disre-364 Sandra Brown

spect. Anyway, Bondurant was cheap. Our first date, he took me to an I-HOP.

Can you believe it? If he hadn't been so good in bed, and those blue eyes and all, I would have ended it right there."

One of the agents cleared his throat. "Uh, did Mr. Bondurant ever talk to you about Spencer Martin?"

"Sure. All the time. They were buddies. The two of them and the President are like this," she said, crossing two fingers.

"Did he say anything about Mr. Martin going to Wyoming to see him?" "Yes.

In fact, I think I was there just a day or two ahead of Mr. Martin. I went out there, thinking I'd do a piece on Bondurant, a what's-he-doing-now type story. Right away, we sort of hit it off, you know? He followed me back to Washington. But before I could produce the story on him, I got canned. Now I find out he might be more dangerous than I thought."

"You thought he was dangerous?"

She flashed the agent an angelic smile. "To my libido."

"Oh."

"Did he ever exhibit any hostility toward Mr. Martin or the President?"

"No. Matter of fact, he saw the President recently." She winked. "But I bet you guys already know that, don't you?"

"You haven't heard from Bondurant since yesterday afternoon?"

"No. Sorry. Can I go now? Funerals aren't my favorite thing." She reached toward her car door. "Besides, there's really nothing more I can tell you.

Getting involved with Mr. Bondurant, even to a limited extent, was just one of several bad choices I've made recently. I'm sure you're aware of some of my more public blunders. This is one I'd like to forget. The sooner the better."

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"If you hear from him-"

"I won't. When I told him to take a hike, he launched into that male thing. You know, that `how dare you walk out on me, I'm God's greatest gift' speech."