“Madam President.” His thick voice sends a bolt of excitement and dread through my system. “I have need of your assistance.”
“My assistance.” Two looming shadows appear over my shoulder. “Care to be a little more detailed?”
“No.”
“Right.” I press the pad of my index finger against my right temple to soothe the low throb this night has already caused. “Okay, what do you need my help with?”
At this, Trey and T both shift, resting their asses on the table to face me. Trey shakes his head, his face pinched with concern, while T pitches forward, listening to my every word.
“Not on the phone. This needs to be handled in person. You come to Russia. It will be fun.”
“Russia?” I scoff. “You want me to pick up and fly to Russia to help you with some mysterious issue?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Madam President, you owe me a favor, and I am calling that in now. I need you in Moscow as soon as possible. It is a matter of life and death.”
The top of my head burns with the scalding stares from both men. They wave their hands in front of my face, grip my chin, anything to get me to look up.
I’ve promised Trey I wouldn’t make any rash decisions, not when it put my life in the crosshairs and others’ too, but this is different. This is Vlad, and he’s right, I do owe him a favor. When I asked him to look into Trey’s family, I sealed myself to this agreement between us. And now it’s time to pay up.
“Okay.” The two men shout curses as they leap off the table to pace the room. “Moscow. It’ll be hard as hell convincing everyone that this trip needs to happen, but I do owe you.” I dare a peek through my lashes and immediately regret it. Trey’s fury-laced glare might burn me alive right here in this dining room chair. “I’ll let you know when to expect me.”
“Thank you. And Randi?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget your coat.”
“Coat?” I grumble as I bury my face deeper into the thick scarf tucked into the collar of my navy peacoat. “Fucking Vlad. I need a damn parka.”
“That’s your penance for agreeing to this trip before consulting with us,” Trey says out of the corner of his mouth as we continue toward Vlad’s home—or should I say estate—in Moscow. Surrounded by agents, our strides mirror the others to not cause another to stumble. It was difficult to keep the cadence at first, but now after so many outings being engulfed in an agent cocoon, I’ve finally gotten it down.
The agent in front of me grunts as the sharp point of my pump stabs into his Achilles’ heel.
Okay, maybe I’m still working on it.
The ten-foot double doors swing open in greeting as we approach. Several armed men pour out of them. Trey, T, and the other guys tense at the sudden swarm, the show of force. The agents stop short. My nose nails the back of Agent Smith at the sudden halt.
Tensions rise as my agents and half of the Russian military standoff, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
A voice I recognize bellows in Russian from inside the estate. A corner of my lips tugs upward as Vlad appears, still shouting, no doubt chastising these men for the rude welcome.
“Madam President,” he states at the top of the stairs, looking down to where we stand two steps below. “Come, we have much to discuss.”
The end of my red nail digs into Smith’s back, urging him into action. But his feet stay planted. Hell, his upper body doesn’t even shift with my insistent single finger shove.
“I think your welcoming party made my team a little anxious,” I shout over Smith’s shoulder. A low grumble resounds from my right, but I ignore Trey’s obvious displeasure. “Care to call them back so maybe we can have that discussion inside where it’s hopefully warmer?”
“Warmer?” Vlad laughs. “It is a beautiful day.”
The cold gray October skies and whipping wind beg to differ, but to each their own, I guess.
With a sigh, Vlad turns, putting his back to us to face his men. With a few sharp words, the men fall back inside the house without a single glance back.
A collective breath releases from the agents surrounding me. Smith’s shoulders drop three inches, but his hands twitch at his side like he’s a hairbreadth away from drawing his gun.
“Okay, guys, let’s get inside before I freeze to death.”
This time Smith advances with my less than gentle shove.
At the top of the stairs, Vlad greets me with a kiss to each cheek.
