Worthy of Trust and Confidence

by Kara A. McLeod

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “You’re a celebrity,” Allison said wryly when the elevator doors slid shut.

  “Great. Because you know how I love being the center of attention.”

  She shifted closer to me and deliberately brushed her pinkie against mine. “It’ll die down soon enough, I’m sure.”

  “You feel like messing up in some spectacular way to take some of the heat off me? I’d owe you one.”

  Allison chuckled. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

  “Damn it.”

  The elevator doors opened into a nearly empty hallway. The telltale sounds of a party drifted through one of the only two doors on the entire floor, but if they registered with the agent standing post in the hallway, she gave no indication.

  Ivy Peltier looked a bit taken aback by our arrival, but her features quickly split into a huge grin. She wasted no time in folding me in an enthusiastic hug. I returned the greeting with equal zeal.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Ivy. Nice to see you, too. Do you know Allison Reynolds?”

  “Of course,” Ivy said, shaking Allison’s hand. “I’ve seen you around.”

  “Tuck just said the same exact thing to me downstairs,” I said. “Is that the standard greeting you all are instructed to use on us NYFO guys? Or is it specific to me?”

  Ivy laughed. “Just you, baby.”

  “Fantastic. You know how I love to be singled out.”

  Ivy’s eyes twinkled, but they flickered briefly to the papers in my hand, and the good humor slowly seeped out of her expression. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

  I smirked wryly. “Sweetie, I know I’ve been out of touch lately, but I promise you when I finally get my shit together, I’ll do better than to bug you while you’re working.”

  “Hey. I didn’t mean it as a criticism.”

  “Good. Because I didn’t take it as one.”

  “Hell, we all know that you’ve been…” Ivy frowned slightly and appeared unsure how to complete that sentence. She cleared her throat and glanced uneasily at Allison. “Well, anyway, I’ll never give you a hard time about being out of touch after what you went through.”

  The uncomfortable feeling that’d started when I’d overheard Marissa asking Tuck about the shooting and had gained strength during my brief encounter with Isaac in the lobby was now raging. I raked one hand through my hair and willed myself to relax. It wouldn’t do anybody any good for me to lose focus now.

  “So, is Hannah inside? I need to speak with her for a minute.”

  “Yeah, she’s in there. Probably standing motionless and unobtrusive in a corner somewhere. Possibly behind a large potted plant, if there is one.” Ivy’s affection for the woman who was essentially her boss was obvious. “Want me to get her?”

  I grinned. “Nah. I’ll do it. You guys are on Tango, right?”

  Ivy nodded.

  I adjusted the earpiece in my ear and lifted my wrist mike to my lips. “Valenti, Valenti, location?”

  Ivy covered her mouth with her hand and chortled quietly. Her eyes shone with barely restrained glee.

  There was a long pause, and I could imagine the expression on Hannah’s face as she tried to determine who was hitting her up over the air. She’d have immediately realized it wasn’t one of her regular guys. How long would it take for her to figure out who it was? Would she even be able to?

  A click sounded in my left ear, followed by Hannah’s voice, deliberately low and almost completely masked by the sounds of the party. “Go for Valenti.”

  My grin widened, and Ivy and I exchanged an amused glance. “Valenti, location for a meet?”

  Another long pause. Then, “Peltier, Peltier from Valenti. Can you step in here, please?”

  Ivy laughed. “You’re so bad. You know it’s driving her crazy that she can’t figure out who you are, right?”

  “Oh, I know. That’s why I did it.”

  Ivy shook her head, a small smile still pulling at her lips. “God, if that’s what you do to people you like, remind me not to get on your shit list.”

  “Not to worry. You’re safe.”

  “Why doesn’t that make me feel any better? I’ll give you a call. We’ll hang out soon, okay?” She gave my arm a squeeze and headed toward the door to the suite.

  “Sure thing. Stay safe.”

