'Don't take my word for it--look at the lemmings behind us; they've been smiling since you peeled out from the club.'
Nora checks the rearview mirror for herself and waves at two more of the khaki-and-polo patrol. Neither smiles, but the one in the passenger seat actually waves back. 'Those're my boys--been with me for three years,' she explains. 'Besides, Harry and Darren aren't that bad. They're just miserable because they're the only two who are actually responsible for me.'
'Sounds like a dream job.'
'More like a nightmare--every time I leave the House, they're stuck watching my behind.'
'Like I said: dream job.'
She turns, pretending she doesn't enjoy the compliment. 'You love to flirt, don't you?'
'Safest form of intense social interaction.'
'Safe, huh? Is that what it's all about for you?'
'Says the young lady with the armed bodyguards.'
'What can I say?' she says with a laugh. 'Sometimes you've got to be careful.'
'And sometimes you've got to burn the village to save it.'
She likes that one--anything that brings back some challenge. For her, everything else is planned. 'So now you're Genghis Khan?' she asks.
'I've been known to ravage a few helpless townships.'
'Oh, please, lawboy, you're starting to embarrass yourself. Now where do you want to go?'
The forcefulness turns me on. I try to act unfazed. 'Doesn't matter to me. But do the monkeys have to follow?'
'That depends,' she says with a grin. 'You think you can handle them?'
'Oh, yeah. Lawyers are well known for their ability to beat up large willing-to-take-a-bullet military types. There's a whole 'Fisticuffs' section on the bar exam . . . right after the 'Rain of Pain' essay.'
'Okay, so if it's not going to be fight, we're going to have to go with flight.' She hits the gas and my head snaps back into the headrest. We're now once again flying up Connecticut Avenue.
'What're you doing?'
She shoots me a look that I can feel in my pants. 'You wanted privacy.'
'Actually, I wanted foreplay.'
'Well if this works, you're gonna get both.'
Now the adrenaline's pumping. 'You really think you can lose them?'
'Only tried once before.'
'What happened?'
She shoots me another one of those looks. 'You don't want to know.'
The speedometer quickly shoots up to sixty, and the poorly paved D.C. roads are making us feel every pothole. I grab the handle on the door and prop myself up straight. It's at this moment that I see Nora as the twenty-two-year-old she really is--fearless, smug, and still impressed by the rev of an engine. Although I'm only a few years older, it's been a long time since my heart's raced this fast. After three years at Michigan Law, two years of clerkships, two years at a law firm, and the past two years in the White House Counsel's Office, my passions have been purely professional. Then Nora Hartson slaps me awake and starts a flash fire in my gut. How the hell was I supposed to know what I was missing?
Still, I look back at the Suburban and let out a nervous laugh. 'If this gets me in trouble . . .'
'Is that what you're worried about?'
I bite my lip. That was a big step backwards. 'No . . . it's just that . . . you know what I mean.'
She ignores my stumbling and gives it more speed.
Stuck in the silence of our conversation, all I can hear is how loud the engine is revving. Up ahead is the entrance to the underpass that runs below Dupont Circle. The small tunnel has an initial steep drop, so you can't see how many cars are actually ahead of you. Nora doesn't seem to care. Without slowing down, we leap into the tunnel and my stomach drops. Luckily, there's no one in front of us.
As we leave the tunnel, all I can focus on is the green light at the end of the block. Then it turns yellow. We're not nearly close enough to make it. Again, Nora doesn't seem to care. 'The light . . . !'
It turns red and Nora jerks the wheel into an illegal left turn. The tires shriek and my shoulder is pressed against the door. For the first time, I actually think we're in danger. I glance in the rearview mirror. The Suburban is still behind us. Never letting go.
We race down a narrow, short street. I can see a stop sign ahead. Despite the late hour, there's still a steady stream of cars enjoying the right of way. I expect Nora to slow down. Instead, she speeds up.
'Don't do it!' I warn her.
She takes notice of the volume of my voice, but doesn't reply. I'm craning my neck, trying to see how many cars there are. I see a few, but have no idea if they see us. We blow through the stop sign, and I shut my eyes. I hear cars screech to a halt and the simultaneous blaring of horns. Nothing hits us. I turn around and watch the Secret Service follow in our wake . . .
'What're you, a psychopath?'
'Only if I kill us. If we live, I'm a daredevil.'
She refuses to let up, twisting and turning through the brownstone-lined streets of Dupont Circle. Every stop sign we run leaves another chorus of screaming horns and pissed-off drivers. Eventually, we're tearing up a one- way street that crosses back over the main thoroughfare, Connecticut Avenue. The only thing between us and the six lanes of traffic is another stop sign. With a hundred feet to go, she slams on the brakes. Thank God. Sanity's returned.
'Why don't we just call it a night?' I offer.
'Not a chance.' She's scowling in the mirror, staring down her favorite agents. They look tempted to get out of the Suburban, but they have to know she'll take off the moment they do.
The agent in the passenger seat rolls down his window. He's young, maybe even younger than me. 'C'mon, Shadow,' he yells, rubbing it in by using her Secret Service code name. 'You know what he said last time. Don't make us call this one in.'
She doesn't take well to the threat. Under her breath, she mutters, 'Cocky jock asshole.' With that, she punches the gas. The wheels spin until they find traction.
I can't let her do this. 'Nora, don't . . .'
'Shut up.'
'Don't tell me to--'
'I said, shut up.' Her response is a measured, low snarl. She doesn't sound like herself. We're barreling toward the stop sign and I count seven cars crossing in front of us. Eight. Nine. Ten. This isn't like the side streets. These cars are flying. I notice a tiny bead of sweat rolling down the side of Nora's forehead. She's holding the wheel as tight as she can. We're not going to make this one.
As we hit the threshold, I do the only thing I can think of. I lean over, punch the horn, and hold it down. We shoot out of the side street like a fifty-mile-an-hour banshee. Two cars swerve. Another hits his brakes. A fourth driver, in a black Acura, tries to slow down, but there's not enough time. His tires screech against the pavement, but he's still moving. Although Nora does her best to swerve out of his way, he nicks us right on the back tip of our bumper. It's just enough to make us veer out of control. And to put the Acura directly in front of the Secret Service Suburban. The Suburban pulls a sharp right and comes to a dead halt. We keep moving.
'It's okay!' Nora screams as she fights the steering wheel. 'It's okay!' And in a two-second interval, I realize it's true. Everyone's safe and we're free to go. Nora lights up the car with a smile. As we motor up the block, I'm still remembering how to breathe.
Her chest is heaving as she catches her own breath. 'Not bad, huh?' she finally asks.
'Not bad?' I ask, wiping my forehead. 'You could've killed us--not to mention the other drivers and the--'
'But did you have fun?'
'It's not a question of fun. It was one of the stupidest stunts I've ever--'
'But did you have fun?' As she repeats the question, her voice grows warm. In the moonlight, her wild eyes shine. After seeing so many two-dimensional photos of her at public events in the papers, it's odd to see her just
