LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

      “‘WHAT DID THE president know and when did he know it? That will be the question Congress faces as members return to Washington from the summer recess. Hearings begin next week, investigating President David Nelson’s potential involvement in his son’s sinister scheme against Vice President Nick Cappuano and his family.’”

      Listening to her brother-in-law Spencer read from the morning edition of the Washington Star, Sam looked across the breakfast table at her husband, Nick, and saw a flash of dismay cross his handsome face. He dreaded the hearings, the attention, the renewed interest in the scandal that had rocked the nation’s capital earlier in the summer. Sam and her Homicide squad had uncovered the nefarious plot hatched by Nelson’s son Christopher in a failed effort to discredit Nick, all because Christopher had presidential aspirations of his own.

      The sitting president claimed to have no knowledge of what his son had been up to and continued to proclaim his innocence throughout the dog days of summer. In the meantime, Nick was left hanging, waiting to hear if Nelson would be impeached or forced to resign.

      Sam knew exactly what Nick was thinking. As much as they wanted Christopher Nelson to fry for what he’d put them through, the last thing Nick wanted—the last thing they wanted—was to see the president forced from office. Because that would mean... No. It was too much to even think about, and Sam refused to allow that stress to creep into her relaxing vacation. Standing, she said, “I’m going to take a walk.”

      Nick jumped up. “I’ll go with you.”

      “Was it something I said?” Spencer asked.

      “Duh,” his wife, Sam’s sister Angela, said as she fed their daughter, Ella, who was seated in a high chair at the end of the long picnic-style table. “You think they want to talk about that BS?”

      “Sorry, guys,” Spencer said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

      “No worries,” Nick said. “It’s not going away, as much as we wish it would.”

      “But you don’t have to deal with it this week,” Spencer said. “My bad.”

      “Don’t sweat it.” Nick held out a hand to Sam. “Let’s walk.”

      She took his hand and followed him through the sliding glass doors to the deck, where several members of his Secret Service detail were gathered at a table, drinking coffee.

      John “Brant” Brantly Jr., the lead agent on Nick’s detail, stood when he saw them coming. “Good morning, Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano.”

      “Morning, Brant,” Nick said. “We’d like to take a walk on the beach.”

      “Of course, sir. Give us a few minutes to make that happen.”

      Sam watched Nick’s jaw tighten with frustration. He hated having to ask permission to do something as simple as take a walk with his wife. She dropped his hand, slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest, hoping to give him something else to think about.

      He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, his body relaxing in stages as the agents conferred and planned for a simple walk on the beach. Except nothing was ever simple. Not anymore. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. When it was just the two of them, alone together, it was still as simple as it had ever been, even as the world went mad around them. As they did when the madness swirled, they closed ranks, spent as much time alone as they possibly could and weathered the storm the best way they knew how, by keeping their heads down, their mouths shut and their arms wrapped around each other.

      The press was desperate for interviews from either, or preferably both, but other than a perfunctory statement issued from Nick’s office after Christopher Nelson’s arrest, they hadn’t said a word about the controversy swirling around the president and his son or how it affected them. Nor had they offered any speculation on what it could mean for them if Nelson was forced to resign.

      They were taking it one day, one hour, one minute at a time.

      It

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