Power Term: A Secret Service Romantic Suspense Series (Power Play Book 5)

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  “Maybe to fit in with the other agents,” I offer. “Maybe that’s how he got close enough to trigger the explosion.”

  “A suit doesn't make an agent, Benson, you know that. If some random guy walked up in a suit, we would notice. We know our teams.” I wait for Tank to continue as he scrubs at the top of his sweaty bald head. “No, I think it’s deeper than that. Way fucking deeper.”

  “You think it was an actual agent.” Tank’s dark eyes meet mine. Suspicion and worry flash in his before he checks his phone, almost like he’s avoiding telling me something. “You have an idea of who it is, don’t you?” I take a menacing step closer to my best friend. “Tell me now, Davis. Tell me what the fuck you know.”

  “Stand down, Trey. You know who I suspect, because you’ve suspected the fucker since day one.”

  “Smith,” I growl. “Where is he?”

  Head shaking, he says, “I don’t know. I called and texted the entire alpha team, telling them to get their asses up here and help with the investigation. Every single agent has responded to me except one.”

  “I’ll fucking murder him,” I hiss through gritted teeth. At the sudden wave of new rage, I turn with a roar and slam a fist against an already dented-to-hell dumpster. The burst of pain overtakes the urgency to find and kill Smith. Chest heaving, I massage my split and bleeding knuckles. “I knew it. I fucking knew there was a reason not to trust him.”

  “Calm the hell down, you fool. We need to be smart about this.” Tank slaps the back of my head—hard. “If it is Smith, he can’t know we suspect him. We let him lead us to her, and then we act. First we have to find him.”

  I rake a hand through my sweat-damp hair. “If he’s not picking up, we need to start where it all began, where we first met him. She’ll have his home address and background information.”

  “The director. Great idea. Let’s go.” Rocks and broken shards of glass crunch under his shoes as he twists to face Champ. “You follow this alley and find where they loaded her into the escape vehicle. There’s no way in hell they’re keeping her close by.”

  Champ nods once to Tank, then to me before turning and methodically walking down the alley the way we were headed before I spotted the homeless man.

  Jogging in the opposite direction, I dodge boxes and dumpsters, all while running through the details we know over and over, hoping to make a connection that will aid in our search.

  A dull ring comes from my phone shoved in my back pocket. Not bothering to slow, I slide it from my jeans and check the screen.

  UNKNOWN

  Ice encrusts my veins. I slow until I’m standing as still as a statue, staring at the still ringing phone in my hand.

  “Who is it?” Tank asks, towering over my shoulder for a look. “That normal?”

  I shake my head.

  “Answer it. What if it’s someone who knows something?” He shoves my shoulder, urging me into action. “Or her?”

  At that, I immediately slide a finger across the screen and hold it to my ear.

  “Who is this?” I demand. My girl is missing and in danger. No time for damn pleasantries.

  “Vlad.” A bolt of shock wakes up every strained brain cell. “I heard about your president. Have you found her?” The concern in his voice is clear, easing the tight ball of tension that’s taken root in my chest. This is her friend, the Russian president, and he’s worried about her. At least we have him and his unrestricted access to data on our side.

  “No. We’re gathering evidence now and looking into a few leads.”

  “I have a suggestion.”

  “Suggestion?”

  “An inkling, if you will.”

  “We’re on our way to investigate a suspect. I don’t have time for this vague bullshit. Spit it out.”

  “Your secretary of state, he knows more than he tells.”

  “What?” Pulling the phone form my ear, I tap the Speaker button and hold the small device between me and Tank. “Why do you say Rosen?”

  “I said an inkling. And I do not trust him. He works for the higher bidder, not the best of your country.”

  Tank nods, his thumbs already flying over the screen of his own cell, no doubt looking into the exact location of Todd now.

  “We’ll look into him, but, Vlad, I need more. I need to know where to find her.” I clear my throat. “Can you help me?”

  “I heard nothing of this. No talk. I will search as you search.”

