Nora snorted. “You’re dating a politician. A congressman from Georgia.” She laughed. Her wild, free, brilliant friend was dating a politician. A blond, sexy, sharp politician. Her mind clicked through what she knew. “Wait a minute. After the last elections . . . didn’t he become the Speaker of the House?”
“Yes.” Lynne sighed. “I like him, politics and all, but we’re taking it slow.”
“You slut. You’ve done him.”
Lynne rolled her eyes. “Look who’s talking. You’re back in the same air as your ex for one day, and you can barely walk.”
“Shut up,” Nora said without heat. “I’ve seen your guy on television. Definitely charismatic.”
Lynne shrugged. “I know—he’s pretty amazing. May make a bid for the presidency next time. The guy has quite an ego, you know? For some reason, I keep finding that incredibly sexy.” Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down. “My newest results are spitting out in the lab, and shouldn’t yours be available sometime today? The new ones on the nanostructured oxide? For now, you can help me. We can talk men later.”
Nora sighed and rose. “Between the two of us, we really know how to complicate our lives.”
“Amen, sister.”
Deke sat on a flowery chair across an antique coffee table from Sally Phillips, who relaxed on a matching sofa in the residence of the White House. “I’ll ask you again, do you understand me?” he asked quietly.
She rolled her eyes, looking like any other put-upon nineteen-year-old co-ed. “Yes. I get you. If I move, if I try to lunge and bite you, you’ll have no choice but to protect yourself.” Her pretty pink lips pouted. “When did you become such a wimp?”
“When you infected your father, the President of the United States and my boss, with a deadly bacteria.” He kept his expression bland but watched closely.
Nothing. No emotion, no regret, no anger. “That was an accident, Deke. I promise.” She fluttered her eyelashes.
He rubbed his whiskered chin. Damn it. He’d forgotten to shave again. Wincing, he set his hands on his knees, careful not to touch anything else in the room. “Listen, Sally. I want to help you.”
She rubbed her hands down jean-clad thighs and sighed. With her blond hair in a ponytail and wearing a Stanford T-shirt, she looked like any pretty teenager. “I appreciate your offer, but the doctors are wrong. Sure, I might’ve been kinda crazy right after the fever when I bit my dad, but I feel fine now. And awful about Dad.” She smiled, flashing twin dimples. “He’s strong and will be fine.”
“I know.”
She huffed again. “I feel okay and don’t want to bite anybody else. When can I get out of house arrest?”
Deke sighed. “Your last brain scans still show lack of activity in your frontal cortex.”
She snorted. “My brain is working just fine. Give me a break. They can’t tell from a bunch of colors what’s going on in my head.”
Good point. “I’m inclined to agree with you there.” He leaned forward, his hands dangling between his knees. “For now, we have to make sure you’re all right before letting you loose. You understand that.”
She leaned back her head. “I do, but I’m so sick of being cooped up. What if my brain scans never get colorful? I mean, if they were colorful before. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe I’m somebody who doesn’t have a lot of colors flashing from machinery in a freakin’ lab.” She lowered her chin, and tears glinted in her eyes. “It’s like theywantme to go crazy.”
Being held inside without any freedom would drive him up the wall, too. “I’m sorry, Sally. I’ll talk to the scientists at the CDC and determine if there’s any other way to test your brain than what they’re doing.” More importantly, the girl had a point. What if her brain scans didn’t ever really light up? Was that a true sign that she was dangerous? Somehow, he wasn’t buying it. “I’ll do my best.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Why are you in charge here? I mean, you’re not Secret Service or in the military. What exactly are you?” Her focus narrowed.
“Special Strategic Advisor to the President of the United States,” Deke murmured.
She chuckled. “Sounds like a complete bullshit title, now doesn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“I’ve been around politics my whole life, you know?” She glanced toward the heavily curtained window and then back.
He breathed out, his shoulders tightening. “That kind of sucks.”
“It really does,” she said softly. “But you know what? I can recognize a soldier, and I can recognize a killer. You’re both, aren’t you?”
He couldn’t really blame her for being pissed. “I’ve been a soldier, and I’ve killed.”
“How many?” Her eyes glittered.
