It would be so easy to take a peek at the contents of this envelope. I can practically feel the weight of that little red devil on my left shoulder, urging me on. Go ahead, Jean. Have a look. No one ever has to know.

So that’s what I do.

The contents don’t surprise me. As the president’s science adviser, Patrick would of course be in the loop on the Wernicke project. What I don’t understand is why the first page inside my husband’s top secret envelope refers to three separate teams: Gold, Red, and White. Lorenzo, Lin, and I are on the White team. Other names, all unfamiliar to me, are listed under “Gold” and “Red.” A few of them have military ranks attached.

“Mommy!” Sonia’s voice in the doorway startles me. “I won old maid!”

Now the sequestered queen of spades that Sam had makes sense. Quickly, I slide the project memo back into its envelope, hoping I’ve left things as they were on Patrick’s desk, which always seems to be organized with the help of a T square.

“That’s super, baby girl,” I say. “How about we go check on Daddy in the kitchen?”

“I love you, Mommy. I love you so much.”

Nine words are all it takes to make my heart skip a beat.

Chapter Thirty-three

THIRTY-THREE

“Anything interesting?” Patrick says when I’m back in the kitchen.

I’ve always been lousy at secrets. The merest hint of a lie forces my lips into a curl; then my eyes join in the game. Only once did I try to throw together a surprise party for Patrick—his thirtieth birthday, I think—going through his then secretary and a couple of guys from work. When the day finally arrived, Patrick acted as stunned as if a bomb had fallen from the sky.

Success! I thought. Right up until the next morning when Evan King blabbed about what a terrific show my husband had put on.

“Saw it in your eyes, babe,” Patrick said. “Good thing you’re not the one with the security clearance.”

So. No more surprise parties.

He looks up from the stove. “Good news?”

“What?”

“Was it good news? From your parents?”

I feel the weight of terror slide off me and melt into a puddle on the kitchen tile. “Um, I guess. Papà’s sold a store to some chain. So I guess that’s good news.”

“Time for the old man to retire,” Patrick says. “Here. Taste this and tell me what it needs.” He spoons up a bit of the veg he’s been sautéing.