Rachel pulled on the dress, a pale pink number that - once again - belonged to her boss's wife, and tried to figure out where she could stash a weapon. She'd prefer it to be her gun, but there was barely enough room in the dress for her own body, let alone something as bulky as a handgun, so she had reluctantly swapped it out for a knife borrowed from Phil; he'd been disturbingly protective of the blade and had made her promise not to damage it.

With the knife strapped securely to her thigh, hidden beneath the too-short hemline of the dress, she decided she was ready, and picked up her invitation; another party at the White House, and another potential disaster in the making was waiting for her.