Nathaniel’s head felt ready to explode. “We discussed this. You agreed when I took the job that I could be off the hook after the election. The only way that happens is if I get this form turned in.”

The clerk returned with a round bottle, and Wilkie looked skeptical as she lifted the stopper, but his face morphed into pure joy the moment he waved it beneath his nose.

“This is it!” he exclaimed, then leaned in for another sniff, taking a moment to process the scent. “I think I smell a blend of rich tuberose and jasmine . . . but something else to lighten the floral scent. Pears? Or perhaps a citrus base?”

The clerk looked gobsmacked. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “All I know is that a lot of people like it.”

“Wrap it up. I’ll take it.”

“Glory hallelujah,” Nathaniel muttered. “Would you please sign these forms?”

By now it was doubtful he could get back to the Treasury in time, but maybe if he hired a private carriage instead of relying on a streetcar, he could still pull it off.

“Don’t be so hasty,” Wilkie said. “I’d prefer not to speak of confidential details in public.”

Nathaniel folded his arms across his chest, annoyed as the clerk took forever to wrap the box, but Wilkie finally paid the bill, and they stepped out into the frigid air. The November wind carried a hint of sleet, and Wilkie gestured to a bench beneath a pharmacy awning.

“Could you please tell me what’s going on?” Nathaniel asked once they were seated.

Instead of answering, Wilkie took out a slim cheroot and lit it, taking time to slowly draw on it and blow a perfectly round smoke ring that was quickly obliterated by a chilly gust of wind. If Nathaniel didn’t know better, he’d suspect Wilkie was nervous.

“Have you been in touch with George Cortelyou about the president’s plans for next year?”

“No.”

“No? It’s very interesting. Apparently President McKinley was dismayed by how popular William Jennings Bryan proved to be in the heartland. He thinks perhaps he’s been too closeted in the White House. He plans a transcontinental tour of the country next year. All the way to California and back. A three-month tour.”

Three months living on a train would be pure torture, but since Nathaniel wouldn’t be there, it didn’t matter. “I wish him joy in it.”

“I need you to be on that train.”

Nathaniel vaulted off the bench. “Absolutely not! I’ve drafted a comprehensive plan for securing the White House and the safety of the first family. I did exactly what you asked. Now I’m done.”

Wilkie shifted on the bench, his face wincing in discomfort. “You did. But no one understands security on a moving train more than you. That sort of traveling caravan is a dangerous operation, and you’re the best we have for the job.”