“Good to know about Jessica and your mom. Hopefully we can get all this wrapped up before you have to commit to a date for the engagement party.” Those last two words are said with bitterness engulfing her tone. “And the cigarette, fine, that means I get to sneak one too. What else, Trouble?”
“Just tell me what you're looking for, Mess, and I'll tell you, but I honestly have no idea what you're wanting me to say.”
“T told me about your plan.”
“My plan to… what? Need to be more specific here. I have a lot of crazy plans that I toss out to him but never come to fruition.”
“About going back to that evil woman who birthed you and digging yourself deeper into her fucked-up plot to take over the world all to learn how Shawn is still getting to me.” Her tone is angry, and a dash of hurt bleeds through with each word.
I pull to a stop, tugging on her hand for her to pause too. With another sharp tug, I tuck her against my chest and rest my chin on top of her head. I love holding her like this. Feeling her small frame wrapped in mine. Protecting her from anything that would cause her harm. But doesn’t she see that's exactly what I'm trying to do with going back to Mother for answers? Everything is for her.
“Ah, that plan,” I try to joke as I take a deep inhale of her cherry-and-vanilla-scented hair.
“Yeah, that one,” she grumbles into my chest, tickling the skin beneath my Dryfit T-shirt.
I relax my hold enough to stroke two fingers up and down her spine. Staring off into the thick cluster of trees, I try to pretend everyone can't hear our conversation from their close proximity.
“You're right,” I admit. “I should've talked to you considering how badly the last agreement with her went.” I cringe at the reminder of what Mother pulled. I've always known she's a manipulating opportunist, but holding aggravated assault charges over your son’s head just for him to do your bidding is over the top. We still don't know how she knew about the altercation with that bastard in Boone, Texas, Randi's hometown, but she does, and she sure as hell jumped on the opportunity to use it to her advantage.
“If we're going to make this work, then we have to be honest with each other.”
I nod, my chin popping lightly against the crown of her head.
“I asked Vlad for information on her, your mother. And Jessica if he can find it.”
Shock halts any response I could've come up with. Wrapping my fingers around her slim shoulder, I push us apart an inch. Looking down, I wait until she focuses up on me.
“And you didn't think that was something we should discuss together?”
Now it's her turn to look confused.
“Mess.” I sigh. My fingers slide through the longer portion of my hair as I try to gather my thoughts. Damn, she's so innocent. “You know every favor comes with strings.”
The line between her brows deepens. “I’m already asking for help with obtaining the information on Kyle. What’s one more favor when so many are stacking up anyway?”
Reaching up, she grips my T-shirt and curls her fingers into tight fists.
“I'm done with you being the only one sacrificing bits of yourself, Trey Benson. What’s done is done—”
The vibrating of my phone in my pocket stops her from continuing. As soon as it stops, it starts back up again.
“Need to get that?”
I sigh, knowing full well who it’ll be. Reaching inside my shorts pocket, I slide the thin device out and hold the screen up so Randi can see.
Her eyes widen. “That's the fourth call you've missed.” Once again, the phone shakes in my hand as Jessica tries calling for a fifth time. “Answer it and put it on speakerphone.”
I groan but do it anyway. I glance across the small clearing to where Tank stands and send him a helpless look. My best friend just holds up his hands palms out and shakes his head, smiling.
Fucker.
I mouth just as much his way as I slide my thumb across the glass screen and hit the speakerphone button.
“What do you want, Jessica?” I say, letting the exhaustion from the last hour seep into my weary voice.
“Why didn't you pick up?”
I stifle a laugh at Randi's annoyed eye roll.
“Working.”
“Listen, you've been gone for a while. Why don't you just come home and we can work on the party plans—”
“I've got to go, Jessica.”
“Wait.” Her voice turns panicky. “I don't feel safe on my own anymore.”
Randi's questioning gaze flicks to me. I shake my head, letting her know I'm not buying the bullshit Jessica is selling.
“Jessica, we've talked about this. I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work.”
“I'm telling the truth,” she says on a sad whisper. “Why won't you protect me like you do her?”
Randi's upper lip tugs upward in a snarl. Somehow, I hold back my amused chuckle—barely.
“For lots of reasons. You know that, Jessica. Listen, you're the one who went behind my back to make this fake engagement part of the deal I had with my mother to stop the bill. Don't act like I'm the one to blame for this mess.”
Silence is her response for several seconds before she drops a bomb on me that leaves me stunned.
“I'm done being second, Trey. I've already cleared it with the management office and your mother. I'm moving in.”
With that, she hangs up.
I stare at the blank screen, a little too nervous to glance up and get a front row seat to Randi's reaction to this. Love her, but she's a tad crazy. Who knows what elaborate plan she's thinking through to get back at Jessica.
After a few moments, it becomes obvious that I'm avoiding the inevitable. Taking a deep breath in for strength, I stand tall and slide the phone back into the mesh pocket of my shorts.
The smile on Randi's face is the last thing I expect.
