“Hey,” I shout once I’m close enough to see inside. Their heads snap up from whatever they were studying. “Get your asses down there and patch them up.”
“Ma'am—”
“They are my responsibility. I don’t give a rat’s fat ass what their roles are, their titles, or their damn income bracket. You get your asses over there now and take care of my guys,” I grit out, thrusting my pointer finger in the direction of the injured agents. “You will give them the same obsessive attention you gave me. Every medicine, every bandage is available to them. What's mine is theirs, do you understand?”
Their heads bob up and down, but they still don’t move.
“This is not a request. Go. Now.”
Their chairs clatter together as they shove to attention. Eyes downcast, they sidle past me and rush down the hall.
Satisfied they’ll do exactly as I ordered and the agents who made it back to Air Force One before we took off will be taken care of, I wobble back down the hall toward my office.
Tank and Trey stand waiting just outside the doors, heads together, whispering conspiringly. I failed to notice earlier how both are freshly showered and in clean suits. I take in my own disheveled appearance and wince. I’d love to get out of this pant suit that reeks of sweat and is dotted with Champ’s blood.
But no rest for the weary in this job.
“You two, my office.” Not waiting, I ignore their shocked expressions and hobble inside the office. Holding back a cringe, I ease myself into the unforgiving desk chair. Try as I might to conceal the pain, a slight wince stretches my features as I relax back.
Trey's laser focus from across the room takes notice of the quick pain-laced expression. The corners of his lips dip in a deep frown. Hands balled into fists, he strides to my side. A bit alarmed at the irritation somehow directed toward me, I shy away, sealing my back against the hard leather. He drops to a low squat, balancing on the balls of his feet. Like my injured ankle is made of glass, he gently lifts until it’s level with the desk’s polished surface.
“Pillow,” he commands over his shoulder. A split second later, a decorative throw pillow from the couch zooms through the air. Trey catches it before it can smack me across the face. The rough material snags the bandages as he slips the pillow beneath my foot and gently rests my ankle on top. I hiss at the instant freezing sensation as Trey drapes a gooey ice pack directly over the injury. “It needs to stay iced and elevated or it won’t heal.” A sadness lurks behind his eyes as he says, “Give us a second, Tank.”
T silently slips through the closed doors and seals them shut behind him.
Reaching across the small distance between us, Trey cradles my face between his calloused palms, the rough skin scraping along my cheeks. For a perfectly silent moment, he searches the entirety of my face, studying every detail before pitching forward to press his soft lips to mine.
One simple kiss from the man who owns my heart and all the overwhelming, terrifying, conflicting emotions from this awful day vanish. I’m lost. Lost in him with zero desire to ever be found.
The kiss turns desperate as we attempt to merge our souls into one with our lips. Too much happened today; this is the way for us to drain the emotions to see clearly later on.
Trey's talented tongue controls my own, lapping me into submission. Seeking hands delve into my hair, fisting at the base and taking a chunk between his fingers. I sigh against his lips at the dominance in the hold. Him taking my control is exactly what I need to feel centered and capable to take on what needs to happen next. A harsh tug snaps my neck back, our lips breaking apart. Our chests heave as we attempt to calm the raging desire he conjured with a single kiss.
Without a word, his grip loosens. With a groan, he stands to full height and retreats a single step, then another, adding unwanted distance between us.
“I don't know how many more instances of your life being in immediate danger I can take, Mess.” His raised hand trembles before it glides through his disheveled hair.
“I know, Trey, and I… I know this, what happened today, is partially my fault. I didn’t listen to Vlad’s advice before, but today… today that changes. Grab T, will you? He needs to hear this too.”
With a furrowed brow, Trey turns and moves the few feet to the door. Even with the world literally falling apart around me, I can't help but take notice and admire the way his ass looks in those slacks. Somehow the draping material accentuates the flex of his delectable backside with every step.
A large shadow snaps my ogling from Trey’s ass to T, whose intense face appears over Trey's shoulder as he joins us in the office.
“I’m sorry, first off. I know today wasn’t my fault, but it feels like it was,” I say through a deep breath. Their lips part, chests expanding, but I hold up a hand, stopping their rebuttals. “I should’ve listened to Vlad when he told me to listen to my advisors, but I didn’t, and now we’re here. Men lost their lives today, others hurt because someone out there thinks I’ll run scared or am an easy target. Well, guess what? Fuck them.”
With the excitement of my speech, my foot had slipped off the pillow. I finagle it back on top, hoping for a more comfortable position.
The two share a confused glance.
“What do you mean?” T asks as he paces the small office.
“I mean I'm done with these jackasses calling the shots, putting me and my men in danger. I'm fucking done. Let's go over what happened today and put together an actionable plan that I can present to my military advisors when we return to DC. As soon as we land, I’ll fill them in—on everything. I need their advice. I need their help. At first I thought that made me weak, or maybe incapable of performing at this level, but now I know I’m more a fool for ever thinking I could do this without them.”
“You sure today’s attack and the one in Saudi Arabia were spearheaded by those involved in the Birmingham scandal and not Whit?” Trey asks as his unfocused gaze zeroes in on the wall just over my shoulder.
