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“Whether or not his alleged crimes are proved, David Merritt fled the scene of a crime in Mississippi to escape the giving of testimony and possible prosecution. That in itself is a federal offense and was cause enough to bring his administration as President of the United States to an end.

“This is Barrie Travis. Good night.”

* * *

“Hi. Come on in.” Barrie stood aside and ushered Gray into the hotel suite where she’d taken up temporary residence.

“Thanks. I’m honored to be in the same room with you. You’re a hot ticket.”

“My celebrity hasn’t impressed room service. It still takes them forever to deliver a club sandwich.” She checked the clock. “Forty minutes and counting. Meanwhile, I’m starving.”

“What’s wrong with the lights?”

“Nothing. It seemed more restful this way.” The suite was in darkness, save for one dim lamp near the window. The draperies were open, revealing the beauty of the capital at night.

Barrie was fresh out of a long, hot shower, wrapped from earlobes to ankles in a white terrycloth robe, compliments of the hotel. Her hair was still wet, hooked behind her ears.

“Saw your interview,” he dropped casually.

She looked at him expectantly, holding her breath.

“It was good, Barrie.”

While warming beneath his approving smile, she downplayed her success. “I didn’t do anything. The story told itself.”

“If not for you, there’d be no story.”

“If not for Merritt and Armbruster there’d be no story. I didn’t particularly enjoy what Becky Sturgis had to tell the world.”

“Where is she now?”

“In a hotel. Bill has a couple of female marshals with her. She’ll be returned to the prison tomorrow and will have to remain there until her case is reviewed by a judge i

n Mississippi.”

“The interview was so touching, there’ll be a public outcry for her release.”

“At the very least, she’ll be granted a jury trial. I’ll be surprised if she’s convicted. If she is, she’ll probably be sentenced to time already served.”

After a thoughtful moment, he asked, “What did CNN do to get you?”

“They topped everybody else’s bid. What can I say?” she said, batting her eyelashes. “I can be bought.”

“There’s your sandwich,” he said as he went to answer the door. He signed the bill and set the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Amanda Allan called,” she told him. “George is showing some signs that have encouraged the doctors. She’s optimistic. She loves him very much and is willing to forgive him anything if he survives.”

“I would expect that of her,” he said. “How’s Daily?”

“I’m covering his hotel tab now. I don’t want him ever to go back to that dreary house. It’s bad enough that he’s dying. He shouldn’t have to die there. Besides, I don’t think any of us could go back without remembering those last terrifying days we spent there.”

“Where will he live?”

She picked at the bread crust. “I’m thinking of buying a house. Something in the suburbs. With a mother-in-law room for Daily to live in. The insurance settlement on my townhouse was more than fair, and with the salary I’m negotiating, I’ll be able to get almost anything I want. I could get a dog to keep him company when I’m not there. I think I’m ready to love another one, although I’ll never replace Cronkite, of course.”

“Have you bounced this idea off Daily?”

“He snarled something about his not being ‘a fucking charity case,’ but he’ll come around,” she said, smiling fondly. Having eaten a quarter of her sandwich, she pushed the plate away.