You’re damned right he did.

The next morning he packed up his laptop and his cell phone, threw some clothes in a suitcase, and tossed everything into the Explorer. He called his editor from the road to give him some mumbo-jumbo about a follow-up piece, promised not to blow his deadline for Wednesday’s column, and set the cruise control. He and America’s former First Lady had some serious talking to do.

Nealy’s attorney refused to give him her address, so he used his connections in the Washington press corps, and by the next day he was in Middleburg, Virginia. The house wasn’t visible from the road, but the eight-foot fence that surrounded it was plain to see, along with an elaborate set of electronic gates. He pulled the Explorer into the drive. Her press conference was tomorrow; he prayed she was home getting ready for it.

Above his head, a set of video cameras zeroed in on him. He hoped the fence was electrified, too, and a pack of Dobermans ran loose behind it. He had nightmares about her safety.

“Can I help you?” A man’s voice came from a panel set in the brick.

“Mat Jorik. I’m here to see Mrs. Case.”

“Is she expecting you?”

“Yes,” he lied.

There was a brief pause. “You don’t seem to be on the list.”

“I wasn’t sure when I’d get here. If you ask her, she’ll tell you it’s all right.”

“Hold on.”

He hoped he looked more confident than he felt. Seeing these gates and the spacious grounds that stretched behind them made the gap between him and Nealy real instead of theoretical. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel. Why was it taking so long?

“Mr. Jorik?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Case won’t be able to see you.”

Mat gripped the wheel. “I’ll come back later today.”

“No, sir.”

He waited, and the longer he waited, the more uneasy he felt. “How about tomorrow morning?”

“No. Mrs. Case won’t see you at all.”

*  *  *

Nealy’s stomach was in a knot, and her hands were freezing. Mat was here. Right outside her gate. She wanted to race from the house and down the drive, fling herself in his arms . . . only to be pushed away again.

It hadn’t taken her long to figure out why he was here. Even though he’d been kept informed about the girls, he’d wanted to see for himself. Mr. Responsible.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the telephone in the family room to call her attorney. Mat couldn’t simply breeze in and out of the girls’ lives at his whim. It wasn’t good for them, and it would be devastating for her. She had a campaign to concentrate on. A new life to build.