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alone.
    “Something you need to tell me?” Crest leaned back in his chair, his laser green eyes seemingly taking in more than Lach felt comfortable with.
    “I had intimate relations with Phoebe Dunaway during the extraction from Iraq.”
    He didn’t feel the need to add anything else. Crest would either continue this assignment with the way it was laid out or remove Lach from the case. He wasn’t exactly sure how he wanted this to play out. He certainly wasn’t happy with the way they parted, but he wasn’t a man to beg. If Phoebe needed more than honesty, she’d have to get it from some other guy.
    “Care to add anything else?” Crest asked, seemingly unfazed by Lach’s announcement.
    “No.”
    “You never mentioned her after that last assignment. Since you spoke in the past tense, I’m assuming the relationship ended. On good terms?”
    “Not exactly.” Lach shifted his stance, uncomfortable with Crest’s inquiry. It wouldn’t have mattered if they were drinking buddies, Lach still wouldn’t have confessed what had transpired. “I’m not quite sure how one would classify it.”
    “From your standpoint, will it interfere with your assignment? Will you be able to remain impartial and do your job?”
    “Yes.” Lach didn’t add on that was probably how things would go down too—impartial. Phoebe had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t fit into her upper class world. He might have been good enough to fuck, but not good enough to be taken out in public. “That won’t be a problem.”
    “I appreciate the honesty,” Crest said, leaning forward and picking up the receiver of his desk phone. It was apparent that this meeting was over and Lach moved to leave. He’d made it to the door before Crest’s next words stopped him from turning the handle. “From this point on, Phoebe Dunaway is the daughter of the future President. I’d refrain from any further casual copulation if I were you.”
    Lach looked over his shoulder to see Crest leaning back in his chair with the phone to his ear. A small smile formed on his lips, but his eyes clearly stated he was serious in his advice. Regardless of Lach’s past with Phoebe or what the future may bring, not that he thought it would change in any way, there would be no fucking on this case. The message was loud and clear.
    “Understood.”

Chapter Four

    P hoebe Dunaway looked around her father’s campaign headquarters and mentally calculated the volunteers versus the paid employees. They’d need a lot more unpaid workers within the next few months if they were going to reach out to the demographics where her father was low in the consensus. She glanced down at her elegant Chanel Premiere watch, a gift from her mother back on Phoebe’s sixteenth birthday. It was the last holiday they’d celebrated as a family before Annabelle’s death. Phoebe briefly wondered what her mother would have thought of Stan Dunaway’s decision.
    “I have my evening class tonight, so I’ve got to head out,” Kimmie said, picking up a black Coach tote that held her college books. As the youngest, she had never been held to the high standard that Phoebe had been. Kimmie’s faded jeans and hooded sweatshirt that showed her support for St. Thomas University signified her youth. “I told dad this morning that I’m too busy right now with my studies to give up my free time. He wasn’t happy about it.”
    “I’ll cover for you, no worries.” Phoebe turned and leaned against the laminate workspace. There were multiple desks along with various sized tables for people to work from. The low murmurs of conversations being had on the telephones were distracting, but one got used to it the more they were in the bullpen. She looked at her sister, who happened to be six years younger yet made Phoebe feel at least thirty years Kimmie’s senior. Attitude and world experience had a lot to do with Phoebe’s outlook, although she’d made sure that Kimmie hadn’t been tainted by the