“You know, I really do. Shawn is a calculating, smart-as-hell evil psychopath, not… sloppy. If that explanation makes sense. The past two attempts have failed because of you guys. I think Shawn would manipulate a sinister plot, not a simple assassination.”
Chin to his shoulder, Trey casts a look I can’t identify at T. A silent conversation flows between them as the seconds tick by.
“What?” I question, suspicion in my tone. “You two think I’m wrong about Shawn having nothing to do with this?”
“Honestly, I'm not sure. But you're right, this doesn't feel like Whit. But… how much do you want to know about today?” T asks as he scrubs at his bald head over and over.
“All of it,” I respond with zero hesitation. “Tell me what you know.”
Crouching to the floor beside my chair, Trey rocks back, falling to his ass with a groan. He leans back until he’s prone along the floor beside me. Interlacing his fingers behind his head, he smirks up at my raised brow.
“We had a solid plan in place prior to boarding the plan for Cairo. A plan that was thought through, every detail hashed out with not just us but both military personnel and other Secret Service teams. Somehow, those bastards who attacked today knew exactly where our original snipers were located, as if they had been warned of their exact position.”
“Suspicious,” I mumble. The phone rings on the desk. Three sets of eyes follow the sound, focusing on the blinking red light. “Probably the Egyptian president. He called while I was with the doctors demanding an explanation to what happened, but I said I'd call back when I had more details. Impatient man.” Ignoring the call, I return my attention to Trey, whose honey brown eyes are already on mine.
“I don't like seeing you hurt,” he says, a mix of concern and restrained anger softening his tone.
“I'm safe because of you, remember? And it's only a sprained ankle.” Shooting him a tentative smile, I wiggle down the chair, trying to get comfortable with my foot propped up. “Now out with it. What aren’
t you two telling me?”
“Your boyfriend here has been an overprotective pain in my ass lately, but today I think he saved all our lives with his insistent need to wrap you in a bulletproof protective bubble. He identified two areas where we could potentially need more coverage. At first I didn’t agree with him, thought the plan was solid, but something told me to listen to his whining today. To make Benson here happy, we decided to add a few more snipers at the airport and around the embassy.” T breaks our stare-off to study the floor.
“Okay, I don't get where this is going. What am I missing?”
“We made that specific change on the plane, Mess. Yet somehow those fuckers today knew about the extra coverage and took out the original snipers and the additional ones—well, all except one. Now, how would they have known about the new addition to the plan?”
My stomach clenches with a mix of disappointment and dread as the pieces fall into place.
“You've got to be kidding me,” I snap. “You cannot be suggesting there is yet another mole on our team. That's absurd.”
“We know the men running this shit show have money, and money talks, Randi. They very well could be paying someone off to get close to you, to learn our plans and—”
“Oh good, it gets better.” My words drip with sarcasm.
“Today, they could’ve taken you out with a single shot. Our snipers were down, so why didn’t they? Why did they just take out those around you?” Trey says from the floor, now propped up on his elbows.
“My brain hurts. Just tell me.”
“It was like they wanted to force us to take refuge in the embassy.”
“So?” I question.
“Where we would've been trapped with no way out,” T finishes.
A crack reverberates against my teeth as yet another nail snaps beneath my nervous gnawing. “Okay, okay, I see what you're saying. You think their goal was to trap us and go from there? That doesn’t make any sense. We would’ve been hunkered down in the safe room with the Egyptian army as backup.”
“Just like in Saudi Arabia, these plans are not well thought out. It’s almost as if someone is feeding them the intel, but there are some details lost in translation.”
“All but one of our snipers were incapacitated the moment we arrived. They had people waiting, but I shifted one of the added snipers to a different location for a better angle at the last second. I made that move in the limo on the way.” T’s normally booming voice sounds weary.
I nod like I’m actually tracking with what they’re saying. Which I guess I am, but a heavy fog has spread over my thoughts, making connecting the pieces more difficult than usual. “Was the sniper the only shooter?” I ask.
“No, we believe there were additional hostiles in the crowd, but they were more to create chaos than harm the civilians.”
“A chaotic scene out front would play into your conspiracy that they needed us stuck inside the embassy instead of escaping. Why?”
“To take you alive,” T states matter-of-factly.
“Damn, T, tell me how you really feel.” His bulky shoulders rise and fall in an “I don't give a fuck” shrug. “It would make sense if they took me alive. Then they could use me as a bargaining chip, I guess? Or hold me and place the blame on various countries to make the US engage with military force? It's not much of a plan if it is one though.”
“Agreed. We never said they were military minded, just sneaky as hell. The fact that the CIA hasn't located them yet says a lot about the money at their disposal and their ability to hide under the radar.”
“Let's say you're right,” I muse. “And the bastards orchestrating all this did hire someone. Who would it be? You two know everyone, right? Especially everyone on the alpha team.”
“Mess, you're forgetting one person.” A pinch of pain pulses from my ankle as I swivel to peer down at Trey. His light blue dress shirt stretches across his lean chest, the top two buttons undone, showing off the tan skin beneath and diverting my thoughts from the conversation. “Mess?” A bit of humor laces his voice, like he's trying not to laugh. “Focus, baby.”
