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He nodded slowly and repeated “Wes” under his breath. “Well, I appreciate that. And the plane. And I want you to know I’m sorry about my behavior earlier—”

“I appreciate that, Dad, but I think maybe Wes is the one who is owed an apology.”

He nodded again, but this time it was accompanied by a wrinkled brow and tight lips. “I know.”

“You know what?” I stood from my chair one more time. “Let’s talk about it later. I’m just so glad you’re okay. Do you need

anything before I go?”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing if you and I are okay.”

I raised my eyes to the monitor again. Holding steady. “Of course. We’re fine. But you need to know that I’ve decided to forgive him—”

“And I think that’s admirable.”

“You do?”

He pushed himself up a little in the bed, as much as he could with the energy he had left in the tank for the day.

“Of course I do. I’m proud of who you are.

I always have been, and that right there’s a good example of that.

Of who you are. But that doesn’t mean I’m there yet.

Or, if I’m being honest, that I even understand how you got there.

I’d love for you to walk me through that. ”

“Not tonight.”

He chuckled. “No. Not tonight.”

I leaned over and planted a kiss on his temple. “Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, sweets.” I was almost to the door when he added, “I know he humbled himself coming back here. I get that. And

I guess I respect it. Now, I don’t know if I agree with Jo that that earns him an unconditional pardon.”

“Wow.” I leaned against the doorframe and smiled at him. “She just dove right in there, didn’t she?”

I heard him sigh over the rustling of the bed as he settled into his pillows. “You know as well as I do that Josephine Stoddard

isn’t going to allow a little thing like a heart attack to get in the way of a good lecture.”

***

I walked down the hall, looking for Wes and Jo, but didn’t find either of them before the nurse at the desk asked me if I

needed help with something.

“I seem to have lost my friends.”

“The ones who came in with Dr. Atwater?” I nodded. “The lady went down to the cafeteria, I’m pretty sure, and the man is in

the coffee lounge.” She pointed past me. “Down there on the right.”

“Thanks.”

I chose to pursue the man, but when I got to the coffee lounge, I didn’t see the man I had been expecting. In fact, I saw

someone I was decidedly not expecting to see.

“Mr., um...” He looked up from his computer and smiled at me, but that didn’t help me remember his name. “I’m so sorry.

It’s been a really long day. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Brewster.” He set his laptop on the chair next to where he had been sitting and crossed the room to me. “Phil Brewster. How’s your dad doing?”

I looked behind me, but alas, there was no one there to help explain to me what the snot was happening. I mean, Wes had said

half the town had wanted to accompany my dad to the hospital. I wasn’t surprised by that. In so many ways, he was the heart

and soul of Adelaide Springs, and had been for many years. In addition to being their doctor and their mayor, he was their

friend. Their moral compass. (Days like this one, during which their moral compass seemed hell-bent on beating his daughter’s

ex-fiancé to a pulp, aside, of course.)

Was it really supposed to make sense to me that the only person besides Jo Stoddard to make it on the plane was this random

tourist?

“Um... he’s resting. Sorry, why are you here?”

“Well, you know...”

“I clearly don’t.”

“There wasn’t exactly reason for me to stay in Adelaide Springs if Senator Hobbes was going to be here. Besides, as much as

I’m sure taxpayers want only the best for your father, it’s not exactly accounting best practices to loan out the plane without

making sure someone official is on board.”

He was looking at me like there was nothing more to explain. Nothing left unclear. And he kept looking at me that way for far too long. Oh, it was only four seconds. Maybe five. But considering he was the outsider who

had flown here with my ailing dad, and I was the daughter who had been running four hours behind, the impetus was really on

him to do some explaining. At least that was how I saw it. Call me crazy.

“Who are you?”

“Philip Brewster.”

“Yeah, got that much. Who are you?”

“I’m Senator Hobbes’s campaign manager.” His eyes widened and he tsked and slid momentarily into an unsettling toothy grin

before adding, “I see. He hasn’t mentioned me.”

I still didn’t understand the situation, but suddenly I felt a little more like I at least understood him.

Yep. That made sense. The hesitancy to reveal any more than he wanted me to know.

The fake smile, and then the other fake smile.

.. and the other one. An endless revolving clothesline of fake smiles, made in every shade and texture, designed to coordinate perfectly with whatever room he stepped into.

He was DC through and through. The parts I hadn’t liked and didn’t miss.