“Looks like T and Sarah just got themselves a new roomie,” she states, her words and tone leaving no room for discussion. The grumbled string of curses from across the clearing makes her laugh and glance over her shoulder. “Don't worry, it won't be for long. I have a feeling it won't take long for my little Russian friend to dig up usable dirt on Trouble's mom. We'll all be back to normal in no time.”
I groan and close my eyes, tipping my face to the bright sun.
Why do I get the feeling she's really, really wrong in that assessment?
22
Randi
June
Six long months.
Six.
Six months of waiting for a phone call from Vlad saying he has the information we need to corner Kyle.
Six months of waiting for Vlad to slide the incriminating evidence I need to get Jessica and Trey's mother out of our lives.
Six months of that little tart living in Trey's condo, acting like it's hers, and bringing it up whenever we happen to run into one another. Even though he’s not living there, it still stings every time it’s mentioned in passing.
Him living with T and Sarah lasted all of one week, three days, and part of one shift. Apparently they weren't discreet in their intimate times, and Trey is a spoiled man-child who expects someone to cook and clean for him.
To save their friendship, Trey moved out of their two-bedroom apartment. Since he was obviously not moving back into his condo with her and happens to have unlimited funds, he ponied up the cash for a small furnished efficiency close to my place. Jessica and his mother think he's still bunking with Tank. Not sure how he's pulling that off, but so far, he's skated under their radar.
Since that day we left Camp David, Sam has been true to his word. He talked the attorney general into believing there was no reason to continue the investigation, claiming there was no substantial evidence there and it should be tabled for the time being. He bought it and moved Sam to a different case. Of course, just because Sam isn't investigating for the DOJ’s case doesn’t mean he’s dropped it during his private time. He’s getting nowhere, which frustrates
him daily, but that's what you get when you’re forced to use your own resources. He calls at least twice a week asking if my illegal source has anything for us. And each week I have to tell him no.
I hate it.
I hate it for the American people, I hate it for me, for Sam, for everyone who knows that Kyle is getting away with… hell, borderline treason at this point. He's in too deep with whoever is running the show. Each meeting he appears more exhausted than the last. The dark heavy bags under his eyes, the deepening wrinkles. He's aging drastically from week to week. Already his previously thick black hair is grayer than ever before and appears to be thinning near the temples.
But there's nothing I can do but wait.
And wait.
Until today.
It started out like every other day since that afternoon in Hawaii, waking up and talking to Taeler before I even roll out of bed. With her using the summer to travel around Europe, I have to catch her at the same time every day so she's available and expecting my call. I'm slightly jealous of my daughter, if I'm honest with myself. She's having the time of her life visiting various countries with a new best friend she's made while abroad—and of course her security detail. It's taken some finagling to make sure the guys have clearance for each of the countries they enter, but the director over the secret service has been more than helpful at every hurdle.
Apparently she loves me, because one, I stand up for myself against these so-called men in this city, and two, I've helped calm Trey down from all his “shenanigan ways”—her words, not mine.
Back to this morning. Everything was normal until it wasn't.
One unexpected guest showed up bearing a sizable, stuffed-to-the-brim manila envelope. Seriously what's with the Russians and envelopes?
“Maybe the Dollar Store was running a sale?” I mumble to myself.
The stranger’s nearly black buzzed hair, thick black beard, and cold eyes were the first indication that Vlad had finally come through.
“Manila envelopes, makes you so hipster am I right?”
Nothing. When my joke about their abundance of manila envelopes falls flat, it confirmed my assumption.
Russian.
Without a word, or even a raised brow at my lame joke, he stretched the thick envelope out toward me only to be intercepted by Trey. Instead of getting bent out of shape, I just sighed and folded my hands in front of me, the perfect picture of patience.
“What’s in here?” Trey demands while taking a challenging step closer to the very tall man.
Geez, what do they feed those guys?
Our mystery man just arches a brow and looks down at Trey, remaining silent.
“You know what's in there. Stop causing trouble, Trouble.” I smirk at my words. “Go run whatever tests so we can look through it. We've waited long enough, and my patience is nearly spent when it comes to that idiot sitting in the Oval Office.”
Trey gives me an annoyed glance over his shoulder. Before I can think better of it, I stick my tongue out at him only to suddenly remember we're not alone. Tongue still stuck out, I peek at the stoic man. My apprehension slides away to relief at the small twitch of his lips at my expense.
“Thank you,” I say, straightening my blouse and smoothing my hands down my cropped black slacks. “Any insight or warnings, or should we just wing it as we go through the papers?”
“Everything inside.”
Right. A man of many words.
With a dip of his head, he turns on his black boot-looking shoes and strides out the door T yanks open for him. A hot breeze blasts through the opened door, warming the air-conditioned entryway before T can slam it shut.
Trey holds the envelope up to the light, squinting at it like he might’ve somehow developed X-ray vision in the last few minutes.
“Give me that.” T grunts and yanks the envelope out of Trey's hand. Seems I’m not the only one who’s out of patience.
“We can't let anyone outside of us know what's in there, T,” I say, stepping up beside the two men. “I say we toss caution and protocol to the wind and open it. Fingers crossed for no dying.”
