Lincoln Moss broke the connection. He was blind with fury, the veins in his neck twice their normal size. He could feel the blood rushing through his body. He knew he’d just screwed up, but he didn’t give a good rat’s ass. He dropped his head between his knees and struggled to take deep breaths.

Moss looked at the beautiful orchids, the crystal, his delicate china, and the Bavarian lace place mat that was handmade. With one sweep of his arm, he sent the whole mess sailing across the room. He got up, didn’t look back, and strode out of the room. His destination—the White House.

Moss was less than a block from the White House when the fine hairs on the back of his neck started to move. He was never a superstitious person, but he had learned a long time ago to pay attention to his gut instincts. And right now, his gut was telling him not to go to the White House. Because . . . because . . . the President had not spoken to him today. The first time that had happened since Gabe took office six years ago. It had to mean something. But what?

By the same token, he hadn’t called Gabe either. Gabe should have called him by now. Regardless of how busy the man was, he always managed to call, even if he did it when he was taking a bathroom break. And he should have called to congratulate him on that Man of the Year crap if nothing else to tease him about maybe the third time would be the charm.

Without thinking, Moss made a left turn and swept right by the White House.

Tomorrow was another day.

Chapter 10

Jack Emery felt like he’d been hit by a train even though he was up and walking around. He realized he felt more like a zombie than anything else, and that included a train wreck. For some reason, he never bounced back like other people did when he flew through time zones and had to adapt to a different climate and time change. He looked over at Harry, who himself looked like he was zoned out on another planet. He did, however, appear peaceful as he sat in a corner of the suite and meditated. Jack knew better than to invade his space, so he sat down and leaned his head back, praying that he didn’t fall asleep again. He just knew in his gut that Harry had slept through the night like a baby. Harry could lean against the wall and grab a catnap.

At precisely eight o’clock Paris time, Harry untangled himself and stood up. “I’m ready to go.”

“About time,” Jack snarled. Harry ignored him.

Outside in the early-morning air, Jack sniffed. He was smelling some kind of flowers, a pleasant scent. Perfumed air. He had to remember that phrase so he could share it with Nikki when he got home. Paris had perfumed air. Well, they were masters at perfumes and cosmetics in France, so why shouldn’t the air be perfumed? Who the hell cared anyway? He hated it when he got cranky like this.