Outcast. Joan Johnston

for the president with unsurpassed skill and daring.

      So President Taylor kept them both. Listened to both. And made her own choices.

      Abigail Hamilton had been studying to be a surgeon before she’d married Foster Benedict, and her prodigious charitable activities were directed toward medical causes. So Ben wasn’t surprised when she said, “Would you please ask Andrea if she would mind meeting with the nurses who work in the Pediatric Oncology Clinic at Georgetown University Hospital before she takes her tour of the children’s cancer ward next week? The administrator says the nurses deserve an attagirl. I don’t think Andrea will mind, but I need to make sure before we say anything to the nurses.”

      “Why don’t you call her yourself?” his father said.

      His mother wrinkled her nose. “There’s a new, overly protective executive administrative assistant to the chief of staff. The impertinent female makes it impossible for old friends to talk to the president without telling her exactly what they want first.”

      And his mother had no intention of doing that, Ben thought with amusement. She intended to put the administrative assistant in her place by using her contacts to go around the woman.

      “No problem,” his father said. “I’ll give you a call after I talk with Andrea on Monday.”

      Ben saw the trap into which his mother had fallen before she did herself. She’d avoided the administrative assistant, all right, but she’d obliged herself to accept a call from her former husband. Whom she otherwise avoided like three-day-old fish.

      Ben saw the momentary hesitation before his mother nodded and said, “Thank you.”

      She turned her attention to Ben. “Ham told me what happened in Washington today. Are you all right?”

      “I’m fine,” Ben said, somehow managing not to snap the words at her. “I’d better get going. I’m Waverly’s ride to his bachelor party.”

      “If you need anything … “ his father began.

      “Dad, I’ve got everything covered.” Ben escaped the room, leaving his parents standing awkwardly across from each other. It served them right, he thought. Any animosity—or attraction—that existed between his divorced parents should have been dealt with a long time ago.

      He made a detour to the kitchen hunting for Waverly, then searched each room as he walked toward the front of the house, finding no sign of his friend. He eyed the staircase that led upstairs where the bridesmaids—and the bride?—had disappeared. Surely Waverly hadn’t gone up there. Not with the senator breathing fire.

      He let out an exasperated breath as he debated where to search next. Where the hell was the groom?

      13

      Ben caught a glimpse of Waverly standing on the front porch as the archbishop exited the front door. The groom had his arms wrapped around the bride. Ben eased surreptitiously past the senator, who was headed upstairs, and slipped out the front door. “Hey, buddy,” he said to his friend. “You ready to go?”

      “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Waverly said, his voice slurred.

      “You be good, now, sweetheart,” Julia said, standing on tiptoe within her fiancé’s embrace to kiss him on the lips.

      “Don’t worry, honey,” Waverly said. “I’m not going to do anything bad.”

      “It’s your bachelor party, Wave. I forgive you in advance for all transgressions,” Julia said with a fond smile as she rearranged the tie on Waverly’s tux.

      Ben curbed his impatience with effort. The groomsmen had left long ago to join a bunch of Waverly’s cop buddies at The Seasons. The family butler and maid were there to direct the caterers, so the bachelor party was doubtless in full swing. Without its host. Or the groom. Whom Ben was having trouble separating from his bride.

      Waverly pulled Julia close for a hug. “I’m marrying the most loving, understanding woman in the world.”

      “Look at those naked floozies all you want,” Julia said, returning the hug, then pulling back to meet Waverly’s bloodshot brown eyes. “Just be sure you don’t touch!”

      “Damn, Waverly,” Ben said with a shake of his head. “The little woman’s already got you on a short leash.”

      Julia punched Ben in the arm. “You shut up, Benjamin. There’s nothing wrong with a groom respecting the wishes of his bride the night before their wedding.”

      Ben hooked an arm around Julia’s neck, and she slugged him hard in the stomach with her fist.

      “Let me go, you big bully!” she said with a laugh, wrenching herself free at the same moment Ben released her.

      Ben genuinely liked his half sister. She’d attached herself to him every time he and Carter came to visit, following him around like a puppy. When he was a teenager, he’d found her a nuisance, but he’d never failed to pick her up when she’d raised her arms and smiled up at him.

      He hoped Julia and Waverly were going to be happy. But he didn’t believe in fairy tales. She was too young to understand the problems her money would create for their marriage. And Waverly was too blinded by love to believe they wouldn’t live happily ever after.

      Julia shoved both hands through her long blond hair, fluffing it, and tugged up the bodice of her strapless pink satin dress. “I’m not a kid anymore, Ben. You have to stop treating me like one.”

      “No, you’re not, Little Bit,” Ben said, his voice gruff. “You’re about to become a wife.”

      “And I’m marrying the best man in the world,” Julia said with a beatific smile. She turned and grabbed both of Waverly’s ears and gave him a smacking kiss on the lips.

      “Waverly was a good boy—a pretty good boy—” Ben amended “—at the rehearsal dinner. I watched him jump with alacrity through every hoop Mother and the senator put in front of him.”

      “Waverly’s marrying into a political family. Hoop-jumping is a necessary skill,” Julia said.

      “And—I’m—damned—good—at—it,” Waverly said painstakingly.

      Ben heard in Waverly’s precise diction just how much liquid courage he’d needed to make it through the rehearsal dinner with Julia’s intimidating parents. He still couldn’t believe the announcement Waverly had made when he’d stood up, champagne glass in hand. But he admired his friend for it.

      Ben was jerked from his rumination by Julia’s rough tug on the two ends of his untied bow tie. “Hey!” he said, grabbing her wrists.

      “How drunk are you?” she asked.

      “I’m sober enough to drive.”

      “I’m counting on you to take care of Wave tonight,” Julia said. “Make sure he gets back here on time for the wedding tomorrow afternoon.”

      “We won’t be leaving The Seasons,” Ben said. “If Waverly doesn’t show up tomorrow, you can come over and get him.”

      Julia batted his arm. “Don’t tease me, Ben. Keep an eye on Wave for me. Don’t let him drink too much.”

      “It’s already too late for that,” Ben said, pointing to Waverly, who was slumped against a wide Corinthian column on the front porch, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open.

      “Then take him home and put him to bed,” Julia said, shooting a tolerant glance in her future husband’s direction.

      At the word bed, Waverly’s eyes opened and he smiled broadly at Julia. “You want to go to bed, sweetheart? I thought you said we should spend tonight apart.”

      Ben smirked at Julia, lifted an inquiring eyebrow, and was amused by the rosy blush that appeared on his half sister’s cheeks.

      Julia