“Correct, resolving the unrest those bastards are stirring up is priority, keeping this from escalating further than it already has. Todd and my visits over the past few weeks have done minimal damage control, but we need more. We’ve let the other countries who’ve sustained smaller attacks know we're willing to assist in searching for the ones responsible while keeping it vague. We need to identify and locate them and hold them accountable.”
“And the one lead we had, the one person who knew all the players, is dead.” I gnaw on the red acrylic tip of my pinkie finger. “Speaking of Kyle, any news on that front?”
“What do you mean?” He undoes the two buttons of his suit jacket before reclining on the stiff couch, stretching his arms along the back. “The traitorous bastard did us a favor, even if it did leave a gaping hole in the investigation.”
“That's just it,” I muse. The chair swivels as I dig a stiletto heel into the carpet, twisting left, then right and back again. “It all seems convenient, doesn’t it? He demands a plea deal to keep him out of federal prison, offering the names of those he knew were involved on a silver platter. Then he ends up dead? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You've been watching too many crime shows, Madam President.” I whirl the chair around and stick my tongue out at his smiling face. “Birmingham simply realized no matter what information he gave the attorney general, he would see jail time.”
“I just think it’s fishy is all. And not like him. He was an arrogant son of a bitch, narcissistic at times. Hanging himself like that… hell, having the balls to do that….” I swivel the chair an inch right, then left as I process what I want to say. “I think someone else did it to shut him up.”
Sam's bright green eyes light with humor. “Oh really? And you think someone just snuck onto his estate while he was under federal house arrest and hanged him? All without leaving a trace of evidence behind? Come on, Randi, look at the evidence. It's clear he took the easy way out. There weren’t any defensive wounds, no sign of someone else being in that room the night it happened.”
Again my attention finds its way to the closed door that leads to the admin area. Something on the other side calls to me, urging me to swing it open and see what's waiting.
“They're the ones who called me.” He inclines his head toward the door I can’t drag my attention away from. “I would like to add that I was already on my way over.”
“Who?”
Giving in to the temptation, I grip the armrests and push myself out of the chair. My heels dig into the carpet as I stride to the door and pull it open. The clacking of keys, low murmuring voices, and high-pitched ringing of desk phones greet me. My secretary stands, hands fumbling at her side. With a forced tight-lip smile, I search the room, stopping when I find Trey and T lingering on the opposite side. Careful to keep my excitement and relief hidden, I motion for them to join me in the Oval Office.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach at the smirk Trey shoots my way as I stride across the small office. Yes, I have a potential war to resolve, but I can't help the giddy feeling of seeing him here. He came. Even after this morning, with the turmoil between us, Trey came.
For me.
“Feels like old times, meeting like this,” Trey says the moment the door shuts behind T. His honey eyes search mine, uncertainty pouring through them. I offer a hesitant smile, letting him know we’re good—for now. “I’m sure you’re aware, but those assholes who just left were visibly pissed about whatever happened in here. And that secretary of state of yours looked about to pee his cheap-ass slacks.”
An obnoxious snort escapes me. I slap a hand over my nose and mouth to make sure another doesn’t sneak out. The mischievous twinkle and smirk Trey sports as he crosses the room tells me my laugh was what he was striving for.
With a groan, I stretch both arms out wide before interlacing two fingers above my head, attempting to ease the ache building in my shoulders. “Yeah, they want military action and I said no. Which you’re both aware of the why behind that decision.”
“Yes and no. It's been several weeks since we've all been a part of detailed discussions,” T interrupts. “Catch us up.”
A grimace curls my lips as I slide one throbbing foot from its high heel jail, the other following immediately after. The soft carpet brushes the tips of my toes as I curl them, relishing in the freedom from captivity.
“Right, of course, T. I guess it has been awhile. As you both know, the money from Kyle’s drilling and oil scheme was being deposited into offshore accounts, then funneled to other groups and banks around the world. We don't know who that money was going to, but we do know the why. The money Kyle made by drilling on federal land is now funding—” I catch Sam’s arched brow. “Sorry, funded. The money funded several small insurgent groups of sorts, which are now wreaking havoc across the Middle East, making each country look to their neighboring enemies to blame. The best Sam and I can gather is their main goal is to stir shit up. Today's attack wasn’t the first, but it is at this scale. My military advisors want to move straight into military action, sending in troops to squash the threat.”
“Sounds like a solid plan,” T says as he sits on the rounded armrest of the couch opposite of Sam. “Guessing you don't like that plan or you have another in mind.”
I shake my head, my loose dark locks falling forward over both shoulders. I twirl a section between my fingers. “No, I don't like the military angle, and I don’t have another plan. None of my military advisors know what you know, and I don't want them to. If word gets out on what the US has inadvertently started, all hell will break loose. I will not let our country be blamed and attacked because of Kyle's actions. No, I will work with the leaders over in the Middle East to settle tempers a bit, at least give the CIA some time to work their magic. Once we have the names of the men running it all, we can stop all this at the source. Sending in the military will be a Band-Aid, not taking care of the actual problem.”