  “You, too.” And with that, Ivy disappeared into Hurricane’s apartment, leaving me to attempt to figure out how to break the news to Hannah that things were about to get a helluva lot more exciting over here.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The door to the loft was only opened for a few seconds, but it was long enough for the sights and sounds of the party to waft around me, breaking my concentration. Then the door was shut once more, the noise reduced to a muted tumult. And I was left in the hall about to ramp up Hannah Valenti’s already unusually high pucker factor another ten notches. She looked exactly as I remembered her, which helped relax me somewhat. I couldn’t help smiling.

  “Ryan?” Hannah’s hazel eyes were serious and tinged with the barest hint of confusion. She glanced from me to Allison and back again.

  I motioned to Allison, wishing I had a name tag or something for her so I didn’t have to keep introducing her to people. “You know Allison Reynolds?”

  “I think so,” Hannah said, shaking Allison’s hand.

  “Also, I’m not calling you ‘Doctore,’ so don’t ask.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “Good. I hate it when they call me that. What are you doing here?”

  “Why does everyone insist on asking me that? I can’t just stop over to say hi?”

  Her expression was thoughtful as she looked at me. “Of course you can. I just assumed—”

  “Well, I didn’t,” I said with a grin. As always, her innate seriousness seemed to bring out my teasing side. I was never able to be in her presence for very long without getting on her case about something. The activity likely amused me so much because most of the time she didn’t seem to realize I was just messing with her.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Of course not. What did you need?”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head, fondly exasperated with her. “Hannah, you’re killing me. Get over here, would you?”

  And before she could even think to protest, I folded her in a gigantic hug. She stiffened immediately, most likely because she had some sort of problem with hugging while she was on duty as the acting supervisor. But, never the kind of girl to let that sort of thing stop me, I merely squeezed her tighter and then took it a step further and swayed her almost violently from side to side. I capped the display off with a big kiss on her cheek—complete with loud, over-exaggerated smacking sounds—before I finally released her and took a step back.

  Hannah’s face was at least eighteen shades of red, and she ducked her head, clearly mortified. “You just got lipstick on my cheek, didn’t you?” Her brows pulled down in a scowl, and she scrubbed at the spot with the heel of her hand.

  I beamed and gave a curt nod, pleased with myself. “Yes, I did.”

  Hannah’s eyes tightened and her brows pulled down, and she opened her mouth, presumably to scold me for what she probably considered unprofessional behavior, but the dinging of the elevator signaling a new arrival saved me from a tongue-lashing.

  SAIC Claudia Quinn, Zoey Carmichael’s detail leader, stepped off the elevator and into the hall, her black business suit impeccably pressed, her dark hair perfectly braided with not a hair out of place, her green eyes intense and missing nothing. I felt that gaze lock onto me, and instinctively I stood up a little straighter.

  We’d never officially met, but the woman was an absolute legend. A highly decorated former NYPD detective and one of the youngest SAICs the Secret Service had ever promoted, SAIC Quinn had a rocket strapped to her back. Rumor had it she was about to be named the head of the Office of Protective Operations. Then every detail in the agency would report to her,
not just this one. Of course, that was assuming she didn’t leave the agency altogether to jump over to the Department of Homeland Security, which I’d heard had also been courting her for some time. I mentally smacked myself upside the head for not once considering I might run into her here. In addition to her mere presence making me nervous, I had the uneasy feeling it might complicate matters greatly.

  “Agent Valenti,” SAIC Quinn murmured in a low voice. “Agent Reynolds.” Her words were obviously directed elsewhere, but her attention was still fixed on me.

  “Ma’am,” Hannah and Allison both replied in unison.

  I had to fight not to give voice to the quip bubbling behind my lips that Hannah never called me ma’am even though I was technically senior to her because I’d been hired two days earlier than she had. Somehow I doubted this woman would appreciate my particular brand of humor. And while she wasn’t my boss, she was most definitely someone I didn’t want to piss off. I held no illusions I’d be able to make a good impression on her, but I was pretty sure I could avoid making a bad one. Well, probably.

