Night's Landing by Carla Neggers Page A

Total hard-ass, married to the job and absolute hell on women. They all fall for him.”
    “Did you?”
    “No way.” She grinned. “I go for the southern frat-boy types.”
    Sarah laughed.
    “I think Nate liked following you. Gave him something to do. He does not tolerate idleness well.” Juliet got to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. “Which should be a warning to you.”
    Not knowing what to say, Sarah peeked in on her brother. He looked better. Not well, but better. She wondered if he wanted her out of town not so much because of snipers in the park, but because of the reputation of his senior deputy—but that was a lot of silliness. She rejoined Juliet in the hall and set out to her apartment for another night with the fish and the plants.
     
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
     
    John Wesley Poe had heard that the junior senator from Massachusetts, elected in November along with the new president, was one impressive cuss, and it was true, even more so in person. Hank Callahan strode into Wes’s private study—Wes wanted to keep this visit as quiet and unofficial as possible—with the confidence of someone who’d come under fire in more ways than one in his forty-something years. Even his enemies said he was a man of the highest integrity, a retired air force rescue helicopter pilot whose first wife and young daughter were killed in a car accident while he was serving overseas.
    Last fall, he’d stumbled into the headlines twice, once before the election, once after—and both times in dangerous incidents involving the Winter family of Cold Ridge, New Hampshire. His now-wife, Antonia, when she encountered a stalker. Then his sister-in-law, Carine, when she stumbled upon a murder.
    Now, here was another Winter in trouble. This time it was the brother, Nate.
    “Mr. President,” Hank Callahan said, remaining on his feet, his military bearing evident. “It’s good to see you.”
    Wes rose from the sofa and shook hands with the younger senator. “Thank you for stopping by. Here, have a seat. I won’t keep you. I understand that one of the marshals shot yesterday in Central Park is your brother-in-law.”
    Callahan took the most uncomfortable chair in the room, his signal, Wes thought, that he didn’t plan to stay long. “Nate Winter is my wife’s brother, yes.”
    “He’s doing all right? You’ve seen him?”
    “He’s in good shape. The other marshal—”
    “Rob Dunnemore is a family friend.”
    Wes didn’t mince words. The story had just broken. It was all over the news now, but from his blank reaction, either Callahan hadn’t heard of Wes’s relationship with the wounded deputy or was pretending he hadn’t. “I didn’t realize he was a friend. I’m sorry.”
    Wes had just issued a statement through his press secretary. It was a balancing act. He didn’t want to give the impression, no matter how unintentionally, that anyone in his administration—anyone in law enforcement—believed that the shooting in Central Park yesterday was in any way connected to him.
    “I understand Rob’s had a rough time of it,” Wes said. “We came close to losing him yesterday.”
    “Antonia—my wife—says his chances for a full recovery grow with every hour he goes without complications, especially from blood loss.”
    “Did you see him? Rob—how did he look? Under the circumstances, it’s difficult for me to go up there myself. There’s nothing political here, by the way. This is an entirely personal conversation.”
    But their surroundings begged the question—was anything personal, was anything private, when one was president?
    Callahan stayed unreadable. “Of course, Mr. President. No, I didn’t see Deputy Dunnemore myself.”
    Wes nodded, wondering why he’d bothered to invite Callahan over to the White House. To assuage his own guilt at having neglected Rob in recent years? Wes hadn’t approved of him becoming a marshal. Rob’s own father hadn’t approved, although Stuart