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pretending he loved his wife. Judith’s first husband had been better but she’d dumped him when Charles came along with his literary allusions and superb table manners. Darden saw it as a kind of Scarlett/Ashley thing. Charles had the gentleness and charm Judith thought she wanted, and she had the strength Charles thought he needed.
    After thirteen years of marriage, Judith was still besotted. Charles had grown tired of being Mr. Judith and of the expense of endless campaigning. Darden couldn’t blame him, but there was no way Judith could let him have a divorce. One divorce on a candidate’s record was pretty standard these days, but two? Maybe Giuliani could pull it off but he was male and Italian and not running in Texas.
    Charles had given up on Judith but he hadn’t given up on women in general. Darden had had to pay off one and scare off one. An errant husband was another thing a female candidate couldn’t afford. It made her appear weak and pathetic to the voting public. Ten years after President Clinton got caught with a female aide and his trousers down around his knees, people still talked about what Hillary should have done. What they had forgiven the president for doing, and thus ending his career, they couldn’t forgive his wife for overlooking in the interests of pursuing her own.
    It would be easier for Judith. She’d not yet said anything about the White House but Darden had known her a long time. Even when she was a tiny little thing she never wanted to play at being princess. She always played at being queen.
    Darden had come down the steps from the patio where the reporters congregated to the small sitting area near the parking lot without seeing anything. Lost in his thoughts. For a man who’d spent his life watching for trouble, this was alarming. This evening, this minute, there was nothing more threatening than three of Big Bend’s midget deer. They were hardly bigger than Great Danes. Cute, Darden thought. Maybe he should get a dog. Maybe he should retire before he got somebody killed. Old men given to wool-gathering weren’t exactly prime bodyguards. Management didn’t have to see the sniper in the trees, he reminded himself. Or the elephant in the room, for that matter.
    He smiled drily at that thought but wasn’t much comforted. His SUV was in the first space. When he pointed and clicked at it there was the dull thud of the locks opening but the vehicle didn’t bleep and its lights didn’t flash. One of the first things he did to a new vehicle was the removal of audio and visual signals. In the old days, unscrewing the bulb in the overhead did the trick. With new computer-run models, getting the things to lay still and pipe down was a major undertaking.
    The evening was perfect: cool and dry and scented with pine. The sun had gone behind the mountains but the window to the desert below was tawny gold with the last rays of light. He rolled down the windows and enjoyed the short drive to the historic stone cabins built by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression. Where he was staying wasn’t a single cabin but three rooms, each opening onto a shared veranda with a view of the valley. His room was on the north end. Gordon and Kevin shared the southern-most room. Judith was in the center. As he walked past her window there was a crack of wood hitting wood, then her screen door flew open with such suddenness and force it nearly took his nose off. The gut saved him yet again; protruding farther than his proboscis, its hard fat took the blow.
    Even with the added weight, Darden was quick on his feet; he leapt back to where stone was between him and the inside of the room and snatched his Glock from the holster beneath his left arm. Another reason to wear a suit.
    White-faced and ragged-looking, Judith pulsed from the darkened doorway.
    “Get in here,” she hissed. “I want to kill Charles.”
    Well, well, Darden thought. Things are looking up.

THREE
    A leave of absence,