Two sets of accusing scowls land on me.
“You know I'm right,” I grumble. The way T's tight, fierce expression falters slightly confirms my claim. “It is what it is. We know Vlad and know he wouldn’t do anything to harm me or our budding relationship. Come on, you two, let's do this in the office.”
Now here I sit shocked beyond belief, staring at information anyone in this city would kill to obtain. Hundreds of pictures, several audio files with transcripts, and thousands of incriminating emails. It's been almost an hour since the information was dropped in our laps, and even with the three of us reviewing each document, we're only halfway through. But it’s already enough to make Kyle step down.
Which should make me beyond ecstatic, right? This is what I’ve been waiting for, what I’ve worked toward for many, many months. But now that it’s here, and the evidence is literally in my hands, my emotions are the complete opposite of happy.
I'm fucking terrified. As in my knees are knocking under the massive desk I'm cowering behind at the moment. Palms-sweating, heart-racing, gut-churning fear.
“This is so bad,” I whisper, my rising terror and horror cracking my hushed voice. “Guys….”
Maybe if I run right now. Maybe if I hide under the desk, take the way of the ostrich, I can avoid what's coming my way. Not the best solution to this problem, but it’s way better than the alternative—me compiling the information into a more organized and concise format, marching over to the White House, and giving Kyle the option of stepping down on his own or me going through with the true impeachment.
Either option leaves me as president.
President of the United States of America.
Holy fuckballs.
I press the heel of my hand to my sternum in an attempt to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. Up and down my hand falls with each rapid breath.
“I can't do this,” I state to myself, but the way the two men's heads snap to attention, focus going from the papers in their hands to me, tells me they heard it. “I'm not fit to be the president. Hell, I'm not fit to be the vice president.” My voice shakes, giving away my rising panic. “I put my underwear on backward this morning. Backward,” I shout to no one in particular. “And didn't realize it until way later. Yesterday, I thought someone was talking about a certain type of coffee, but nope, they were referring to a country. I thought a country was a fucking brew they serve at Starbucks. I can't do this.”
Not waiting for a reply to my very random rant, even for me, I push off the desk, my sweaty palms sliding forward on the shiny surface as I stand. Before I can take a single step, T moves to one side of the desk and Trey to the other, officially blocking me in. Feeling like a cornered wild animal, I crane my neck behind me, searching for another exit.
There isn't one.
“Randi, you've known the whole time this would be the result.”
Fuck T and his solid reasoning. I don't want reasoning. I want to leave and never look back. Maybe Switzerland will let me stay for a bit.
“Mess, calm down. Take a deep breath—”
I point a ragged nail at Trey's chest. “I know I'm freaking out, okay? Stop it with the reasoning and deep-breathing calming treatments. Just let me freak the fuck out for a second!” The soft leather of the chair molds under my tightening fingers as I lean forward, gripping the top while the other hand rubs circles along my breastbone. “It's not you two who will be asked to lead a country. To lead the most powerful country in the world. It's me. Not saying Kyle is any better, but do you two really think I should have the authority to nuke a country?” I arch a brow at them. Shaking my head, I close my eyes and tilt my face to the ceiling. “Tell me there's another option.”
Silence meets my question, confirming what I already knew.
“Mess, look at me.” A hand wraps around mine, tugging it around a lean waist. The comforting h
eat and the faint spicy and citrus scent wrap around my frazzled mind, soothing the panic. Forcing my lids open, I tilt my head back to find his worried gaze scanning my face. “I know you're scared. But you can do this. You see what Birmingham has brought on our country in just a year and a half in the role. Imagine what will happen over the next two and a half. I'm not saying it’ll be easy, but you can do it. And we'll be there with you every step of the way.”
“He's right, Randi,” T says somewhere behind me, tightness in his words proving his worry for me, or hell, maybe America. “We won't leave your side. I don't know shit about running the country either, but we'll figure it out.”
“I'm a nobody, remember?” Needing to steal a bit of Trey's strength, I wrap the other arm around his waist and squeeze. “Why in the hell would anyone follow me? Other leaders will know I'm just a poor man's excuse for a president.”
“You listen to me, Randi Sawyer. You're no poor man's anything. You think money makes a person more capable of running this country? Just look at Kyle, at my parents, at this whole city. They're selfish pricks who only focus on one thing—themselves. You're a better fit for this role than anyone I know because for the first time in a very, very long time, the American people will have someone who’s looking out for them. Who knows their struggles and actually cares. Don't you ever think you're less than these fucking pricks again.”
A part of me wants to believe him, but the realistic side knows he's just saying it because he has to. Like he'd tell his girlfriend that she's in over her head.
The comforting strokes up and down my spine relax me further.
“We'll get through this together, Mess.”
“What's this?”
The rough starched material of Trey's dress shirt slides along my cheek as I shift to see what T is referring to. Brows furrowed, he stares at a small flash drive between two of his massive fingers. Flicking it this way and that, he inspects every inch before looking to Trey.
“It looks different than the others that held the pictures and voice recordings.”
Power Switch: Power Play Series Book 3 Page 22