“I see.” I mirrored his dominance smile, both impressed and repulsed by how easily playing the game came back to me. “Well,

you have a good night, Mr. Brewster.”

There were questions I wanted to ask, of course, but I wasn’t going to ask them of him. Besides, my brain had already begun

analyzing and sorting the data. I didn’t intend to have all that many questions left by the time I found Wes. Mr. Brewster

had flown into town today. I knew that much. And based on the fact that Wes had canceled on accompanying me to South Fork

at the last minute, I was willing to bet Mr. Brewster’s visit had not been expected. Add to that what I knew about Wes’s dilemma

as to whether or not he should run for president—a dilemma that, as of that moment, I was guessing Mr. Brewster was still

unaware of—and I suddenly understood that wherever Wes was in this hospital, he was very much hiding from Philip Brewster.

I pulled out my phone, which was silenced, and saw the text from him.

I’m in the chapel.

I grinned, quite pleased with my skills of deduction—and, admittedly, pleased with how well I understood Wes Hobbes—and turned

toward the door.

“It’s a nice idea, the two of you. The senator sure thinks it has a lot of potential.”

“Excuse me?” I turned back just as he pulled a file folder from his briefcase and opened it.

“Most of it does look good on paper. I don’t have any trouble admitting that.

You had a stellar record with the agency until your husband died.

” He looked up over the file folder and projected a downcast expression onto his face.

“My condolences, by the way.” His eyes returned to the papers in his hands.

“You were well on your way to a great career until you started showing up at work inebriated—never a great idea when the safety of American operatives rests in your ability to make sound, expedient determinations. It looks like

it didn’t end too badly for Agent Stankowski.” He met my eyes again as he said, “Thank goodness for that,” then went back to the folder. “But

it’s probably a good thing you got out when you did. Not that you had any choice in the matter. Remind me, which rehab did

they send you to?”

He stared at me, seemingly expecting an answer, but I just stared back, silent and unflinching. He cocked an eyebrow and looked

back down to flip through a few papers in the file. “Aquila. That’s right. That’s a good one, I hear.”

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase, Mr. Brewster? What’s your point? Because obviously you haven’t told me a single thing

I don’t know. Is the point just that you know?”

Ah. Of course. The gears clicked into place in the instant before he spoke again. And though he didn’t specifically say the words, Mr. Brewster’s

point was clear.

“The point, Mrs. Elwyn, is that my boy out there—”

“ Your boy ?”

“—is the most promising candidate in three generations. I’ve made sure of it.”

I knew the sordid details of my separation from the CIA. Mr. Brewster knew. And now Mr. Brewster was threatening to make sure

“his boy” knew unless I stepped aside. That was his point. He thought I was blocking the path to the White House, and he wasn’t going to allow me to stand in the way

for long.

“I’d actually say Wes has made sure of it. He is the most promising candidate in three generations. Not you.”

He scoffed. “Okay. Sure. You believe that if you need to, though I’m fairly certain not even he truly believes it.” He took a step toward me, his smile laced with disdain and every point of his outstretched finger drenched

in threat. “I was there from the beginning, picking up the pieces—”

“What pieces?”

“The shambles of his broken heart, of course.” Brewster tilted his head toward me and sneered, and I had to cough to cover

up the laugh that nearly escaped. Not because the thought of Wes’s heart in shambles after leaving Adelaide Springs amused

me. It didn’t. But I suddenly felt like I was in an episode of House of Cards or something. It was all so hilariously dramatic. “So believe me when I tell you I have a lot of time and a lot of effort

invested into Wesley Hobbes. He’s going to be president.”

I crossed my arms and shrugged nonchalantly. “Great. I would hate for all your work to have been for nothing. Now, if you’ll

excuse me...” I gestured behind me toward the door with my thumb, but I didn’t set my feet in motion yet. I instinctively

knew he wasn’t going to let me have the last word. And he certainly wasn’t going to allow it to be something as civil and

ordinary as what I had just said.

“I do want to thank you for one thing, however.”

“Oh, goody! Let’s hear it.”

“I wasn’t sure how long to wait to change gears from the mourning-widower platform. I see now I almost waited too long. He’s

growing restless—”

“Okay, you’re an idiot,” I said, finally allowing a laugh to fill the air between us.

I know it was immature and unbecoming of a disgraced former member of the intelligence community such as myself, but that

didn’t make it any less exhilarating to then take advantage of his stunned silence, do a one-eighty, and run out the door,

down the hallway, and into the elevator before he could slip in an attempt at the last word.