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She lifted her head sharply. “Now? As inrightnow? After all this?”

“Apparently so. I said I’d consult with you first. We can decline and meet with them tomorrow or another time. You look exhausted.”

“Right back at you.” She studied my face. “Slash, you’re going to decline an invitation from the president?”

“If I have to.”

She fell silent as we walked and then sighed. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep wondering what’s so urgent that they’d want to see us tonight. And I know you well enough that I know you’re going to have the same problem.”

“I won’t disagree with that.”

I let her work it out, ready to support whatever she decided. Finally, she let out a loud sigh. “So, how do we get to the White House?”

I planted a kiss on the top of her head. “The Secret Service will take us.”

TWENTY-TWO

Lexi

Tuesday morning, 0100— four days before the wedding

The trip to the White House was short, but Slash and I were able to briefly swap our interrogation experiences. It didn’t help. Nothing made sense. Perhaps we would find out more at the White House.

I stared out into the inky black of the night as our car pulled up to one of the checkpoint gates at the White House and the driver talked with the guard. After an examination of his identification and a sweep of the car with a dog and an undercarriage mirror, they let us through. We went through one more checkpoint before we pulled up to a side entrance at the White House and stopped.

The agents exited the car, ushering Slash and me out and passing us off to another set of people. It was an obvious sign of how tired I was that this was the first time it struck me that I was going to meet the president and first lady dressed in a sweatshirt and too-short sweatpants. Slash wore a T-shirt and torn dress pants. I had no idea what that meant in terms of protocol, but I certainly hoped no photographer would be on hand.

I didn’t let go of Slash’s hand the entire time as we followed the agents down the hall and past more static Secret Service agents with grim expressions. I thought I knew where we were headed—toward the Oval Office. Slash and I had been there not too long ago. In fact, we’d been in the Oval Office when President Jack Paulson recommended Amanda as a wedding planner. Now, apparently, all that planning would be for nothing.

However, we turned a different direction and took an elevator to the third floor.

“The president and first lady are waiting for you in the solarium. There is water and coffee inside if you wish.”

He knocked and after a pause, opened the door and let us in. Minutes later, after handshakes and big hugs from President Paulson, Slash and I were sitting on a couch. Large windows looking out toward the South Lawn and the Washington Monument were the predominant features of the room. It was smaller and more intimate than the officious Oval Office. The president and first lady were seated in armchairs positioned close together across from us. The president held his wife’s hand and kept patting it, like he wanted to reassure himself she was alive and okay.

“I’ve been briefed on what happened,” Jack started, his voice catching slightly. “I don’t even know how to begin to thank you. All of you. Your and your guests’ bravery and quick thinking were beyond commendable. You saved my wife and certainly many other lives.”

“Honestly, sir, we got lucky,” Slash said. “Everyone worked together to fight them off. What do you know about the attackers so far?”

Jack cleared his throat. “Well, the following information is confidential and stays between us. Understood?”

When we nodded, he continued. “Honestly, we don’t know much. So far, we have five dead attackers. All Caucasian males seeming to be between the ages of twenty-five and fifty. They carried no identification, and their fingerprints are not present in any of our databases, so far. We do know they were in excellent physical shape and—from what I understand from yours and the others’ encounters with them—well versed in military or paramilitary tactics. We’re working on tracing the weapons, but the serial numbers have been filed. The guns are common enough, and are readily available. But the peripheral equipment, I’m told, is high-end and very expensive.”

“We had no intel this attack was coming?” Slash asked.

“None. We don’t know even know if the attack is foreign or domestic.”

“Well, we can assume they had inside information.” Slash paused, thinking. “Someone got word that the first lady would be at our rehearsal dinner, and this seems like a well-coordinated attack on her.”

“Agreed. They intended to strike and get away. We found a boat hidden not too far from the house, down the bank in back, apparently a rental. We’re tracking that down now. I suspect it was rented with cash.”

“Any recent threats to you or the first lady?”

“Daily.” He lifted a hand. “Hard to say which ones are credible. We’re checking into all of them, but we had no high-level or immediate intelligence of an active threat against either one of us. Our only lead is that somehow these bad players got inside information on the first lady’s schedule to plan this attack.”

Slash lifted his head to look directly at the president. “Our guest list includes foreign nationals. You’re concerned about that.”

“Not me or Shannon, because we know you and Lexi and what you’ve done for our country. But those investigating don’t know that, and it’s their job to look at everyone. I’m sorry for that.”