“Actually, I was six-foot-nine before this one got me.”

“Well, no wonder you look a little peaked.”

Lou loved her laugh.

“Under normal circumstances, I’m a certified, dues-paying nonsleeper,” he said, “but there’s no sleep and there’s running for your life from people who want to shoot you or chop you up no sleep. I’ll look less chalky soon.”

“I’m working on a pretty endless day, myself. I promise we won’t be long, but I want to hear about everything.”

No, no, take as long as you like, Lou found his inner voice saying. Take all night.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I’m tough.”

“My daughter, Lisa, is locked into me like a Patriot missile, just like Emily is to you. She has a tougher time getting a read on her father, but as you might have discerned if you’re at all political, not many people do, if any.”

Darlene’s expression was enigmatic, and Lou wondered if the statement was calculated or had just slipped out. He suspected it was spontaneous. This was not a woman who measured her words.

“I vote,” he said. “Does that count as being political?”

“It counts more than everything else put together. Good answer. Hey, Victor, this guy comes as advertised. I like him. Let’s go to Plan B.”

“You got it.”

Keyed by Victor, the window between the front and backseats glided shut. As the Lincoln eased away from the curb, Lou turned to look behind them, but never made it past Darlene. He was stunned to realize that the First Lady was staring at him as well.

She made no attempt to look away.

He could not remember ever being so immediately attracted to a woman who was not Renee, and warned himself to remember he was compromised by stress and exhaustion, and she was more than compromised by the obvious.

He felt a slight burning in his cheeks and suspected he no longer looked pale.

Darlene spoke first. “Do you need anything to drink?” she asked. “Water? Soda?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He wondered if she knew that he didn’t drink alcohol. He could see the car had a small well-stocked bar. She could have offered him a cocktail. Victor knew about his boxing. Had she been studying up on other aspects of his life? She said he came as advertised. They had to have done some homework on him.

“Before we begin,” she said, her directness not at all surprising, “You should know, if you don’t already, that my chief of staff and I did a little research on you when I knew we two might meet. Nothing too elaborate—mostly a little background checking, some phone calls, and Google and Yahoo, plus a dab of LexisNexis.”

“You wouldn’t be the first. What did you learn?”