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“Because of your father?”

If he had started speaking in tongues, she couldn’t have been caught more off guard. “What do you know about him?”

“That he was never there for your mother or for you. That he was a habitual adulterer who died among satin sheets with a lover, and that your mother killed herself over it.”

“Daily certainly was thorough, wasn’t he?” she said bitterly. “He had no business discussing my personal life with you.”

“I held a gun to his head. Figuratively speaking.”

“Why so interested, Bondurant?”

“Why so testy?”

“You’ve been testy whenever I approached the subject of your past.”

She couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but she felt their lingering, thoughtful appraisal. “You’re a contradiction, Barrie, and I was trained to study and analyze contradictions because they’re usually very significant.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. In what way am I a contradiction?”

“For instance, the more grim the situation, the more jokes you crack. With men, you send mixed signals. One second you’re fending off anything remotely sexual, the next…” He let the sentence trail. “Chivalry demands I stop there.”

“You’re a real prince.”

“I wanted to know why you run so hot and cold. After what Daily told me, I have a better understanding of you. Your father’s rejection is what made you so ambitious.”

She threw her hip out and rested her hand on it. “You don’t say?”

“You work hard to win Daddy’s notice and approval. You seek affection, but you’re also afraid of it. You assume a feminist air, rejecting a man before he can reject you, but that hard-core posture conflicts with your natural tendencies, which are altogether feminine. Your father made you wary of men.”

“I’m not wary, Bondurant. I’m smart. And I’m not mistrustful of all men, just some.”

“Most.”

“Most are untrustworthy. Unlike my mother, I’ll never let a man treat me as though I’m invisible. Which brings us around to you and the purpose of this conversation. I don’t expect chocolates and roses from you. Just don’t look through me and pretend that I don’t matter.”

“Fair enough.”

“Good. Fine. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Alone in the cramped bedroom, lying on the narrow cot, Barrie realized that she’d made her point. But it was a very empty victory.

Chapter Thirty

Vanessa Merritt was having breakfast in bed. She hadn’t been out of her bedroom in three days, ever since the night David had struck her. He hadn’t been to see her, either.

Propped against a mound of pillows, she watched Katie Couric interview the defense secretary, who’d recently returned from North Africa. There had been reports of a military buildup in Libya and air strikes against Israel. The Libyan government denied responsibility for the bombings. The secretary had advised President Merritt not to take any drastic measures, either political or military, until intelligence networks had substantiated the reports.

David would be furious if he was forced to take aggressive action. That kind of executive decision invariably provoked strong bipartisan responses and public outcries. Engaging in even a skirmish with hostile forces could cost votes.

Vanessa smiled at the thought of the dilemma this might cause him.

Her smile disappeared when an assistant tapped on the door and announced that Dr. Allan wished to see her. “What do you want, George?” she asked ungraciously as he approached her bed.

“Is that any kind of greeting?” he asked, his bedside manner impeccable. “I came to check on you.”

“Did David order it?”