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certifiable emergency in Collin’s view. He considered calling Koss back to argue the point but stopped himself. Koss had no appreciation for what he had done, and it was likely he would have no appreciation for what he knew must do about Fallon Hughes.

Four
    Fallon Hughes sliced through the warm blue water, her breath coming in deep, fast gasps. She gripped the ledge of the pool and flipped on the return lap, glimpsing the athletic figure of Gwen Atwell in the lane beside her. Gwen was suddenly half a body ahead—Fallon could match Gwen’s arm strokes but not her perfect leg kicks. Fallon pulled herself through the water, struggling to stay even.
    Fallon and Gwen had been friends since they were children in Montana. Their long friendship had survived the period when Gwen, one year older, had left for medical school in D.C. and Fallon stayed on at law school on the West Coast. As they grew older, the differences between them became more marked; they could exasperate each other. Gwen, older by almost a year, enjoyed bossing Fallon about offering professional advice, sometimes relationship advice, though that, admittedly, had not been required lately. Work subsumed any possibility of dating, and she just wasn’t very good at it anyway. Her discomfort only intensified when her father began his run for the presidency.
    Fallon was amused by Gwen’s big sister act and tolerated it—to a point. Each retained an obstinate and unshakable love for the other.
    Since she had not seen Gwen in over two weeks, Fallon had agreed despite intense fatigue to join her for an early morning swim at the club. Gwen promised that after an hour in the pool, she would feel featherlight, invigorated, refreshed, and ready to take on the world. The promise of ecstasy was the only thing that kept her going because after another late night at Johnson Sloan Pruitt, she was exhausted. She stayed until after 10 p.m., trying to compensate for her hour at the coffee shop yesterday. By the time she got home, she was jazzed from the adrenaline of seeing Tom again and starving but too tired to eat. She collapsed on the bed and was asleep within seconds.
    Cameron Chapman, her midnight-to-six agent, was standing near the doors. Except for the Secret Service, they had the whole pool to themselves. All the smart people were still in bed. Warm and cozy under mountains of blankets and cottony-soft sheets with nary an alarm clock anywhere in sight. Sleep porn, Fallon called it. Lust for the one thing she could not have.
    When she reached the opposite end of the pool, she was unsurprised to see Gwen had beaten her.
    â€œYou okay?” Gwen asked, teasing her, challenging her fitness.
    Fallon rolled her eyes. “Unlike you, I am a busy woman with precious little time for swimming practice.”
    Gwen playfully splashed her. “Ten more laps. Let’s make it count.”
    Fallon lined up at the wall. “Ready.”
    â€œSet,” Gwen said.
    Together they chanted, “Go,” and vaulted for the other side.
    At the end of the ten laps, with a last mighty heave of breath, Fallon touched the edge of the pool and lifted off her goggles. She was startled to see Tom Bishop talking with Cameron Chapman. Even before the sun was up, Tom looked ready for action. Somehow, he managed to project athleticism even in a formal dark business suit. Tom acknowledged Fallon with a polite smile, then turned his attention back to Cameron.
    It was going to be a long while before she got used to seeing him around.
    Fallon had not yet had a moment to talk to Gwen about Tom. She didn’t know how to bring it up anyway. She’d been too embarrassed to mention him when she returned heartbroken from Greece, so Gwen didn’t know about the disastrous affair four years ago that had left her reeling. Small mercy.
    Fallon climbed out of the pool, acutely aware that she was nearly naked in front of him and that he seemed to not care less; his focus