Through the office door she heard the main doorbell ring once, followed by an insistent knock. She looked at her watch. Who in the world would be visiting Bradenton at this hour? A few seconds later she heard the knock again, even louder this time. She listened for the sound of the dead bolt unlatching and the hinges squeaking open, followed by the sound of Chris’s deep voice dealing with this arrogant intrusion. It never came.

But the knock came again—and this time it was almost pounding.

She immediately gathered the photocopies and dropped them into a desk drawer, then shut the drawer and locked it with a brass key; she tugged on the drawer pull twice to make certain it was secure. She went to her office door and unlocked it; she opened it a few inches and peered out. A second later she saw the foyer light switch on, and she saw Johnny in his bathrobe and pajamas headed for the door. The sight of the soon-to-be president of the United States answering his own door in the middle of the night made her feel indignant; in another month the Secret Service would be crawling all over this place, and no one would get near that door without credentials and a full security clearance—but until then all they had was Chris.

Chris—he wasn’t even a decent security guard, and he expected to be a player in the big game? What a joke. Victoria had made a few mistakes along the way, and Chris was definitely one of them; but she had always learned from her mistakes and moved on—that’s what it took to survive in Washington. And Victoria was a survivor; she had learned her lesson; she had moved on, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

But where was Chris tonight? She wondered—but part of her didn’t want to know.

Across the foyer she saw the door open and a man stepped into the doorway—a man she recognized. He was wearing large glasses that flashed white in the bright foyer light. Beside him was a dog—a dog with only three legs.

She wrapped her robe tighter and stepped out into the foyer.

“We need to talk,” she heard the man say to her husband.

“This is completely unacceptable,” the senator replied. “I told you never to come here again. Now you get out of here before I—”

Both men stopped and looked at her as she approached.

“Victoria, you needn’t concern yourself with this. I was just telling Dr. Polchak to—”

“It’s all right, Johnny,” she said. “I don’t think Dr. Polchak would have come here at this hour unless it was very important.” She glanced at Nick and froze; tucked under his left arm was a large leather scrapbook. She stared at it for a few seconds, then looked up at him.