“No, not at all. It’s just that at this level the background checks take a lot longer, and the politics get a good deal more intricate. I still have every expectation that you’ll be nominated by the White House and confirmed by the Senate as the youngest woman on the federal appeals bench, to say nothing of the prettiest.”

“Don’t.”

Chandler sounded surprised. “What?”

“Don’t patronize me. I just had to put up with a leering Mexican customs inspector. Any more flattery like that today and I’ll go postal.”

Again, Grace winced at her tone. She’d known Chad Chandler for a decade. By the standards of politicians, he’d always been a gentleman.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m being pulled in a lot of directions right now and I’m trying to understand what’s going on with the appointment. Is the delay because of the divorce?”

“Hell no, nothing like that. This is the twenty-first century.”

The silence spread.

The senator took another sip of his martini.

Grace looked at her watch again. “If everything’s okay, what’s the holdup? We both know I’ve already been vetted back to my great-grandparents. There’s no new ground for anyone to cover.”

Silence.

A senatorial sigh.

“Well,” he said reluctantly, “there’s something that a few folks down at the other end of Pennsylvania Avenue want to explore.”

“Such as?”

“Your son. How’s Lane doing?”

A sickening jolt shot through Grace’s body, like brushing against a naked, charged wire.

“Lane is fine.” She tried to modulate her voice, to stuff down the panic that had exploded just beneath her careful professional surface. “Why? What does Lane have to do with this?”

“When I heard about his drug problems, I was concerned and so were some people in the White House. You know how tricky that kind of thing can be.”

Grace heard the words as if they were being pushed through a distorter, tones trembling and booming until there was only sound, not meaning.