Except for his travel mug of coffee, Elliot hands all his stuff to me, including cell phones. “Take those to the office and meet me down there.”
“Yes, Mister Vice President.”
I don’t know what’s going on, but my stomach’s already tied in a knot.
Please let it be a rescue.
I don’t think I can sit through another of those videos.
If necessary, I’ll take a seat and close my eyes so I don’t freaking faint. I can’t embarrass him and have people talking badly about me.
“Oh, look, there’s the fainter.”
I hustle over to the office, drop everything there, check in with Suzanne, and then head downstairs. On my walk, I stick my hand in my pocket and finger my day collar.
Yeah, Leo’s day collar.
I can’t bring myself to put it on. We need to have our conversation first.
But leaving it behind doesn’t feel right, either.
I’ve carried it in my pocket ever since he left it on my dresser.
Baby steps, right?
Leo’s already there when I walk into the briefing room area. He’s standing behind Kev.
But he doesn’t even look at me when I walk in. He and everyone else are watching the largest monitor, where what looks like IR camera feeds are playing in a four-way split-screen.
No one’s speaking, except a man on the monitor, who I quickly realize is in a helicopter. A pilot. Other monitors are quickly brought online, showing things like the actual position of the team overlaid on a map, along with other statistics.
I take my place behind Elliot and watch with everyone else as the military team flies toward their targeted drop zone. When I glance at Leo, his gaze is always on the monitors, and it feels like he’s…
Aloof?
I could be wrong.
Then again, this is exactly what I asked for, right? What, he’s supposed to hug me good morning in front of a bunch of our nation’s highest-ranking military and NatSec officials?
Maybe twenty minutes later, Elliot doesn’t take his focus off the monitors, but he reaches behind him and motions to me.
Silently, I step in, lean close, and he holds his travel mug up to me. “Mocha, please. Strong.”
“Yes, Mister Vice President,” I whisper. I take the mug from him and quickly depart the room. That coffee I can’t get in the SitRoom from the provided dispenser they have on hand. I have to go up to his office, where he has his own Keurig, and I keep a supply of his favorite pods.
I don’t know if he’s doing that because he’s worried about what might happen soon, or because he really needs the caffeine.
Maybe a combination of both.
But I also notice Leo doesn’t so much as look my way during the exchange. When I glance back, he’s still staring at the monitors.
Okay, then.
After I return—and the helos are still en route to their target—Leo doesn’t look my way, even though now I’m actively trying to catch his eye.
Hell, I do everything but clear my throat and start waving at him.
This feels…odd.
Tense.
Wrong.
Yes, it’s a little self-centered of me to be worried about it right now, but it’s not like I have another job to do.
This is my job.
It’s Leo’s job, too. He’s not in the military. There’s no reason we can’t stand there and stare at each other.
At least he could’ve acknowledged my presence.
The helos land twenty minutes later, but the team needs to move in over ground to keep their arrival from being detected. The helos will move in and exfil the team once they’ve completed the mission. I missed if these are SEALs or what, but I’ll be the first to admit my military knowledge is sorely lacking. The only reason I can remember it’s Marines who stand at the White House doors and who man the chopper is because it’s called Marine One—or Two, if it’s flying Elliot.
Duh.
Yeah, see, this is why I know damn well I’m not capable of being Elliot’s chief of staff. Which is also a staffing decision that’ll have to be made farther along in the campaign.
My nerves draw tauter as the feeds switch from the helos to helmet cams from several of the soldiers. The tension in the room grows thicker with each passing moment. Shae and Elliot ask few questions, apparently understanding exactly what’s going on and not wanting to miss a single thing.
I nudge my glasses up on my nose and glance at Leo.
He’s still watching the monitors, now leaning one shoulder against the wall and standing with his arms crossed over his chest. That means I can’t even catch his eye, because he’s facing the monitors.
Ten minutes later, the teams come up on what looks like a small compound at the base of a rocky hill. It’s surrounded by a concrete wall maybe ten feet tall, with a closed gate. There’s an armed man standing at the gate, but he’s looking at a cell phone, maybe playing a game on it.
The soldiers split off into three teams at different positions before they stop and drop, still several hundred yards away. Then I notice that one of the helmet cam feeds is still moving. Looks like at least two soldiers have peeled off from the others and are going somewhere else.
Then I realize it’s a sniper team.
The other soldiers wait in their positions while the snipers keep moving. Finally, they set up, and it looks like they’re maybe on the other side of the compound from the rest of the troops.
I only see two members of the sniper team—the spotter, who’s wearing the helmet cam, and the other, who’s the sniper. The sniper sets up while the spotter takes measurements and speaks in a calm, flat whisper. Then the sniper takes aim and the spotter gives him another set of measurements, followed by a pause.
“Send it.”
We hear the shot. On all the feeds, from different angles, the man at the gate suddenly collapses. The sniper team likely set up farther away, and downwind from the compound, to help mask the sound of the shot and not alert anyone inside to their presence.
