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Marcus’s eyes shot open.

Thinking he had heard something in the hallway, he grabbed the mop handle he had snapped off and brought from the bathroom and moved to the door. It was quiet. Slowly he turned the handle, opened the door, took a quick look, and then pulled his head back in. The hallway was empty. He waited several minutes, then looked out again. Still empty. He closed the hallway door and moved to the door to the adjoining room, opened it, and found all the men still sleeping in their beds, snoring as loudly as before, but one of the bunks was empty. Had someone been sleeping there before? Marcus couldn’t remember.

He kept watching for a full minute. Finally, convinced it was only his fever talking, he closed the door again, went back to the bathroom, and splashed water on his face and neck. Then he toweled off and climbed back into the bottom bunk.

Soon enough he found himself again transported to Washington. He could see himself standing on the steps of a brownstone walk-up in Northeast, just a few blocks from the Capitol, wearing the classic Armani black tux he had bought back in his Secret Service days. Even now he could feel the rush of adrenaline he had felt that night, the perspiration on his palms, the jitters in his stomach, his heart pounding as he waited for the door to open. And when it did, Annie Stewart took his breath away.

She wore a sleeveless, floor-length black gown with a glittering silver bodice and a matching silver purse. Her gingery-blonde hair was pulled back, revealing stunning diamond earrings that matched her equally stunning diamond choker necklace. Her lipstick was a soft pink, as were her nails, and when she smiled her adorable, shy smile, Marcus thought he was going to melt.

“Wow, you look . . . I mean—wow” was all he could manage.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Ryker.”

“I just—I’ve never—wow.”

She laughed and locked the door behind her. When he offered his arm, she took it, and he led her to the black Mercedes Uber he had ordered for the night.

“Nice,” she said as they settled into plush leather seats for the twenty-minute drive to the Washington Hilton.

“Well, you know, parking’s going to be a madhouse over there, and I didn’t suppose you were up for hoofing it so far in high heels.”

“Good call,” she said with a smile, and he could barely think straight. “I hear you’re heading back over to Israel.”

“You’ve got good sources.”

“You think we’re going to get this peace deal thing done anytime soon?”

For the rest of the drive, they talked about the advance trip he was taking for Secretary Whitney and why the Saudis seemed to be dragging their feet on a peace treaty that was their idea in the first place. But the closer they got to the hotel, the more uncomfortable Marcus became, and Annie could see it in his eyes.

“Second thoughts, huh?”

“Not about you—not at all.”

“Then what?”

“Honestly, I just . . .”

“What is it?” Annie pressed.

“It’s just that, well, the correspondents’ dinner is not exactly my crowd.”

“Tell me about it,” Annie confessed. “I’m terrified to go in there.”

“Believe me, I worked a lot of these back in the day,” Marcus said. “It’s all cabinet secretaries and senators and the Hollywood A-list and, of course, every reporter who makes my life . . .”

“Miserable?”

Marcus laughed. “Yeah.”

“Why did you say yes?”

“Because it was you.”

There was a long, awkward silence, and then Marcus made a suggestion. “Hey, have you ever been to that restaurant at the top of the Key Bridge Marriott?”

“The one that’s supposed to have that spectacular view of the city?”

“Yeah.”

“Nope—never have.”

“Me neither,” said Marcus. “Any chance you want to bail on this thing and give that a try?”

Annie exhaled, the relief in her eyes palpable. “Love to.”

Marcus took her hand and squeezed it, then turned to the driver and called an audible. Marcus pulled out his phone to make a reservation. “Really, only table left? Great. We’ll take it.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a candlelit table for two in the corner. The lights were set low, giving patrons the optimum view through enormous plate-glass windows of the Potomac River, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the rest of the extraordinary cityscape. Annie asked about Marcus’s mom and sisters, whom she had met and even had dinner with a year and a half earlier along with Senator Dayton. It had been a lovely event, Annie recalled, even if it was, she joked, a “special op” designed to keep the Ryker family in the dark about his “extracurricular activities,” referring to his clandestine work in Russia, North Korea, and eventually the East China Sea.

The conversation was both playful and discreet. Though they had never done anything social like this, and certainly not alone, Marcus began to realize that Annie was familiar with more details about his life than almost anyone he knew. In part that was because she was a staffer for a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee. She had clearance above top secret and was read in on some of the most sensitive operations the CIA and other agencies were running. And in part it was simply because they had known each other for nearly twenty years, from the time they first met on a helicopter in Kabul, Afghanistan. It was precisely for these reasons that Marcus never felt any concern that she might inadvertently mention something classified or even get close to the line, even if they were speaking softly and leaning into one another. Annie Stewart was one of the smartest and classiest women he knew, and she was nothing if not a consummate professional.

He was surprised to find himself dying to ask why she had never been married. She was certainly dedicated to her work, and yet in all the years that Marcus had known her, she had never struck him as wed to Washington or a classic workaholic. Type A? Certainly. No one survived in the nation’s capital without being one. But consumed? No. Hostile toward the concept of marriage? He doubted it. Unattractive? Not even close. Then how could a woman like this still be available?

The very question embarrassed him. He covered up his mounting curiosity by asking her what it was like to grow up in Charleston, South Carolina, why she had chosen to go to American University and later to Georgetown when she had been accepted to so many other good schools, what her favorite part of the country was, and what was on her bucket list.

It took all of Marcus’s concentration to stay focused on her answers.