  The SAIC’s eyes took in my earpiece and lapel pin, and she held out one hand to me. “Claudia Quinn.”

  I met her handshake with a firm one of my own, gritting my teeth in an effort to disguise my discomfort. “Ryan O’Connor. I’m from NYFO. It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  The SAIC’s expression turned speculative as she continued to assess me. “Yes. Of course. How’s the shoulder?”

  Allison stiffened beside me, obviously uncomfortable with the question, but I was mostly surprised. That SAIC Quinn knew who I was had taken me aback, although it probably shouldn’t have. That she thought to inquire about my injuries, well, that provoked another feeling entirely. It wasn’t necessarily one I’d categorize as pleasant. More like falling through ice into a freezing cold lake. “Fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking.”

  Something flashed behind her eyes, but it was impossible to determine exactly what it meant, if anything at all. One dark eyebrow lifted slightly. “And your other injuries? Forgive me. I can’t recall where they were or how many you sustained.”

  Allison’s body was now completely rigid with tension, and I bit down on the inside of my lip and took a deep breath, willing the discomfort to fade. My hands curled into tight fists, and my muscles also went rigid with tension. I’d been a curiosity for much longer than I’d ever wanted to be, which was never. The press, other agents, occasionally even strangers on the street seemed to either want to avoid discussion of the topic of my injuries in favor of staring at me with pitying glances or to ask me overly personal questions as though they were entitled to the answers. Both reactions were becoming rather stale.

  But then, to be fair, I imagined SAIC Quinn most likely knew all about that. As far as I’d heard she never talked about it, but everyone knew she’d been shot in the line of duty while responding to a domestic-violence call when she’d still been a beat cop. Several times, if memory served. She probably knew exactly how I felt on almost every level, except she hadn’t lost anyone close to her. Not in the way I had. And not when the whole thing was entirely her own fault.

  I glanced at her but saw neither pity nor morbid curiosity. And for the first time since I’d been shot, I realized I might actually be able to talk about it without wanting to throw up. The deep breath I’d inhaled came out slowly, and with it went the majority of the tension I’d been carrying around since my arrival at the residence. I met the SAIC’s stare.

  “Five bullets hit me. One tore through the muscle just above my right shoulder. My vest caught two that would’ve ripped straight through my back, one at the height of my right lung, the other in the area of my right kidney. I sustained minor damage to the back of my right hip, where my handcuffs more or less deflected the fourth bullet. And the last caused a minor flesh wound to the outside of my right thigh that’ll leave a scar, but no major lasting injury.”

  SAIC Quinn regarded me for a long moment. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. It isn’t often we get called on to take a bullet for our protectees, obviously. And I’m happy the outcome wasn’t more grave.”

  I winced as my mind immediately flew to Lucia and how the outcome couldn’t have been worse for her, but I forced myself to skip over that thought. I may’ve been a hot mess of conflicting and wildly vacillating emotions when I was alone, but I’d be damned if I’d let anybody else see that. I refused to appear as anything less than strong and put together to anybody I worked with. Especially not SAIC Claudia Quinn.

  “Did you have something you needed to report, Agent O’Connor?” SAIC Quinn derailed my runaway-thought train and dragged me back on topic.

  My heart leapt into my throat as her eyes fell to the papers in my hands. My previously assuaged tension immediately snapped back into place with all the subtlety of a taxed rubber band. Would her presence be a problem for me? It appeared I was about to find out the hard way.

  While SAIC Quinn was definitely in charge of this detail and should absolutely be privy to all of the information I had to impart regarding Walker, I hesitated to include her in this discussion. For one thing, I didn’t have either the energy or the inclination to go another round with Mark about following protocol and respecting the chain of command. And me briefing a SAIC without going through my superiors would definitely fall outside the chain of command. For another, she was bound to have a million questions, and I didn’t have time to indulge her curiosity. I’d already spent longer than I’d planned on this notification. I needed to finish this and get back down on the street, pronto.

