Chapters (50)
- Cover
- Half Title Page
- Books by Elizabeth Camden
- Title Page
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Historical Note
- Questions for Discussion
- In 2021, look for Luke Delacroix’s story in
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“Which is why I have something completely different in mind. You’ll like it. A new challenge. You’ll meet interesting people and have loads of responsibility.”
Then why was Wilkie suddenly so eager to sell the position to him? Nathaniel had never balked at an assignment before. He’d sweltered in copper mines in New Mexico, ridden payroll trains through the desolate flatlands of the West, and once he’d lived for six months above a fish cannery to spy on international exports.
“What’s the job?” he asked softly.
“It’s the most important one in the agency. Pays well. Good housing.”
“What’s the job?”
“Guarding the president.”
Nathaniel bolted out of his chair. “Absolutely not. I’ll never work as a bodyguard. You know that.”
Wilkie held his hands out in a placating manner. “Calm down. President McKinley doesn’t want a bodyguard either. He thinks it smacks of European royalty and wants nothing to do with it.”
“Then why are we having this discussion?”
“Because I need a detective in the White House. One who never misses details, even if he’s been on duty around the clock. You don’t need to be plastered to the president’s side. He doesn’t want that any more than you do. But I need someone to monitor who has access to him. King Umberto of Italy was assassinated last night, and the man who shot him was a known anarchist. A system should have been in place to keep an eye on troublemakers like him. I need you to design such a plan for the White House.”
“Get someone else to do it.”
Wilkie shook his head. “You’re the best we have, and the problems are getting worse. In the past ten years, more heads of state have been assassinated than at any other time in history.”
Nathaniel stalked to the window, clenching his fists as he stared at the White House directly across the street. He didn’t want to be a bodyguard. He couldn’t be a bodyguard. The last time he’d been entrusted to protect someone, she ended up dead, and it still haunted him. The nightmares had finally eased, but the thought of being responsible for another life made his stomach clench.
“I track down counterfeit. I am trained as an engraver and got a degree in art history, all so that I could spot forgeries. I’m not going to be a bodyguard. Why don’t you assign Sullivan to the job?”
“Sullivan doesn’t have your eye, and you’re not going to be a bodyguard.”
As Wilkie outlined what the position would entail, Nathaniel had to admit that it didn’t sound like a bodyguard so much as a detective on the lookout for security flaws inside the White House, just as Wilkie claimed.