“So I’m here. What’s the favor?” I’ll be honest, my curiosity hasn’t stopped since we hung up last week. “I’ll go ahead and put this out there: no, you cannot borrow a submarine or a carrier. I know we’re friends, but we’re not at that level yet.”
Vlad smiles, deep crescent-shaped lines forming around his spread lips. “And what level of friends are we, Madam President?”
“The kind where I don’t shoot you, you don’t shoot me, and we occasionally do supersecret favors for the other.”
“I like this friendship,” he says, gesturing inside the opulent home. “Come, we will talk inside.”
“Me too, Vlad. Me too. I have to say it is strange that the one politician I feel like I can trust is the Russian president. What does that say about the men and women I’m surrounded by every day in DC?”
“You should off them.” The words are monotone, his features relaxed.
I stumble. “That’s mass murder.”
Bushy dark brows furrow. We’re halfway through the entryway when he laughs. “Wrong English word. Not off as in kill, off as in fire.”
“Whew, I was beginning to wonder if my best politician friend was a bit crazy.” I take in his profile. “You’re not, right?”
A chandelier hangs above our heads, its circumference nearly three of me, the setting sun’s final rays glinting and glittering off its crystals. The wallpaper covering the walls looks dated and exactly the unique style I expected here. Thick, dark wooden planks cover the floor from room to room.
Vlad leads us into a sizeable room with couches in evergreen fabric and deep leather chairs scattered throughout. Beside each of the ten windows lining the back wall, men and women stand, ARs strapped to their chests and their weighted stares all on my agents.
Vlad helps me into a chair, the leather groaning as I slide back and shift to get comfortable. He settles into the chair opposite of me, resting an ankle across his other knee. A woman enters, her uniform a pair of loose dark pants and matching black button-up dress shirt, and pauses beside our host.
“Drink?”
“Got any whiskey?” I ask, kind of as a joke yet hoping they have some Jack stashed around here somewhere. The increasing nerves fluttering in my belly tell me I might need a whole bottle by the time we’re done here in Russia.
He nods and shifts to speak softly to the woman.
“You’re in so much trouble.” Trey’s warm breath and harsh tone send a shiver down my spine.
“Oh?” I say more of a gasp than a word.
“Stick to the damn security plan, Randi. We’re here to keep you safe.”
I turn, resting my chin on my shoulder and putting us nose to nose. The world stills as we battle an unspoken war. Yes, I get what he’s saying, but at the same time, I can’t live a life where every move is planned out, every interaction on a schedule. That’s not me, and it never will be me.
Minty breath brushes along my warming cheeks. I lick my lower lips before sliding the tip of my tongue along the edge of the upper. Brows creeping up his forehead, Trey tracks the movement. The shuffle of feet drags his gaze away. Ever so slowly, he stands and adjusts his suit jacket.
Smooth, expensive fabric rubs beneath my sweaty palms as I swipe them up and down each thigh. I’m about to follow through on an owed favor to a Russian. That’s where my head should be, not on my hot-as-hell boyfriend who I can’t even look at without my breath catching.
Focus, Randi, focus.
; Think with your head, not your heart.
Okay, fine, I shouldn’t think with my demanding lady bits. What can I say? Any time Trey’s around, they shift into overdrive, making every thought and action revolve around us naked.
No. Stop it. Bad Randi.
Russian. Favor. President to president.
Our drinks arrive on a silver tray, the woman bending at the waist to put it at eye level. I grab the tumbler she indicates and slowly bring it down to rest on my knee. After Vlad has his glass engulfed in one meaty hand, he lifts it across the small distance between us. The clink of the thick crystal tumblers resounds in my chest at the weight of this moment.
I huff a laugh, my breath pushing against the ice and dark liquor as I take a short sip.
“What?” Vlad asks, relaxing back.
“Who knew, right?” The cold glass rolls between my palms, centering me somehow. “Where we came from to this. So much has changed in the few years I’ve been in politics.” The ice clinks against the edge as I raise the glass to my lips once again. “And now I’m here. I’ve seen the world since Kyle and I won, and now I’m here having drinks with the Russian president—”
“Your friend, remember?”
