“Tara?” Marcus yelled, for the fourth time in as many minutes.
She held perfectly still and said nothing.
“Isn’t it your job to watch her?” he snapped at one of the Secret Service agents assigned to protect his wife.
“Not anymore, sir,” the agent said.
Tara almost smiled. She leaned back in her chair on the top floor of the Naval Observatory and watched the movers as they taped and then lifted the refrigerator-sized boxes onto the moving van. The movers had arrived two hours earlier, and everything in the house...