“Why do I feel like I’m being kidnapped?”

“Hi, Mrs. Shulman.” Shuly fell into step beside the shadchan. “I’m so glad I met you, I had an idea I wanted to talk to you about. For Dave.”

“Walk with me. Who is she?”

“Her name is Varda Spookstein. Gorgeous and brilliant. I know her from work.”

“Oh, she also works in the White House?”

Shuly laughed. “I don’t exactly work in the White House, but yeah, something like that.”

“It’s amazing what careers frum girls can have nowadays.”

“Well, we can’t all be shadchanim.”

A black car with tinted windows jumped the curb and careened toward the two women. Instantly, Shuly dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way. The car wrapped itself around a pole. Shuly straightened. Mrs. Shulman was standing on the hood of the car, apparently having jumped onto it to avoid being hit.

“Wow,” Shuly said. “Nice reflexes.”

“Yours too,” Mrs. Shulman pointed out.

“Excuse me, ma’am, are you all right?”

From her place on the hood of the car, Mrs. Shulman looked down at the tall cop. “Uh, sure,” she said, hastily climbing down. “He just came out of nowhere.” The front door of the car was hanging open and there was no sign of any driver.

“Skedaddled,” Shuly said, shrugging. “He was a pro. This was no accident.”

“How can you tell?”

Shuly pointed. “Fake plates.”

The cop glanced at the plates and then looked sharply at Shuly. Possibly feeling like his job was being done for him, his tone grew more insistent. “Ma’am, do you need an ambulance?”

“No,” said Mrs. Shulman.

“Well,” he said, determined to assert his authority, “I’ll need to see ID before you can leave.”

Mrs. Shulman pulled a card from her wallet and showed it to him. He stared for a moment and then turned around to mumble into his radio.

“Why are there so many tall guys in shades?” Shuly demanded. There did seem to be many, suddenly lounging in doorways or crossing the street or window shopping.

“You’re the one who works for the president,” said Mrs. Shulman. “Maybe they’re Secret Service.”

Shuly made a face. “I don’t work for the president,” she began, just as an ambulance pulled up.

“Okay, lady, get in.” The tall cop had reinforcements now.

“I don’t need an ambulance,” Mrs. Shulman protested.

“Rules are rules,” said the cop.

“There’s no law—” Shuly began. She looked from one cop to the other cop to the pairs of guys in shades materializing behind them. “I’ll accompany you,” she said to Mrs. Shulman.

The doors of the rig were locked behind them. Mrs. Shulman and Shuly, both in perfect health, perched side by side on the stretcher.

“Why do I feel like I’m being kidnapped?” Shuly asked.

“Maybe because you read too many cheap thrillers,” Mrs. Shulman suggested.

Baltimore rush-hour traffic had no pity for ambulances. Shuly watched the cars through the square windows of the rear doors. “I think we’re being followed.”

“Ambulance chasers,” Mrs. Shulman replied.

“I guess we have plenty of time to talk,” Shuly said, finally finding the silver lining. “So let me tell you a little about Varda.” She did so, in great detail.