I smile, balancing the glass on the worn leather armrest. “Now I’m here having drinks with my friend the Russian president. It’s surreal, you know. Did you ever expect this life?” I wave my free hand around the room. “Did you ever even dream of something like this?”
“Of the position or wealth?”
“Both. Or… I don’t know, did you ever dream you’d be someone who could have so much impact? That you would one day be the savior to some and Satan to others?”
The clear liquid in his tumbler swishes around the edges as he twirls the glass hanging between two fingers. Vlad drums his fingers along the other armrest, gazing at the unlit floor-to-ceiling fireplace.
“No, never expected it, but I could not deny the want to be the change one day. You and I are unique in the way we were not taught to fight for more, to fight for someone other than ourselves, yet we did. We do every day. That spark was in us from the beginning and grew with our daily challenges. So maybe I did know I would have impact, because for me, there was not another option.”
A beat of silence settles around the room.
Exhaling a deep breath, I raise my glass to my friend. “That was fucking deep.”
Vlad grins. “Thank you.”
“Now, what’s this favor?”
That earlier grin dies and his features harden, not with anger but with almost sadness. Moving to the edge of his seat, he dangles the tumbler between his spread knees. The room expands with anticipation as he inhales deeply and shoots the remaining liquid before resting the glass on a side table.
“It is my girlfriend.”
I gasp. “Is she missing? You need the CIA to look into it?”
“No.” He scoffs. “Your CIA is nothing compared to what I have access to. She’s—”
“Did you kill her?”
“Do not be ridiculous.”
“Does she know she’s your girlfriend?” I say with a cringe. Shit, I hope he doesn’t shoot me.
“Yes, but that is where the trouble is.”
“Vlad—”
“She will not talk to me. Very angry.”
My jaw slacks, leaving me gaping at the clearly distraught man sitting beside me. Heartache is painted across his harsh features. Eyes still wide, I lean between us and rest my nearly full tumbler in his open palm.
He sends a weary smile my way before downing the contents.
“Vlad… friend Vlad. Please, please tell me you didn’t ask me to fly around the globe for us to discuss your relationship problems.”
A knowing grin bunches his cheeks. “Is that not what friends for?”
Chapter Eighteen
Randi
Side by side, we march down a long hall, the walls decorated with ornate picture frames filled with pictures of stoic, cold men frozen in time. I arch a questioning brow at the suit of armor we pass.
“It came with the house,” he says with a laugh.
“I know how that goes.” We take a right, then a left, and go down a set of stairs, seeming to move deeper and deeper into the massive house. “Vlad, I have to tell you, friend. If you’ve locked her in the dungeon, there’s nothing I can do or say that will fix your issues.”
“Not in the dungeon.” His shoulders rise with a cringe.
“Vlad… where do you have her locked?” Trey chuckles beside me, knowing full well I’m at my limit for patience. “You do understand that if she’s held against her will, I will help her escape and then kick your ass.” I take in the bulging man beside me and rethink that statement. “Okay, maybe I’ll have someone else beat you up. But the ass kicking will happen—”
“She is in our room. Not locked or held or bound. I am very concerned at the lack of humanity you think I possess.”
“Eh, well, your predecessors didn’t have much, so I just go based on history.”
“I could say the same, Madam President.”
I nod in concession. “Okay, so what started the fight?”
“I told her she could not leave the estate grounds,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Right, so you’re holding her against her will?” I question, making sure he understands what he’s saying. “Didn’t you just deny holding her against her will ten seconds ago?”
“It is for her own good. There are threats—”
Lips pursed to hold back a smile, I peer over my shoulder to Trey. “This sounds oddly familiar, doesn’t it, Agent Benson?”
“I cannot see her hurt,” Vlad continues, ignoring my side conversation with Trey.
