“Sure thing.”

“You think he’s nearby?” Simesky asked, looking out the windows uneasily.

“He’s invisible,” Dance said cryptically. “We just don’t know.”

As the big vehicle accelerated fast, the CBI agent gripped the hand rest and looked queasy. Davis reflected that if she did join his administration she would not do well on one of his speedboat outings.

On the other hand, he sensed she and Susan could become good friends.

Ten minutes later, when it seemed clear that Edwin was not following, they slowed and entered a highway. After a half hour of driving, the deputy turned down a deserted road, drove for another mile or so and, passing no houses along the way, finally approached a fancy log cabin. The one-story rambling brown structure was in the middle of a large cleared area—good visibility of the grounds, should anyone try to assault the house.

And there were also, Davis could see, only a few windows and all of them shuttered or shaded. Although he was perhaps more of a target than some politicians anyone who’s run for office instinctively considers security, particularly lines of fire and sniper’s vantage points. Everywhere. All the time.

Thank you, Second Amendment.

Chapter 56

KATHRYN DANCE GRATEFULLY climbed out of the SUV and inhaled the pleasant, astringent smell of pine.

The nausea from the rocky drive persisted but was fading.

She watched Harutyun approach the house and punch keys on a number pad and a green light came on. He stepped inside and deactivated another security system. Then he turned some switches and lights clicked on, revealing a functional interior, with no personality whatsoever: brown shag carpet that smelled of old automobile interiors, stained photographs in cheap plastic frames, Mediterranean-style lamps and furniture with excessive scrolls. A ski resort rental. The ancient Dodge smell was supplemented by that of musty upholstery, mold and cooking fuel.

All that was needed to complete the kitsch was a mounted bear or elk head.

The place was big. It appeared to have four or five bedrooms and several offices behind the living room and kitchen.

Dance exchanged mobile numbers with Tim Raymond, the security man, who remained outside. Harutyun shut the door and locked it. Then the mustachioed detective walked through the house to make sure it was secure. Simesky accompanied him.

A few minutes later Raymond called Dance and told her that everything seemed fine along the perimeter.

Dance looked around the austere facility and then at Davis, who now that his wife was protected seemed simply irritated that a security issue was taking time from his campaign and his congressional duties. He confirmed this a moment later when he muttered that he was due to meet workers at another farm soon but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. He’d have Peter or Myra cancel for him. “Pisses me off, I have to say.” He sat and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, then scrolled through his iPhone.

Simesky and Harutyun returned. “All clear, windows and doors secure and armed,” the deputy told them and passed out bottled water.