Executive Privilege by Phillip Margolin Page B

floor, moaning in pain. Dana kicked him in the face.
    “Shut the fuck up,” she yelled so she could be heard above his cries of pain. Blood spurted from his nose and he collapsed on his back.
    The second man used Dana’s momentary inattention to go for a weapon, but her gun was back on target before he was halfway. He hesitated before raising his hands again.
    “Don’t shoot. We’re really Feds. Let me get my ID from my pocket.”
    “I don’t give a fuck who you are. But you’re sure not dressed like J. Edgar Hoover. You’re dressed like a burglar-rapist and I’d be acting in self-defense if I shot your balls off.”
    “Be smart. Kill us and you’ll have every law enforcement agency in the country hunting you down.”
    “They’re doing that already.”
    Dana cocked the gun.
    “Please, don’t. I’m married. I have kids.”
    “You think I care?”
    Dana heard sirens. Someone had heard the gunshots and the screams and called the cops. She made a decision.
    “Do you have handcuffs?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Take them out slowly then get down on the floor and cuff yourself to this asshole.”
    The second man was only too happy to comply. As soon as the two agents were hooked up Dana backed out of the apartment and sprinted down the stairs. She’d been tempted to kill her attackers but she didn’t need any more ghosts in her nightmares.
    As soon as she straddled the Harley Dana sped off, making random left and right turns until she was miles away from her place. She tried to remember how much money she had in her wallet. She’d used an ATM recently and she thought she had $150. If she used an ATM again the cops would know it but she had no choice. She needed as much cash as she could get her hands on. She would not be able to use her credit cards from now on.
    Dana found a bank on the outskirts of Chevy Chase and got the maximum amount of cash from the ATM. Then she sped off with no plan. She was living the ultimate nightmare. The president of the United States was out to get her and he had the resources of the FBI, CIA, NSA, and every other letter in the alphabet at his disposal. Dana had $372.40, a .38 Special with four bullets, and a borrowed Harley with three-quarters of a tank of gas.

Chapter Nine
    Shortly after moving to Portland to take a job with Reed, Briggs, Stephens, Stottlemeyer and Compton—Oregon’s largest law firm—Brad Miller rented a riverside apartment with a view of Mount Hood. When he opened his bedroom shades on this balmy morning in late June he beheld the sun rising behind the majestic, snowcapped mountain and a crew of eight women stroking with vigor along the far shore of the Willamette River. It was a scene that should have brought a smile to Brad’s face but this morning he had a good reason for feeling sad and empty.
    Brad had experienced good days and bad days since moving across the country for his job. The longer he was away from New York and the everyday sights that reminded him of Bridget Malloy, the more frequent were his good days, but today was the seven-month anniversary of the day Bridget had broken off their engagement, and there was no view, no matter how magnificent, that could prevent him from being depressed.
    Brad showered away some of his gloom, dressed for work, and walked to his office, stopping on the way for breakfast at a favorite spot on Third Avenue. He usually grabbed a quick bite at home, but there was a lull in work at the office and he was in no rush this morning. He read the newspaper while he finished his eggs. The Yankees’ extra-innings victory over Boston helped take his mind off Bridget. Brad may have left the East behind, but he was a Yankee fan for life.
    When he’d finished his breakfast, Brad walked several blocks to a thirty-story, glass-and-steel office building in the heart of downtown Portland. Reed, Briggs’s main entrance was on the thirtieth floor. The first person clients saw when they entered the spacious waiting area was a gorgeous