“Right.” I offer a wiry smile. “What did you say again? The pain meds Bert and Ernie gave me are starting to kick in, I think.”
“Bert and Ernie?” This time Trey’s chuckle goes unchecked.
“The doctors.”
A corner of Trey's lips twitches. “I don't even want to know, do I?” Shaking his head, the almost smirk falls. “And I said you're forgetting one person. Smith is new to the team and basically attached to our hips by order of the director. I'm not saying it is him, but the timing is right.”
Tiny pinpricks sting the tips of my toes, fingers, and nose, slowly spreading, leaving a warm numb sensation in their place.
“I think it's time for my nap.” The words slur with my heavy lips. “Those fuckers drugged me.”
As graceful as a cat, Trey stands and carefully scoops me in his arms. “We'll finish this later, Mess.”
T swings the door wide and offers my head a little “night night” pat as we pass.
Several curious eyes pretend they're not watching every step Trey takes toward my room with me in his arms.
“They're all looking,” I say out of the corner of my mouth. The hand not gripped behind Trey's neck gives the more obvious stares a little wave.
“You're hurt.”
“To your knowledge, has a president ever been carried back to their bedroom bridal style because they were injured?”
His gaze flicks to me before focusing back on our destination. “I think you've shattered the ceiling on what's precedent for this role.”
An agent stationed outside my room pulls the bedroom door open for Trey. With a quick dip of his chin in thanks, we slip through. It clicks closed almost immediately behind us.
“I'm taking that as a compliment,” I muse. Numbness weighs down the muscles in my arms and legs. Maybe it was a good idea for Trey to carry me, even if it’ll be discussed at every water cooler in the White House starting tomorrow.
Trey smiles and rests me softly on the edge of the bed. One hand helps me lower to the soft mattress as he moves in front of my knees. A quick flick and tug, and the tight waistband gapes open. Features scrunched in pure concentration, he urges the fabric down my thighs, paying extra attention past my knees to make sure the injured ankle remains untouched.
With a forearm behind my neck, he helps me sit up, holding me there as he works the buttons of my shirt free, sliding each tiny slice of plastic through its respective hole with efficiency. Brows furrowed, I watch closely, confused by his careful actions.
“You're about to pass out on me, Mess. Yes, I'd rather rip this shirt off you and give in to every dirty thought, but I'm holding back because you’re hurt and drugged.”
At that exact moment, the muscles supporting my back soften completely with the influx of pain meds. Before I can crumple to the bed, Trey steadies me and eases me back. The comforter slips beneath me before folding back over my mostly naked body, cocooning me in its warmth. Several solid tucks along one side of my body, then the other, and I'm officially a stuffed and drugged Randi burrito.
Giving up the exhausting fight, I allow my lids to flutter closed, dousing me in a peaceful darkness.
“Trouble,” I slur.
“Mess.”
His voice is distant, too far from where I lie completely vulnerable. Anxious thoughts bloom in my gut. Forcing my eyes open, I frantically search the room. I find him at the door, hand on the knob.
“Don't go,” I beg. “Lie with me for a little while.” Swallowing hard, I fight to stay awake. “I… I don't want to be alone.”
“They'll talk, Randi. More than they already are.”
“I don't care,” I think I mutter, but the numbness in my lips make it hard to tell if I said any words at all. The need for him to hold me grows urgent. Shifting along the cool sheets, I attempt to sit up, but a heavy hand presses on my shoulder, keeping me in place.
&n
bsp; “Okay, Mess, you win.”
Relief washes through me. With a content sigh, I allow my heavy lids to fall closed once again. The bed dips just before a comforting heat snuggles beside me. His heavy arm drapes across my upper chest, securing me closer. “Now, go to sleep. And when you wake up, I'm force-feeding you.”
I snort—at least I think I do.
“Trouble, I love you,” I mumble as I continue to slip into the blissful darkness.
“That word doesn't begin to cover how I feel for you, Randi Sawyer.”
With one last deep breath, inhaling this moment filled with peace and his unfaltering love, I give in to oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-One
Randi
“I can’t believe this. You’ve known this entire time what was going on, and you kept it to yourself?” the general, my top military advisor, says, his body trembling with restrained anger. Would he have already blown a gasket if I were a male president instead of a female? If that’s the case and my gender is helping him control his temper, this is the one and only time I’ll be good with him treating me differently than a male. No way could I maintain this calm facade if he were to leave his emotions unchecked.
Tilting my head ever so slightly, I study him from behind the desk, taking in the full chest plate of medals and stripes.
I get why he's this pissed off at me. I've kept all my military advisors in the dark with the situation Kyle unknowingly trapped our country in. Vlad was right all those weeks ago. I was a fool for thinking I could accomplish anything on my own. This role cannot be done by one person alone, but with one person surrounded by those they can trust and depend on. That’s the wisdom I lacked. Until now.
“It was need-to-know,” I state, arching a brow. Heard that line once in a movie, and it's saved my ass more times than I can count since moving to DC. Once someone hears it, there are zero comebacks.
Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4 Page 23