The sun shone down on Catasaga Lake making its surface glisten like gold filament. Quiet, except for the buzz of a boat a few miles away and the cheerful chirping of birds in the trees near the house, the setting was idyllic. If Nick wasn’t still annoyed by the president’s request, he might be able to appreciate his surroundings. But he wasn’t a happy camper. No way.
And really, he’d had no choice. Periodically, Nick had to say no when James Manwaring wanted to do to something unsafe—like walk a rope line where there had been no advance work done or change the route of a motorcade—but this wasn’t one of those occasions where he could have objected.
So Nick had come here to this little lake in upstate New York, to this stiflingly little town of Catasaga, to follow his boss’s directive without complaint. The place was even smaller than the village he’d grown up in, Lakeville, only an hour away. When this assignment was over, he was taking some furlough to visit his parents.
“Agent Marino?”
The soft voice came from behind him and he circled around. Raising his dark sunglasses, he anchored them on his head. “Hello, Mrs. Barton.”
Out of habit, he made a quick study of the president’s sister. He’d met her before, of course, as he’d been on the PPD for three years, but she’d changed since the last time he’d seen her. Her light brown hair had gotten longer and was streaked by the sun; the bangs she wore were new. Her eyes were startling green, just like those of President Manwaring, but there were lines around them that hadn’t been there. And she was thinner than she’d been at Christmas. Of course, death threats could do that to a person.
“And you should drop the agent and Marino part. I’ll be Nick Martin while I’m here.”
To make the situation even harder for Nick, the woman had insisted on being guarded surreptitiously, necessitating an elaborate ruse. The president told Nick they had heated discussions about protection, but she absolutely refused to have a contingent of the Secret Service standing post at her house and accompanying her openly. The president had reluctantly accommodated her, mainly because there were advantages to protecting her on the QT. If they came out full force, and if people were really trying to hurt her, they’d just go into hiding and wait until she was alone again. In some ways, this was the best option.
She shifted the bags she was carrying. Since they were overflowing with groceries, he covered the distance between them and reached out to take the sacks from her.
“I can do this.” Her tone—curt and cold—irked him even more.
“Give me one.” It wasn’t a request. Better to establish now who was in charge.
And since they were slipping from her grasp, she nodded. He grabbed a sack and followed her up the embankment to the bottom of the steps. She didn’t need the second deck he’d be adding on the ground level, though she did require the storage units he would make for her rare-book business. But any real carpenter could have done both. Still, that was the cover chosen as a ruse for Nick to be around so much.
She climbed the steep stairway in front of him, her gait steady, her hips swaying in that innately feminine way some women had. Up top, the deck sported curved railings, built-in seating and wooden boxes filled with red and white flowers. His mother had the same kind, but he could never remember their names. Umbrella tables and chairs provided seating. They entered the house though French doors.
“Nice,” he said, glancing around.
“Thanks. It belonged to Michael’s parents. He inherited it before we got married.”
“I know.”
“Oh, of course you do. By now, you must know everything about me.”
Instead of answering, Nick catalogued his surroundings.
On the left, a huge glass-and-screened family room with cedar walls and stuffed red-and-white furniture. Green plants in every corner. To the right, a large kitchen, painted a soft yellow with red accents. A breeze floated through the myriad of windows in the back of the house, making the interior pleasantly cool.
“Where are the boys?” he asked.
“At school.”
“Oh, sure, I forgot. I grew up around here, but I’m not used to this lifestyle anymore.”
“The pace will probably kill you. It would my brother.”
“But the object is to keep someone from killing you.”
The color leeched out of her face, accenting the few freckles across her nose. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest.
“I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but that’s why I’m here.”
She went all soft and feminine on him, and, man, if it wasn’t a transformation.
“You have a plan, right, Agent…Nick?”
“Of course. Let me set this bag down and I’ll go to the car and get my stuff.”
Composing herself, Mrs. Barton nodded. “I’ll put the groceries away while you do that.”
“Out that way?” He pointed to the foyer.
“Yes.”
The front of the house was spacious and airy, too. He memorized the location of the room, with hardwood floors throughout, a staircase to the second story and one leading down to a so-called in-law apartment, which had been built on to the house for the president’s mother when she visited.
Outside, he grabbed his duffle and another suitcase from the fully equipped SUV that Manwaring had sent for his sister to use. Nick slammed the door and retraced his steps. He left the larger baggage in the foyer and went back to the kitchen.
Mrs. Barton was staring out the window.
“I’m back,” he said quietly.
Despite his tone, she jerked. “Oh,” she said as she turned around with her hand on her heart. “I’m skittish, I guess.” She crossed to the coffeepot and asked, “Want some?”
“Black, please.”
He took a seat at the table, fished out papers from his bag and dropped it on the floor next to his chair. When she joined him, he asked, “Where would you like to start?”
“With the maniac that’s after me.” She shook her head. “I always hated being the sister of a politician, but this clinches it.”