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“Good.”
Their phones went wild with texts.
“We’ll never be able to show our faces again,” she said on a moan.
“Eh, it’s funny.”
“No, it isn’t! It’s mortifying.”
“It’s really concerning how well they seem to know us.”
“Can’t you pass a law or something againstSNLmaking fun of the president—and the first lady?”
“I wish I could, babe, but there’s this pesky First Amendment thing that would preclude such a directive.”
“Don’t be presidential with me. It’s annoying.”
He nudged at her crossed arms. “Let me in. It’s cold out here by myself.”
Only because she actually loved him more than she hated him, she yielded to allow him to cozy up to her.
“That’s better.”
“You’re going to pay for this for the rest of our lives.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you understand that any time I tell you to jump, you’re going to say, ‘How high, my warrior princess?’”
“It’s come to that, has it?”
“It came to that last Thanksgiving. It’s just gone nuclear.”
“Don’t say the word ‘nuclear.’ You’ll set off an international incident.”
“Don’t deflect. You’ll be my beck-and-call boy for the rest of our natural lives and into the next one. You got me?”
“I got you, babe, and I’m never letting go of my warrior princess.”
Vacation wasn’twhat it used to be. That was for sure. Nick had been occupied since shortly after eight with a series of security briefings surrounding the situation off the coast of Alaska and the uprising in Niger.
Sam had spent the morning sipping coffee with a view of the ocean as she sifted through texts from literally everyone she knew, cracking up over the latestSNLskit. She was glad they were amused. She was mortified.
She’d hoped to see Nick before she left for her two appointments, but he didn’t return from the house next door in time.
If it seemed like everything that happened in the world was somehow his concern, that’s because it was. Sam couldn’t imagine having the kind of responsibility that he did, or having to make decisions that could affect millions of people. It was better if she didn’t think about what her husband had to deal with as she rode in the back of a Secret Service SUV to the first of her appointments in northern Delaware.
Despite the frivolity of the night before, she had her own concerns today and was dreading meeting with families who’d been further victimized by the very person who should’ve been helping them.
It made her skin crawl to think of Stahl taking missing-person reports from the distraught families of women he might’ve killed.
“I was surprised to hear you’re working today,” Vernon said, glancing at her in the mirror.
“I’m assisting in an investigation that has all hands on deck.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It’s the worst kind of serious. One of our own suspected of mass murder.”