“You’re saying you want to talk to them,” Trey says, both brows raised in question. “I get you don't want to involve the military at this point in the game, but do you think talking to them will actually resolve anything?”
“They'll think you're weak.” I shoot T a glare, and he shrugs. “I'm just voicing what we heard when those men left the Oval Office earlier. And they're right, Randi. Are you prepared for the world to see you as soft? They already assume you’re not fit for the role because you won’t make the hard choices. Now you’re wanting to decline military action to help out an ally and instead just talk it out?”
I soak in his question, debating the right response. He’s right, but so am I.
“Of course I don't want to appear weak. They already think that because I’m a woman. Asshats. But I also won’t approve of our first steps being troops on the ground. This, my plan, is the right first step. I asked Todd to get a call scheduled between me and the king of Saudi Arabia. Then we go from there. I'll have the CIA identify the main players in this shit show, we'll take them out when they do, and then we're good to go. Easy.”
At least that's what I’m telling myself. This would be so much easier with unicorn assassins as an option.
“And what are you going to tell the king exactly?” Sam cuts in. “You know he’ll ask for military action. Hell, he already has, and now the media has caught wind of it. If you don’t offer aid or show him you’re serious about finding out what the hell is going on over there, then he’ll question your loyalty.”
I stare unfocused at Sam, processing his words. “You’re right. He needs to see that I’m taking the attack on their soil seriously.” Fingernail between my teeth, I pace from one end of the desk to the other. “I’ll go,” I blurt. A collective breath reverberates through the room as the three men ready themselves to insistently disagree. “No, wait, hear me out. I don't have it all figured out just yet, but I will. I'm thinking if I can go over there, show the king I'm serious about our support, I can convince him to wait on a direct respo
nse against those he believes are responsible. We can settle this with minimum bloodshed by me meeting with him face-to-face.”
“Why not ask Vlad?” Trey asks.
“Can't believe you're friends with the Russian president,” Sam grumbles. “Todd mentioned it to me, by the way. He wondered if I knew.”
I furrow my brows. “What in the hell is Todd up to with the Russian angle? And what can I say? Vlad is a nice guy. Terrible fashion sense, but he comes through when I need him.” Trey fights a smile, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “But even he couldn't get the names we need.”
“What if we can't find who's funding them?” Sam asks, lost in deep thought as he stares at the imitation fruit piled in an ornate bowl on top of the coffee table.
“Funded, remember? And we will. One way or another, we will.” Dipping my chin, I take a deep breath. “This situation isn't ideal, but if we don't do anything, then those countries will turn on each other thinking the other is responsible for the attacks, and then we’ll be pulled into it to help our allies. If we tell them what's going on, then we risk their vengeance for inadvertently funding a terrorist cell that's currently attacking them. Anyone else have a better idea?”
At their silence, I nod. Standing tall, I fix my dress shirt, tucking it back into my black slacks.
“So there we have it. I'll reach out to the director of the CIA and get him up to speed. Then I'll talk to the Saudi king, telling him to not retaliate but defend himself until we can figure out what's going on.”
“And when we do? When we find these bastards, what's next?” T asks.
“We take them out. I think the SEALs are speed dial four.” I attempt a nonchalant smile, but it falls flat. “The bigger threat is the men moving the money around, forcing us into a war all for their monetary reasons. This is a solid-ish plan. I like it.” Their shared look tells me they don't think it's as solid as I think it is. “I'll try to calm the king down, and any other surrounding countries if I have to, all while the CIA finds out who's behind all this and then we take them out. Problems solved, and I'll have officially granted every Miss America contestant’s wish for world peace.” I raise both hands, sporting peace signs for emphasis.
I’m officially a lost cause. Let’s just hope I can refrain from doing anything stupid with my hands when I meet the king.
“Just one small hurdle in all this,” Trey says, his tone low and serious.
“I see no holes,” I state, completely bluffing. This plan is like crumbling swiss cheese.
“There is no way in hell we will let you enter a country that is currently under attack.”
I shoot a side-eye glare at Trey. “Doesn't everyone have to do what I say? Isn’t that perk number one of being president?”
“You're not the queen,” Sam interjects, humor lacing his tone as he watches Trey and me. “But yeah, you have—”
“Let me rephrase that, then. I won’t let you step foot in a country that is being fucking bombed.”
My jaw pops open, my mouth gaping at Trey in astonishment. I should be furious at him not “letting me,” but the bolt of fiery desire that shot to my core at his authoritative tone and words keeps the anger at bay.
“Excuse me?” I breathe.
“Tank, Pierce, give us a minute.” Trey's hard stare never leaves mine. “I need a moment alone with the president.”
The room shrinks even more as the other two file out, shutting the door behind them. My fingers tighten along the edge of the desk at the building anticipation. Each step is calculated as Trey stalks from where he leaned against the far wall to where I rest on the edge of the desk. He doesn't pause until we're toe to toe. My back bows as I’m forced to lean back to see his face when he places both hands on my hips and dips closer.
