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I called Poof Condos in our bedroom, filled to capacity with Poofs.
    Due to our marriage, we’d gotten a starter set of six Poofs. They were androgynous and could mate with each other, supposedly only when a Royal Wedding was imminent. Right after Jamie was born, and also right after a set of power-mad lunatics had tried to kill us all, we’d had a major Poof explosion. No one knew why, beyond Christopher and Amy hooking up, but we had a lot of Poofs. No one minded. Poofs for all was my viewpoint, and more Poofs for me was my other viewpoint.
    We had all the spare, unnamed Poofs living with us—I called it the Privilege of Royalty whenever Jeff couldn’t hear me, and my right as the co-head diplomat when he could. Jamie had her own Poof. She wasn’t exactly speaking at three months of age, so I had no idea how she might have named it to claim it as hers, but this one Poof in particular liked to be near her, so we let it. It did the Poof “there one moment and here the next” thing and snuggled up against her tummy, purring. She wrapped her little hand in its fur and gurgled happily.
    Jeff came in behind me, and the purring increased. “Why wasn’t Jamie’s Poof with her?” I asked as I headed into the nursery. It seemed a safer question than “what were you all talking about before I got here and ruined the summit meeting.”
    “No idea. Baby, you’re upset for nothing.”
    Right. Empath. Two years in, you’d think I’d remember that he always knew what I was feeling. “I know. I’m not the head of Airborne anymore.”
    Jeff took Jamie while I settled myself into the lounger in her room and got ready to feed her. He shook his head as he checked her diaper. “No, you’re not. I’m not the head of the Field anymore, either, and Christopher’s no longer the head of Imageering.” He shot me a look I knew was suggesting I think instead of sulk.
    I gave it a shot. It was me, and I thought best aloud. Fortunately, Jeff was used to it. “Everyone’s here.” He nodded, leadingly. “Waiting for you and Chuckie to get back.” Jeff’s eyelids lowered to slits.This wasn’t his sexy, jungle-cat look; this was his “you’re really trying to be stupid” look. I pondered a little more. “And waiting for me to get back?” I asked hopefully.
    He finished up with Jamie’s diaper and helped get her eating. She’d been a chowhound from birth, and that hadn’t waned; she was happily snorking down breast milk in a matter of moments. “Yes. We have no idea who the target is, but you and I will be at the President’s Ball. Therefore, you and I are integral to whatever plans are put into place.”
    “So what was decided without me?”
    Jeff heaved a sigh. “Not much. James wanted to wait for you to get back.”
    On cue he popped his head in. Reader was still the best looking human I’d ever seen in the flesh, and if he wasn’t gay and married to Gower, my life might be very different. Seeing as he was, however, the cover-boy smile being flashed at me merely reminded me that someone thought my input was necessary.
    “Girlfriend, while you feed the baby, want you thinking about a couple of key points I’m sure Jeff and Reynolds didn’t tell you.”
    I tried not to visibly perk up but failed if the grins I got from both Reader and Jeff were any indication. “Sure, James. Lay ’em on me.”
    He nodded. “First, Reynolds’ ‘source’ happens to be our favorite investigative reporter of all time.”
    “Really? Chuckie takes information from Mister Joel Oliver?”
    Reader shrugged. “Per Reynolds, the guy’s almost never wrong. The second point, however, is that we have no idea if it’s a lone assassin, a group, or anything else you can come up with. I’d like you to come up with everything you can, though, because we have less than two days to avert God literally knows what.”



CHAPTER 6
    R EADER POPPED BACK OUT, and we switched Jamie to the other torpedo. “What do we actually know?”
    Jeff