The sniper team bugs out while the rest of the forces converge on the compound. They cut the chain on the gate and silently roll it open just enough they can make it through.
From that point on, they’re inside and moving fast. Fifteen minutes later, they’ve located and safely rescued the two women who were locked in a tiny windowless room in the middle of the structure.
They’re beaten and bloody, and dressed in dirty, ripped robes and head scarves, but they’re alive.
And everyone around us in the room lets out a happy cheer and starts applauding.
There’s a quick search of the house, which produces some cell phones, a couple of laptops, and a filing cabinet of papers, but not much else. There were no other women there, and a total of five men present, including the one at the gate—all killed.
It’s not easy knowing that live deaths occurred in front of me, but somehow, it’s not as…brutal as the other day?
I know that sounds stupid.
But I’ve seen plenty of movies and TV shows where people are shot, and in most cases, this wasn’t exactly like that, but it wasn’t…
Prolonged. There was no melodramatic jerking of bodies before they fell over. People shot just…collapse.
It’s also easier watching the deaths on a black and white IR feed, versus in full color.
The helicopters swoop in and pick up the troops and hostages. Like that, they’re racing back toward their base, much to the relief of everyone here.
No losses to our side.
The president looks at the defense secretary. “I want a phone call with Agent Andelsson after she’s been medically cleared and debriefed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hope I didn’t react.
Who the fuck is Agent Andelsson?
Then I realize from the context what they mean—these weren’t just journalists.
At least, one of the women rescued wasn’t just a journalist.
L
eo is tasked with doing something for the president, but even though I’m watching as he makes his way around the far side of the table to leave the SitRoom, he doesn’t look at me.
He does give Elliot a head tip, though.
Motherfucker.
I don’t know if I should feel angry or jealous.
Or hurt.
Or, maybe I should feel worried. Because something feels…off in a way it didn’t before.
I guess I need to find time to sandwich that talk with him into the schedule sooner rather than later.
* * * *
With the good outcome of the rescue, the rest of the day’s schedule devolves before my very eyes, forcing me to make several adjustments on the fly. The president wants to hold a press briefing to announce the rescue, and she wants Elliot there when she does it, and for the ensuing Q&A.
There’s the first scramble to rearrange Elliot’s day. At least Elliot’s not supposed to be over at the Senate today. That’ll be tomorrow’s “fun.”
Then the campaign manager insists he needs Elliot at the new headquarters tonight to go over things, in person, meaning I have to get with the detail and scrap our plans to go directly home after Elliot’s scheduled dinner with donors.
Also meaning my chances to find time alone with Leo today are quickly dwindling. Tomorrow won’t be possible, either, because of Elliot’s Senate time, and Leo’s supposed to travel with the president.
When I sac up and walk over to the outer office, I find Leo on the phone. While he glances up at my arrival, he doesn’t meet my gaze or otherwise acknowledge me before looking back down at the legal pad in front of him.
That…stings. Not going to lie.
The president’s secretary gives me a warm smile. “Can I help you, Jordan?”
“I needed a word with Leo.”
“He’ll be a while. Anything I can help you with?”
I can’t stand around out here and just wait. For starters, it’ll look weird. Secondly, it’s not like we can talk right here and now.
“No, nothing important. It’s all right, I’ll stop by later.”
But I get buried in calls and questions from staff, and the next thing I know, I need to hustle Elliot over to the press briefing room.
Leo’s standing in the hallway just outside, talking with a staffer.
Elliot pats him on the shoulder as he passes, briefly squeezing, and Leo pats his hand. “Afternoon, Leo.”
Leo flashes him a smile and they also exchange a head tip. “Good afternoon, Mister Vice President.”
Leo immediately resumes his conversation with the staffer without acknowledging me.
I hang back to try to catch his eye, but then he turns and heads inside, leaving me standing there.
Did I suddenly turn invisible?
Or is this petty payback for throwing him out of the house?
Because he does not want to go down the petty road with me.
#pettyqueen
I step inside the briefing room and position myself close to him. He’s standing there with his arms crossed and watching the podium. I’m going to say something when the press briefing starts.
Dammit.
And that’s how the rest of the day goes, with me not having a chance to actually speak to Leo before Elliot and I are heading out for his dinner with donors.
By the time we return to the residence close to midnight, we’re both exhausted. All we really want to do is collapse. I barely have the energy to put his collar and cuffs on him before we crawl into bed, but he definitely sleeps better with them on. Besides, it’s a routine. They’re a comfort.
I know the feeling.
Damn, how I envy him right now, too.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tuesday isn’t much better, in terms of scheduling. We start out at the Senate, and then head to the West Wing from there, followed by a couple of hours at campaign headquarters. The president—with Leo—is out of town for the day, giving a speech in New Mexico before she presides over an award ceremony at an Air Force base there, and then returns to DC.
Angel’s not scheduled to touch down until after ten p.m. our time.
Terrific.
Meanwhile, I haven’t texted anymore with Leo, even though I’ve kept my personal cell on, because he never texted me back after the GD text.