“Yep, you and I’ve had this conversation before, I’m sure of it.” Trey shakes his head, keeping his intense focus forward.
“She will not listen,” Vlad says on a sigh.
“That does sound oddly familiar,” Trey whispers out of the side of his mouth.
“This is why I called you. You know. You two know.” Vlad gestures between Trey and me. I gape at his swinging finger. “What, you think I did not notice in Hawaii? To stay alive in my role, you have to know all, see all, and observe all. Please talk to her, let her know I only mean to keep her safe.”
We pause in front of a twelve-foot-tall dark wood door. Vlad rests his hand on the round brass knob and shoots a pleading—well, as pleading as a Russian can look—glance at me.
Groaning in frustration, I tip my chin to the ceiling and close my eyes.
“Fine. I’ll talk with her, but just know it might not turn out the way you’re hoping.”
The happy couple—thanks to me and my power of persuasion—laughs as they clink their glasses together in cheers. I gaze longingly at the empty chair beside me. The chair that would be occupied if my boyfriend weren’t on duty.
A glow seems to surround the two at the head of the table, somehow making this cold room warm with the love they clearly have for one another. I’ll go to my grave saying I was the catalyst for them to solve their issues, but really it was all them. I just helped start the conversation that needed to be had.
Having a few years of experience and practice under my belt because of the past fights Trey and I have had helped me speed the resolution along. She needed to see things from his point of view, and he needed to listen and respect hers. That’s all it came down to. It’s all it ever comes down to.
Mutual respect, listening, and love.
“Randi Sawyer: president by day, love whisperer by night,” I say to myself with a smile.
Vlad and his girlfriend don’t notice my random thought, too wrapped up in each other. Even though I hate to break up the happy reunion, there are some things I need to discuss with Vlad since I’m here. Might as well make this visit multipurpose.
He must feel the weight of my gaze as I attempt to figure out how to get him alone, because across the table, his gray eyes meet mine. Vlad dips his chin at whate
ver he finds written across my face and leans over to whisper in the woman’s ear. With a goodbye kiss, she excuses herself from the table, leaving Vlad and me alone. Well, as alone as I ever am these days. Several of his men and my agents still accompany us in the gilded dining room.
“What is it you wish to speak about?”
Leaning back against the chair, I swirl the red wine around the glass. “What you told me about Kyle was true, and the information you provided helped me convince him to step down. But now with him gone, I’m…. I don’t know what to do. We don’t have the names of the people behind it all. The CIA can’t find anything.” I narrow my eyes at his huffed chuckle. “You don’t think very highly of our CIA, do you?”
“I do not.”
“Care to share why?”
“I do not.”
I glare at my friend over the rim of the wineglass as I take a patience-fortifying sip. “I don’t know what to do.”
Vlad sips at the clear liquid in a short shot glass, his fingers drumming along the table. “What do your advisors say?”
“I… uh….” Well, shit. Did not expect that question from him.
“Have you not spoken to your military advisors, informed them of what you know, and work together on how to stop war from coming to the Middle East and dragging your country into the conflict?”
“Kind of?” I squeak. “That’s what I asked the CIA to dig up, the names—”
“The names of those responsible are only part of the problem. The attacks are hurting civilians, taking away homes and loved ones, yet you are doing nothing about it?”
“I am. I’m working with the leaders of the countries affected and calming their—”
“Do you know what I keep hearing?” I shake my head. Edging to the edge of the chair, I hold my breath. “You’ve said ‘I’ several times.”
I purse my lips. “Well, I am president.”
With an air of disappointment, Vlad sighs and shakes his head. “Your role, my role, cannot be done alone. You are trying to manage a situation on your own, which is impossible. It is why we have advisors, why we put people in place who we trust to help guide us. We cannot know everything there is to know about military strategy, or economic growth, or foreign relations. Being president is a group effort.”
Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4 Page 20