Oath of Honor

shimmering blue dress brought out the highlights in her dark eyes and

glossy shoulder-length black hair. She was, as always, utterly stunning

while radiating complete confidence and self-assurance. Some people

probably thought her ease, even when surrounded by some of the

most influential people in the world, came from being lauded on the

covers of Time and People for her lab’s stem-cell breakthroughs, but

Emory had been certain about everything as long as Wes had known

her. Emory never lost sight of what she wanted, where she was headed,

what she would accomplish. Wes loved her single-mindedness and total

confidence. Emory had always said the same thing about her, but Wes

suspected she only looked self-assured on the outside as a result of her

height and her athletic build and the lessons she’d learned early in life—

never show fear, never show weakness, and never, ever be ashamed of

who she was. Poverty had a way of creating dignity; at least it had in

her house. But she knew it was camouflage. Even all these years later,

she still wondered where she fit in the world and was always aware of

what she had to do to secure her place. Her work was her lifeline—her

security and her satisfaction.

Emory brushed her hand over the fruit salad above Wes’s heart, her

fingertips making the ribbons and medals sway against the immaculate

blue material a shade darker than Emory’s dress. “Look who’s talking.

You’re downright dashing in this uniform, Captain. I fear I might

swoon.”

Wes laughed, and a sandy-haired, sharp-eyed woman in a dark

suit and coffee-colored shirt coughed discreetly at Emory’s elbow, her

body language possessive without being proprietary. “I’m standing

right here, babe.”

Emory’s face lit up with an expression Wes had never seen there

before. Pure joy. Emory grabbed the lanky newcomer around the waist

• 23 •

RADCLYfFE

and pulled her close. “Wes, this is Dana. She’s my”—Emory glanced at

Dana, an eyebrow raised—“fiancée?”

Dana laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. “Proposal accepted.” She

held out her hand to Wes. “Dana Barnett. I’m with Emory.”

“Yes,” Wes said. “I believe I’ve heard your name mentioned a

time or two…hundred.”

Dana grinned. “Same.”

“Wes,” Emory said, “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you

had interviews and all that.”

“Circumstances are a little pressured,” Wes said obliquely. Emory

was her best friend, but her new job demanded discretion of the highest

order. “Things are moving a bit faster than normal.”

Emory’s expression grew somber. “I was so sorry to hear about

Leonard. What a tragedy.”

“It was.” Wes hadn’t known Leonard O’Shaughnessy personally,

but even though she dealt with death on a daily basis, sometimes the

seeming unfairness of life defied rationalization. A sudden twist of fate

could send so many lives, including her own, careening down paths

never anticipated. She shook off the cloud of sadness. “My orders were

to report promptly, so—”

Emory laughed. “Do they have any idea who they appointed? Dr.

Punctuality herself.”

“Probably not,” Wes said, hoping someone somewhere had

actually looked at her file, or this might be a very short posting.

“Well, it’s wonderful to see you, and now that you’ll be—” Emory

broke off as a hushed “Oh!” escaped the crowd.

Wes followed her gaze. At the far end of the room, the wedding

party descended the stairs. Oddly, no cameras flashed.

She’d been to a lot of weddings, including some extraordinarily

elaborate ones. She would’ve expected the wedding of the daughter

of the president of the United States to be a State affair. But then she

thought about Blair Powell—despite her well-known public persona,

there was very little about her private life in the public domain. Blair

rarely gave interviews and avoided media glitz and paparazzi. Her

romantic relationship with Cameron Roberts had created quite a bit of

controversy in the national media news, but Blair had had very little to

say other than to acknowledge the truth of the rumors. She might be

• 24 •

Oath Of hOnOr

the public face of the presidential family, but her personal life was a

mystery.

The gathering today was small, considering the importance of the

event, and Wes bet everyone there, with the exception of security, was

a personal friend of the first family or Cameron Roberts’s family. There

were few foreign dignitaries, no Hollywood stars, no political pundits.

Only ordinary people gathered to celebrate the special day of someone

they loved.

For a moment, Wes felt like an intruder. She was used to

boundaries—clear, solid ones. She was about to witness an extremely

personal moment in the lives of strangers, without even the excuse of

professional involvement to excuse her presence. Then she recognized

a face at the far side of the room from the briefing documents she’d

been given earlier. Dr. Peter Chang, the acting head of the White House

Medical Unit. A bulky black leather bag sat by his right leg—a bag