  The screen flashes before going dark, signaling the call was ended.

  “Todd Rosen,” I muse. “I don’t see it. The fucker is just a weak-ass idiot. But Vlad has never steered Randi wrong.”

  “Agreed. I have his location. He’s at home, forty minutes away. Let’s start with the director, then go see what Rosen knows.”

  Together we sprint down the alley, the pounding of our boots reverberating off the walls and sending the curious rats scattering.

  “I won’t make it if we don’t find her,” I admit, hoping the growing noise of the scene drowns out my fear.

  “You won’t have to find out, Trey. We’ll find her.”

  When we turn the corner, we fight through the crowd, working our way toward the other side of the sea of people to Tank’s SUV.

  “Let’s stop by my place,” I tell him. “I need to change, grab my badge and papers. Maybe grab a few more weapons too.”

  “And whatever Beth made for breakfast,” Tank adds in. “What?” His brow rises at my huff. “We have to eat to keep our energy up. We won’t be sleeping until she’s safe in the White House once again.”

  He’s right. I won’t sleep until she’s safe in my arms.

  And once she is, I’ll never fucking let her go.

  Chapter Four

  Randi

  Holy fuck, hell hurts. At least I assume I’m dead and in hell with the near suffocating dry heat. Dribbles of sweat slide along my spine and between my small boobs. And the hurting part, well, it feels like someone took a sledgehammer to my head a few hundred times. Its battering pulse feels like my brain might ooze out through my ears under the pressure.

  One thousand percent positive I ended up in hell.

  Cracking one eye open, ready to face the flicking flames and little red people with pointy tails, I peel the other eye open in disbelief.

  “The fuck?” I rasp, my throat so parched the words feel like broken slivers of glass. “I’m not dead.”

  “Your low IQ is rather astounding, Trailer.”

  “Or maybe this is hell and you’re Satan himself,” I huff, licking my dry lips to ease the sting of them splitting open. Another long line of sweat slips down my spine, the sensation alerting me to the fact that I’m not only sitting up but in a different area of the warehouse I was held in before—or a different location altogether. Zero windows line the upper walls; hell, there isn’t even an upper wall to speak of. In the middle of the low ceiling, a single cage-looking fixture houses a sole yellowed bulb, the only source of light.

  Small, windowless, and fucking hot as hell.

  My stomach rolls with unease. This new location is not a good sign for my life expectancy.

  In a smooth fluid motion, Shawn stands from the small chair he was perched on and leans a shoulder against the cinder block wall, dressed in a pair of light gray slacks and an untucked white dress shirt. It’s as casual as he gets, I guess. If I ever saw him in shorts and a T-shirt, I’d probably die of shock.

  I snort. Little did he know all he had to do was buy the entire Banana Republic summer section to kill me.

  “And what is funny about your situation, Trailer?” he asks, a small frown dipping his full lips.

  His question sobers me. “Nothing, but do you even own a pair of shorts? It’s a thousand degrees in here.”

  Disgust slips over his features. “And you’re the one leading this fucking country.”

  I attempt to shrug but can’t move my shoulders with the way my hands are tied behind me. Rotating one wrist and then the other, I det
ermine he’s used damn zip ties again. I try to test my feet but find their restraints too tight to move.

  I wiggle to sit up straighter in the metal chair, causing the hard plastic ties to slice into the delicate skin of both wrists. I wince.

  “What do you want, Shawn?” Between the pounding of my head and the pain in my wrists, coupled with the heat, I’m done playing games. Exhaustion has swept in, draining what little fight I had left and slowing my thoughts. “Just get it over with so I can move on and you can find a new person to torment.”

  “But it’s been so fun.”

  “Not the word I would choose.” I cough, though it’s more of a wheeze, shoving dry air up my already scratchy throat. “Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Peering up through my lashes, I find him studying me. Brows dipped, he seems to be considering my words.

  “Might as well,” he says, shoving off the wall and returning to his seat. “We can’t start until that sociopath gets here.”