That was always our protocol before. If he sent me a GD, then it meant he’d let me know when he was back in touch. Unless it was a literal emergency, I was to wait to hear from him. In a literal emergency, I could try calling him on his work cell from my work cell.
He still hasn’t texted me back yet.
Which is starting to piss me off, because he’s damn sure texting practically nonstop with Elliot on the burner.
Okay, fine. He wants to be that way? I’ll let him. I’d honestly hoped to have our talk by now, but it’s clear that’s not happening.
In the car Tuesday evening, on our way to the campaign headquarters, Elliot’s smiling as he reads a text before sliding the burner into his pocket.
I pretend I’m reading e-mails.
“Sir?”
I suck in a deep breath and force a smile I don’t feel, because I will not take this out on my boy. “Yeah?”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, boy.” I’m also won’t drag him into this and use him as a go-between. He’s the vice president, for fuck’s sake.
I feel him watching me, studying me, and I finally look up and force myself to keep my voice gentle. “What is it?”
“Do you want to talk?”
I know what he means. “It’s fine.” He stares at me, waiting me out, until I finally add, “Leo’s just awfully chatty with you, and he’s gone full radio silence with me.”
He scowls. “He hasn’t said anything about that.”
“He hasn’t said anything about anything,” I mutter before realizing I actually said it out loud.
Dammit. I need to be more careful, because Elliot’s scowling again. “Jordan—”
“Stop,” I whisper. “I’ll handle it when or if he decides to finally stop ignoring me. Went from one damn extreme to the other with him.”
Yeah, okay, it fucking stings. It feels like we’re back to me being out there all alone.
“He’s ignoring you?”
“Yeah. I guess telling him I wanted space pissed him off. He went GD on me the other night and that was it. Now, he’s even ignoring me at work when I’ve tried to get his attention. So… Yeah. He went from practically crawling up my asshole to ghosting me.”
His scowl turns into a full-fledged frown, and he reaches for the burner.
I hold out my hand, snapping my fingers. “Give it. Now. I will not have you mediating this. In fact, you are under orders not to mediate this.”
He hesitates, staring at me.
I drop my voice into Dom tone. “Boy, you’d better give me that phone. Now. You’ll get it back once we’re home. You won’t have time for it, anyway.”
There’s a slightly sulky expression on his face. I’ll have to spank that out him later, but he passes me the phone.
I slip it into my pocket.
At least with the auto delete function in the app, I won’t be tempted to go back and read old messages between them.
* * * *
Wednesday, I start carrying around my personal cell, even to work, but Leo still hasn’t texted me back.
That lonely little message from Sunday night sits there, mocking me with its terseness.
YW. GD.
My instincts are usually pretty damn accurate. When I felt that dark jolt hit me when that message first arrived, I knew it wasn’t good.
By Thursday morning, I am pissed right the fuck off.
And I’m damn sure not going to embarrass myself any more than I already have by trying to get Leo to pay attention to me. Thursday afternoon, I need to confirm something on Elliot’s schedule—to make sure it’s not a conflict with the president’s schedule—by clearing it throug
h Leo. So instead of walking over there, I text him on his work phone from mine.
He responds in less than thirty seconds.
Motherfucker.
Okay. He can text Elliot all day, and his thumbs obviously aren’t broken, so what the actual fuck?
I fully understand that my anger is really pain and grief struggling to stay productive and focused on anything and anyone except targeting Elliot with it.
Because it’s not his fault Leo’s an asshole.
Who, oh yeah, is still quite capable of texting Elliot on the burner.
Like, what the hell?
I take the burner away from Elliot when we arrive home Thursday evening, drop him hard and deep into subspace, spank and angry fuck him into a happy, gooey blob, and we spend the rest of the night curled up in bed together watching TV and eating Chinese takeout that one of the detail ordered and picked up for us at my request.
My personal cell’s sitting on the nightstand, powered on and fully charged, but Leo still hasn’t broken his silence with me.
Fine.
Just shows me I was stupid to get my hopes up, anyway. My first instinct, as usual, was the correct one—to resign myself to the fact that Leo isn’t going to be in my life, just Elliot’s.
The First Family’s traveling to Camp David for the weekend, departing tomorrow once the kids are out of school for the day. They’ll pick them up and head straight there. Even Pecan’s making the trip.
I’m assuming Leo’s traveling with them, so that means no talk until next Monday, at the earliest.
Or maybe even half past never, at this rate.
Fucker.
That means I have zero expectations on Friday morning when we arrive at the office and I settle in to work. I’ve returned to the mindset that Elliot is my focus—my only focus.
Leo’s just a coworker I happen to have a past with.
Nothing more.
At least, that’s the lie I tell myself while my day collar practically burns a hole in my pocket against my thigh.
I give Elliot the burner phone. Fuck it, let him have it. We don’t have any events tonight, although we do have a stop at the campaign headquarters after we leave the White House. Then home, where we’ll both probably gorge ourselves on leftovers and fall asleep early in a food coma.
Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) Page 39