Oath of Office

sense.

No, Lou concluded as he sent the WILCO message and then headed off to shower, this was not a trap.

At 9:15 he toweled off and changed into comfortable jeans and a tan canvas L.L. Bean polo shirt. Then he folded some turkey, sliced tomato, and horseradish mustard in a wrap and finished it with a handful of chips, a can of Diet Coke, and a Kosher dill. At 9:40 he called Emily.

He wanted her to hear his voice as much as he needed to hear hers.

Their conversation was nothing out of the ordinary for them-school, weekend plans, and life at home. It pleased him to learn that the tension with Steve had lessened, and that a conversation with him, one on one, had resulted in his agreeing to allow her to use her computer in her room.

“I’m really proud of the way you’re handling this, honey,” he said.

“Thanks. I was a little surprised when he caved in. It turns out he was just trying to help Mom, who was worried about a report from Ms. Sternweiss that I wasn’t checking over my math homework.”

“But you’re doing better at it?”

“Starting to.”

“That’s great, Em. Just great.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Lou nearly stumbled on his reply. “Of course I am. Why would you ask?”

“Nothing. Just a weird little chill I had.”

“Well, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I love you, honey.”

“I know. I love you, too, Daddy.”

“You be good to your mom. Okay?”

“I will.… You sure you’re all right?”

“Tired, but otherwise fine and ready for a Monopoly rematch. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

There was another missed beat from Emily’s end, then, “Okay, Daddy. Bye.”

Lou set the phone back in its cradle and braced his arms against the end table. His knees were putty, and the fullness in his chest felt like a balloon.

What in hell have I gotten myself into? he asked once, then again.

He was still leaning against the end table when his apartment buzzer startled him. He glanced at his Timex, a Father’s Day gift from Emily.

Ten o’clock on the nose.

Lou considered grabbing a kitchen knife, but decided against it.

The email made him believe that whoever was waiting for him downstairs wanted his help-for what, exactly, he’d find out soon. Still not completely trusting his knees, Lou held on to the railing on the way downstairs. Breakthrough or danger? Despite having showered, he was starting to sweat. His body was pulsating with a nervous energy.

You’re going to see your daughter on Saturday, he said to himself. You’re going to be fine.

At the foot of the stairs, Lou peered out through the front door’s sidelight window at a large sedan-possibly a town car. A man, graying hair, sharp looking in a dark blazer, tie, and khaki pants, waited beneath the porch bulb. Lou opened the door to accompany him to the car, but the visitor stepped inside the tiny foyer. Lou judged him to be a light-heavyweight, and in shape. Still, his eyes were kind, and Lou felt no threat.

“Dr. Welcome?”

“That’s right.”

“Turn around, please, and put your hands on the wall. I’ve got to frisk you.”

No introduction, and Lou didn’t ask for one. This was a driver-professional muscle. And judging by his not- overwhelming size, a tough one at that.

William Chester, Lou thought. The bodyguard had to be working for the seed magnate.

Lou spread his legs and set his palms on the wall, grateful that he had left the knife in the kitchen. When the driver finished, he escorted Lou down the outside stairs to the town car, idling by the curb. The car’s tinted rear window slid down as they approached. Lou was surprised to see a striking, well-groomed woman sitting alone in the backseat. She looked out at him, smiled thinly, and nodded.

Lou caught his breath as recognition took hold.

He had seen Darlene Mallory on television, in the papers, and in magazines, but this was the first time he had seen her in person. His initial impression was that none of the photos or video footage had done her even remote justice.

CHAPTER 37

Darlene opened the car door and slid over halfway to make room.

Lou stayed where he was, scanning the street.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether there are any thick-waisted, bad-tempered, neckless men watching us, and whether your driver can handle himself the way I think he can.”

“Victor is Secret Service and very protective. He shoots anyone who even looks at me cross-eyed, then he asks questions later.”

“Good thing I can’t cross my eyes,” Lou said through the window. “Nice to meet you, Victor.”

“And you, Doctor. Not to worry about the other thing. I have an agent at the end of the street covering our back. Besides, I hear you’re a decent boxer.”

“Only when the other guy isn’t hitting back.”

Lou climbed in next to the First Lady.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Dr. Welcome,” Darlene said.

Lou’s throat went dry as he struggled to find his voice. In the ER, he knew he was sometimes known as Dr. Cool, for the way he kept it together even in the worst emergencies. In fact, over the years, he had treated a number of prominent politicians and even a couple of well-known celebrities without losing his objectivity, except once when he asked for a photo signed to Emily from the previous year’s winner of American Idol. But in the presence of this woman, he felt extremely unsettled.

“Please call me Lou,” he managed. “I’ve found that being called doctor often carries with it heightened expectations.”

“I’ve noticed the same thing,” she said, her grip on his hand warm and confident. “Darlene works fine for me.”

“That’s right, you’re a doc. Do you miss it?”

“Only every day.”

“I’m not surprised. Even after all these years and a gazillion patients, I still love it each time I step into the hospital. It’s the one place in the universe where I actually feel like I know what I’m doing.”

Her smile canceled out his self-consciousness. “Same here,” she said. “My office was my sanctuary. I still think I could tell you something special about every single one of my patients. Pardon me for asking, but are you okay? You look a little pale. Sorry if I’m out of place, but once a doctor, always a doctor.”

“And a perceptive one, at that. You’re the second woman who asked me that question in the last hour. My thirteen-year-old daughter, Emily the Sorceress, diagnosed me over the phone as not being my usual bubbly, positive self. Forgive me … Darlene. I didn’t tell Em, but just a day ago, I was being chased through a cornfield by some professional killers who, when they weren’t shooting at me, were trying to run me down with a combine harvester.”