  “Pot, kettle,” I huff.

  A small smile spreads up his thin lips. Ever so casually—not like he’s holding the president captive waiting for the right moment to kill her—he withdraws a white handkerchief from his pocket and blots his forehead.

  “From the start, this was about you. All of it. Making you realize you’re nothing in this town and don’t belong here. That VP spot should’ve been mine. Then the president’s seat when Birmingham died unexpectedly—”

  “He was your friend,” I snap. “You were plotting your friend’s death so you could do what… sit at the big desk?”

  “Power is a motivator it seems you haven’t the character or drive to appreciate. That’s what was mine. That’s what you took from me. For years I put up with that shithead Birmingham and his family, always staying a step back so they didn’t know I was a threat to their little dynasty.”

  “You’re sick,” I whisper.

  Fuck, I have to get out of here.

  Twisting my wrists again, I attempt to slide a hand through the tight noose, resulting in slashing my wrists even further. Warm, thick liquid slips into my curled hands, pooling in my palm.

  “It was a damn perfect plan until those dumbass advisors told him we couldn’t win the election without gaining sympathy votes. Fucking Americans, basing the future of this country on their damn hearts and social agendas rather than their heads. We were the best match for the ticket, not you and Birmingham.” Shawn’s face flushes a deeper red than it already was from the heat. “After you won, he had a plan to get rid of you, and I would step in after you were gone. I wanted to put a bullet through your head, but unfortunately, I was overruled.”

  “Ah, yes, unfortunately.” Each word burns in my throat, drying my already parched mouth and tongue further. “Was it you? Were you behind the attacks in Saudi Arabia and Egypt?” I have to know, even if I’m about to die and can’t do anything with the information.

  “You’re jumping ahead,” he snaps, like he’s relishing the retelling of his story.

  “You’re boring,” I huff back.

  Fuck me. Why can’t I keep my damn mouth shut?

  No instigating the sociopath into killing you sooner than later, Randi. There is no unicorn army on their way to save you.

  “The poisoning was highly entertaining.”

  “Fuck me, you’re still going.”

  “You think you’d appreciate me prolonging what’s to come by allowing me to divulge what was going on in the background.”

  “And what’s to come again?” I ask, trying and failing to arch my brows. Did I get hit in the face at some point, or is it just swelling due to the heat and whatever the hell they’ve given me?

  “Torture, drawing it out by making sure your fuckstick of a boyfriend knows what you’re going through, more torture, then you calling your VP and telling him you’re stepping down.”

  “Fuck. No.”

  “To what part there, Trailer?”

  “Um, all of it.” I shake my head, immediately regretting it as my brain seems to slosh with the movement. “You know, growing up the way I did, where I did, I met a lot of disturbed people in my childhood. But you take the fucking cake, Shawn. The whole damn cake. Meth addicts, drug dealers, slimy-ass men, and yet you… you’re the worst of them all. Parading around in your expensive suits and plastic face. You’re the picture-perfect person on the outside and fucking nasty on the inside. You can’t even consider for a second that I might be a better fit in this role and the VP’s because of my background. You never considered how I could help millions because of how I grew up and finally had a platform and position to do something about it all.”

  He scoffs. “Of course I didn’t. Because they don’t matter, just like you don’t. What you’ve failed to see this entire time your poor ass has been in DC is that no one matters but those with the money and power. I have the money. I just needed the power.”

  “Then thank the unicorn gods that I took it from you.”

  “What the hell did you say?”

  “Wait, are you referring to the unicorn comment or that I took it from you?” I swear steam comes from his ears and nose. Seems I’m not doing so great on heeding my own advice of not pissing off the killer in the room. Whoops. “Even through your constant attempts on my life, and whatever sicko plan you have for today, I’ll die knowing I protected the American people from you. I gave them three and a half years of someone actually caring about them and keeping them from your grasp.”

  Shawn scrubs at his chin, his dark eyes sliding over my restrained body. The full-body shiver that rakes down my spine causes me to tug on the stiff plastic around my wrist and ankles.

