“I’ve always loved counterfeit detection,” he said. “The challenge of it, the pursuit of it. Counterfeiters think like me. They are detail-oriented and patient. I love matching my wits against theirs.”

“Yes?” she asked, clearly wondering where this was leading.

“On September 15th, Wilkie has promised to transfer me back to the counterfeit division. I’ll be out of the White House.”

She turned to face him, sheltering her eyes from the sun with her hand. “And where will you be on September 16th?”

“Courting you.”

If possible, the gleam in her eyes intensified, and it took every bit of self-control to resist hauling her into his arms.

“I shall look forward to it,” she said, then returned her gaze to the marshland alongside the river.

The next two hours were possibly the most delightful of his life as they shared the afternoon, but all too soon, it was over.

The steamboat neared the port, and the familiar tension returned. He stayed on the top deck while sailors tossed ropes toward men on shore to secure the ship. The crowd was thinner now, but a few hundred were still here. Old Jake with his angel wings still paced the wharf, shouting doom and proclaiming the end of days.

Then someone else snagged Nathaniel’s attention. A man who didn’t look like he belonged. He carried a satchel and a plaid coat draped over his arm. He looked annoyed. None of that fit.

Worse, Nathaniel had seen him before. He raised his binoculars, focusing them on the scowling man. A receding hairline and saggy jawline, but most of all Nathaniel recognized the anger in the man’s eyes.

“Don’t lower the gangway,” he hollered below, then raced down the stairs, taking them three at a time until he reached the main deck. The McKinleys were at the front of the line to leave the ship, but he put an arm out to block them.

“Sullivan, take them to the kitchen. Lock the door. There’s a threat on the landing.”

Sullivan didn’t argue and neither did the McKinleys as they hurried down the passageway toward the kitchen. With its lack of windows and interior location, it was the most secure room on the ship.

The scowling man had been following them, for Nathaniel remembered seeing him at a speech in Pensacola. That was six days and three hundred miles ago, but he remembered the plaid coat and the man’s dark expression. Whatever was driving this man to follow the president was a powerful force, and it needed to be stopped.