  Hannah, ever the astute little agent, interjected before either the SAIC or I could utter a word. “Ma’am, Hurricane asked me to send you in as soon as you arrived. She needs to discuss something with you regarding the preparations for the charity auction next week. There’s been a change.”

  I was fairly certain the SAIC knew she was being dismissed—as I’ve previously stated, the woman missed nothing—but she didn’t address the issue.

  “Thank you, Agent Valenti.” The SAIC tipped her head in my direction. “Agent Reynolds, I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Agent O’Connor. Perhaps we’ll have a chance to speak again.”

  “I’d like that.” I held my breath until she’d entered Hurricane’s apartment and closed the door firmly behind her. Once Hannah, Allison, and I were alone again, I fixed Hannah with a grateful look. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “You saved my ass just now, and don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  Hannah shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t want to relay whatever information you have in front of her. I can always fill her in later at my discretion. Besides, I still owed you.”

  “Owed me? For what?”

  “The bar?”

  Oh, fuck. Not this. Not now. Allison was studying me a little too closely with a curious glint in her eyes. Maybe if I just glossed over it… “You didn’t owe me anything. So, about this notification—”

  “It was a huge deal, Ryan. And I don’t know if I ever told you how grateful I was.”

  I focused intently on Hannah because I really didn’t want to make eye contact with Allison at the moment. And I could feel her staring at me like her eyes were lasers and were searing my flesh. “Really. It was nothing. Literally. And I told you when it happened not to mention it. You suck at following instructions, by the way.”

  Hannah’s expression was serious. “It was everything. And you know it.”

  I huffed and wrinkled my nose as I looked away, scratching the side of my neck self-consciously.

  “The SAIC doesn’t know.” Hannah’s voice was quiet. “At least, I don’t think she does.”

  Oh, God. What did I have to do to get her to let this go? “That’s cuz there’s nothing to know.”

  Hannah was dredging up some memories that were best forgotten. It was years ago, before Claudia Quinn had transferred to Zoey Carmichael’s detail. Even if the SAIC had been brie
fed, it probably wouldn’t have mattered much.

  In recent years, it’s seemed to be a growing trend that the president’s children act out. I don’t know if they’re just rebelling against the unfairness of being under constant guard during their formative years or if each new generation is trying to outdo the one before it with increasingly brazen acts of audacity. I’d often speculated that they all spoke to one another and egged each other on, but I had no concrete proof. Yet.

  Zoey Carmichael and her two older brothers had been under one type of protection or another longer than anyone in recent memory. Her father had served as the governor of Idaho—which, incidentally, has no term limits—for sixteen years before being elected president. She’d been in protective custody since she was four years old.

  While she may’ve grown up somewhat in the past few years and now seemed to take our presence in stride, that hadn’t been the case when we’d first started protecting her. In the beginning, Zoey Carmichael had been…Well, a little wild, to put it mildly, and she’d been proud of it. So proud, in fact, she’d requested her code name be changed from Halo to Hurricane. She was rumored to have stated she thought it suited her better.

  And she’d definitely been a force of nature. Her brothers were both older, and they’d either sown their wild oats and gotten the rebellion out of their systems before their father had become the leader of the free world, or they were leagues better at hiding their activities. Hurricane, on the other hand, simply hadn’t cared. Rumor had it she’d regularly slipped away from the watchful eyes of her agents and roamed around for hours with no one having any idea where she was or who she was with. The American public had no clue, of course, because we don’t tell tales out of school—although keeping that quiet in this day and age had been a feat—but among the agents, the secret wasn’t that well-guarded. However, knowing a thing to be true and encountering it up close and personal were two different matters entirely.