  “I didn’t realize your ignorance and stupidity would be this strong, keeping you from seeing the truth about your inconsequence.”

  “That’s what you don’t see. It hasn’t been about me. It’s never been about me. My whole damn life hasn’t been about me. That’s where your ignorance and stupidity are keeping you from seeing the truth.”

  His chair topples backward, crashing to the ground as he leaps from the seat. In two long strides, Shawn is in front of me, his hand pulled back with a look of pure rage on his face. Leaning as far left as I can, I attempt to shield myself from the brunt of the blow I know is coming.

  The impact of the backhand across my cheek sparks stars in my vision. Pain explodes at the twist of my neck as it snaps to the side. I scream as the half second of shock gives way to a new type of pain I’ve never felt before.

  Before I can even try to stop, what’s left in my stomach erupts from my mouth and splatters onto the cracked and chipped concrete floor. A shouted curse blasts through the small space as Shawn leaps backward to keep the spray from soiling his slacks.

  “You’re fucking pathetic.”

  “Feeling’s mutual,” I rasp before gathering what’s lingering in my mouth and spitting it in his direction.

  An icy calm mask slides over his features, concealing the inferno I know is boiling beneath with hate. Only someone as sinister as Shawn can be mentally plotting how to remove your organs as painfully as possible while sporting a pleasing yet blank face.

  “You will do as I say or your entire family will meet the same agonizing fate as you. Do you hear me, Trailer? At the end of this, you will call Pierce, and you will demand I take his spot as VP when he slides into the president spot after you step down. Then, only then, will the pain stop. Once you do that, I will leave you and everyone you love alone, forever. Give me what’s mine and I walk away.”

  My lips part but no sound comes out. I’m torn. Do what he asks and all this stops and I’ll never have to live in fear again. But do what he asks and put not only Sam at risk but the American people too. It would only be for half a year, six insignificant months. Or would it? No doubt Shawn has thought this through and has a plan for fixing himself into the next term too if I give in.

  Live or die.

  Live for my family, or die for millions I don’t know and half w
ho already hate me.

  “I’ll give you time to think it over. I have to go change.” With a smug grin, like he knows the turmoil his options have caused, he marches to a side door I hadn’t noticed and yanks it open, leaving without a single glance back.

  The moment the door clicks closed, I slump in the chair, my shoulders rounding as my chin drops to my chest.

  What in the hell am I supposed to do?

  Live or die.

  At least there’s a 50/50 chance of making the right choice.

  A loud noise somewhere nearby snaps me from the heat exhaustion state I slipped into after Shawn left. Jerking my head up, I blink to ease what feels like dirt coating my eyes and survey the still empty cell. The quick tug to both hands and feet signals I’m still restrained and what might be worse, I can’t really feel my fingers anymore.

  “If I lose my fingers, I’ll be pissed,” I hiss. Focusing on my fingers first, I urge them to wiggle, getting some blood flowing to them even though it hurts almost as bad as the bitch slap Shawn delivered earlier.

  Time has stood still since I woke in this enclosed room. There’s no way to tell how much time has passed without the sun as a somewhat guide. Hell, at this point it could’ve been days ago that I was abducted, but that doesn't feel right. No, days would be too long. I’m the president. There’s half an army out there looking for me, as well as my guys. And probably Sarah at this point.

  I smirk at the thought of what she’ll do to Shawn if she gets her hands on him. It will be a glorious sight to see him cower to her. Just the image of her kicking his pompous ass has my heart beating faster and a wide smile emerging.

  The fantasy vanishes at a squeaking creak as the only door swings open. I squint to ward off the bright sunlight that shines behind the man, dousing his face in a dark shadow preventing me from seeing his features. No, wait. I squint further. It’s not just the shadowing but something covering his face, everything but his eyes hidden behind a black wrap of some kind. It reminds me of the covering the man who broke into my suite in Saudi Arabia wore to keep his identity hidden.