“I'm fucking done with you making decisions on your own that risk your life. You hear me, Mess? I don't care what your title is or who you've sworn to protect and uphold above yourself. You're mine, and I'm hell-bent on protecting you from yourself from now on.”
Chapter Ten
Randi
“I should be pissed at your sexist claiming, but—” I don’t stop my visible shiver. “—I'm too fucking turned on by it to be mad.”
Then it happens. The flicker of confidence mixed with the cocky, caring asshole who’s been missing for weeks lights behind his eyes. The fine lines at the corners spider outward with his signature smirk.
“Something happened,” I say in awe as I place a hand against his cheek. “Something good.”
“Yeah, something happened. I'm figuring things out, slowly.” Leaning close, he brushes his slick lips along the shell of my ear. My lids flutter closed. I press both thighs tightly together to relieve the painful throb building at the apex. “And you forget how well I know your kinks, Mess. You’ve always loved when I take control in the bedroom. I'm not shocked my demand made you wet for me. It did, didn’t it, baby? Tell me. Tell me how you’ll be a good girl and listen to me.”
With a sexually frustrated groan, I pitch forward, pressing my forehead against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. Forcing each breath in and out of my nose, I attempt to slow my heavy breaths.
“What do you expect me to do?” I ask, trying to get this conversation back on track before I give in to the urge to lean back on the desk and beg him to take me right here in the Oval Office. “Sam's tried to settle the leaders. Then there’s the fact that they hate my secretary of state—”
“Because he's fucking weak and a conniving fool who’s trying desperately to prove his worth right now and failing miserably.”
“Wow, tell me how you really feel,” I say with a grin tugging on my lips. “But that leaves me to work my magic, to see what I can accomplish by meeting with the leaders over there while the CIA finds out who's behind all this.”
Every nerve ending flashes red hot as two of his fingers trail up the inside of both thighs. Even with the thin fabric of my slacks blocking his touch from brushing bare skin, tingles erupt in their wake.
“I understand that, Mess. I'm not demanding you step away from the responsibilities of this role. What I'm telling you is you're done making rash decisions that you think impact only you. Stop committing to trips or plans without consulting the security team, without talking to me first. You've preached that we need honesty and open communication to make this work. That's all I'm demanding in return.”
“Demanding,” I whisper. My lids flutter closed as those fingers stroke along the center seam of my pants, pressing right against my core. “I really like your demanding.”
A soft chuckle brushes along the sensitive skin of my neck. “It's not just your life on the line anymore. Mine is tied to yours from now until the end of me. If something happens to you, then they might as well dig two holes in the ground because I'll be right beside you.”
“That's drastic.” My voice trembles at the gravity of his statement.
“That's love.”
Filling my lungs with a full breath, I lean back to gaze up at his handsome face once again. Dark hair brushes against the naturally tan skin of his forehead. His strong jaw is lightly dusted with facial hair, indicating he wasn’t on duty today or it would be as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Long dark lashes flutter as he watches me taking him in almost like it’s the first time.
And it kind of feels like it is. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten this side of Trey, my Trey, all to myself. My heart swells with the flood of love I have for this man.
“I’ve missed this Trey.” I bite back my nervous grin.
“Me too,” he admits with his own look of uncertainty. “I won’t lie to you and say everything is solid. I'm not 100 percent, but I will be. Thanks to you, thanks to Tank and his crazy wife.”
I snort. “You got to see Sarah? I’m jealous. I miss that woman.”
“And I miss your tasty pussy.”
Before his words register, he drops to a crouch, putting his face eye level with the apex of my thighs where I sit perch
ed on the desk. He pushes a hand against the inside of each knee, spreading my legs wide enough for his shoulders to wiggle between. My stomach clenches, my breaths quick pants. Eyes wide, I dart my focus from the closed door to his face as he presses close. Those dark lashes flutter as the tip of his nose brushes along the same path his fingers trekked moments before.
A desire-laced groan rumbles through the office as he inhales deeply. “I'm fucking starving for you, baby. Say yes. Let me eat my fill of you.”
“Not here. I can’t,” I plead, even though every inch of my panting soul wants to ignore the world-changing concerns that linger just outside those doors, waiting to weigh me down again, and let him do whatever the hell he wants with my more-than-willing body.
“Why not?” he says, his voice muffled from his lips pressed against my damp slacks.
I swallow back the yelp that snaps from my throat at the feel of his teeth nipping and tugging at the fabric covering my core.
“Um….” Wait. Was there a reason I said no? There's a good reason, right? I feel like there's a big legit reason why he shouldn't, but I can't think straight with his face between my legs.
“See, it's a great idea.” My eyes pop open wide at the sudden release of my snug waistband. Trey's light eyes twinkle with amusement as his deft fingers tug the zipper down. “Come here.” Gripping the front of my slacks and a fistful of panties, he tugs me to a standing position. Not breaking eye contact, he guides me toward the bank of windows and urges me forward. I stumble as he whips me around, putting my back to his chest. “Palms on the window, baby.”
“There are people out there.” My voice is weak, the words barely a rasp with the need constricting my lungs and throat.
Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4 Page 11