"So, what happened out there? Lily's a hell of an experienced rider. I've been out on those trails with her myself, and she's come riding with me and Carol from the stables near Camp David a couple of times as well. Makes me look like a tenderfoot."

Gabe had been preparing for this moment throughout the drive from Warrenton back to the capital. It was time Drew learned some of what was swirling around him. Not all yet, but some.

"A man shot at us from the woods. A rifle. Black ski mask, black clothes. Wasn't much of a marksman—certainly not by Wyoming standards. From the distance separating us and him, he should have at least hit one of the horses, but he hit nothing except a tree trunk eight or so feet from us. Lily's horse reared and threw her. I suppose mine was already worn-out from lugging me up the trail. He just stayed put."

"Black ski mask, black clothes, out there in the woods where you two just happened to be . . . doesn't sound like a whacko to me."

"I don't think he was."

"So, was he trying to kill Lily?"

"Me," Gabe said simply.

Stoddard's look of surprise was fleeting.

"You sounded sure it was a he," he said. "I had the feeling you had more to tell me."

Gabe paused as he prepared to pull his finger from the dike. To say his onetime roommate had more than enough on his plate was a gross understatement, but now it was time to pour on a little more.

"This is the second time since I arrived here that someone has tried to kill me," Gabe said finally. "I think they were the same guy."

Eyes narrowed, Stoddard listened impassively as Gabe reviewed the botched shooting on G Street. He saved his questions until Gabe was done.

"You said this man would have killed you if you hadn't been rear-ended at that exact moment?"

"That's correct. Assuming it's the same man, after watching him with a rifle I don't think he's any kind of a professional hit man. But even he couldn't have missed me from five feet."

"And the collision was a fortuitous accident?"

Stoddard, as usual, was right on top of things. Gabe was prepared for the question. First Alison, then the call from Ferendelli, and finally the bizarre finding off the lower level of Lily Sexton's home. He was beginning to buckle under the weight of the secrets he was keeping from the man who had brought him to Washington. During the ride back from the hospital in Warrenton, he had worked out what he was going to share with the president and where he was going to draw the line—at least until he had more information.

"The person who banged into me and probably saved my life was following me purposefully," he said. "Tailing me."

"To hurt you?"

"No. I think to protect me."