Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  He wants me.

  I’m…needed.

  I didn’t realize how much I had needed that. I knew Leo wanted me when we were together, but he didn’t need me. Not trying to say I wanted Leo dependent upon me, either. Not in all ways.

  Just a little.

  Like Elliot can function alone. Maybe not well, and it’s not his preferred state, but he’s done it and can do it. The outcome if he’s alone permanently won’t likely be pretty, though.

  I’m making a difference for him in a good way. In a way he needs me to.

  Leo obviously didn’t need me in his life. He was perfectly fine before me, and I’m sure he was perfectly fine after I left. Because part of him always needed Elliot. Why else would Leo tolerate the years of being relegated to a hidden secret the way he has if he didn’t need Elliot?

  That’s not just love.

  That’s obsession.

  I shut off my alarms, since I’m wide awake anyway, and extricate myself from Elliot and our bed so I can go make coffee for myself. I can sit up and read e-mails or something.

  I check the burner and find that no, Leo hasn’t responded.

  When I return to the bedroom, I find Elliot sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor. He could have gotten up, if he wanted, because his walker’s right there.

  “Hey. You don’t have to be up yet.” I set my coffee on the nightstand and stand in front of him so I can hold him.

  The strength with which he wraps his arms around me and hugs me tells me it’s going to be a rough day. He presses his face against me and deeply inhales. “I know, Sir. I just needed some time like this.”

  This is what I mean.

  I feel needed, not just wanted.

  I feel helpful.

  I feel like I’m making a positive difference.

  I hold Elliot and rub his head for him and don’t break the silence. He’ll talk when he’s ready.

  A few minutes later, he does, mumbling with his face pressed against my abs. “Promise me I can get through today, Sir. Please?”

  “We’ll get through today, boy. Might be a little rocky, if Leo gets pissy, but we’ll come home tonight and take a long shower, down a couple of shots, and snuggle.”

  He finally tips his head back and I spot his playful smile. “Only a couple of shots?”

  “Yeah, well, I can let you get toasted, if you want to. I need to keep my wits about me, though. One of us does, anyway.”

  He chuckles. “There you go, being a responsible—”

  His work cell rings on the nightstand, making us both freeze before I lean over and grab it, answering it with a wide-awake and all-business tone.

  “Vice President Woodley’s phone.”

  It’s a woman. “I’m calling from the Watch Team. They need to speak to the vice president.”

  “Just a moment.” I wait about five seconds before I pass Elliot the phone, my brain quickly upshifting into work mode at warp speed. “Watch Team,” I whisper.

  Grabbing my work phone, I step away and run downstairs to make him coffee and toss some of my pre-made quiches into the microwave for me and Elliot. While that’s cooking, I call the detail to let them know we’ll be moving shortly and way ahead of schedule, as well as call Suzanne to let her know we’re on the way in and to put staff on alert it might be a news-intensive day for us.

  With Elliot’s status as a decorated combat veteran, his office invariably receives a lot of media requests when something happens regarding the armed forces. Or he’s asked to help craft the message that goes out, and brief the press secretary.

  That the Watch Team needs him tells me this is likely military in nature.

  I also go ahead and prep our travel mugs of coffee and leave them sitting on the table in the foyer so we can grab them on the way out. We’re going to be moving fast, I can tell.

  I wolf down a couple of the little quiches and head upstairs, where I find Elliot off the phone and vertical, almost in the bathroom.

  “How bad?” I ask.

  He looks and sounds horrible. “Bad. I’m going to need you in the SitRoom with me this morning.”

  Fuck. Obviously, I’ll do it. I just don’t like doing it. Usually when he’s had me in there with him, it’s to run back to the office to get something for him, or ask questions of West Wing staff, things like that. Because cell phones are locked up when you go inside, and I can’t keep every phone number in my head so that I can use a secure landline that’s in the SitRoom.

  I can already tell my presence there today is not for any of those reasons.

  He needs me in there with him because he’s going to need me.

  “All right. Eat this first.” I put the small bowl holding three of the breakfast quiches in his hands. He wolfs them down while I dart around him into the bathroom and start the shower so we can get in and out quickly. No fun teasing or playful banter this morning. I can tell whatever this is has Elliot shook, and I don’t need to distract him.

  We’re almost finished in the shower when he speaks. “It’s…bad.” His gaze finally meets mine. “Needless to say, this is classified, for now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I can’t help it—it’s my work default. We both know I mean it with a lower-case s.

  “Middle East. Terrorist cell abducted two German journalists and an American journalist from a market. Two women and a man. One’s already confirmed dead.”

  My gut tightens. “What are their demands?”

  He slowly shakes his head, and I realize what he means. “There’s…” He sucks in a ragged breath. “There’s a video. For one of them. Bad.”

  Oh, fuck. I don’t want to know any more, but this is the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders, and I can’t let him down.

  We’re ready to go ten minutes later. I follow him outside, setting the alarm and locking the door after me.

  He’s wearing glasses this morning, but I scooped up his contacts in case he wants them later. We’re almost to the White House when I once again remember what today is—Leo’s return.

  Well, I wanted something to distract me today.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  One of Elliot’s office staffers is waiting for us at the portico entrance, along with the NatSec officers and others, when we roll up. I’ve already switched off all my cell phones and tucked the campaign one into my bag with my laptop. I’ve kept a pen and my notepad, in case I need them. I hand off my bag, and Elliot’s laptop bag, to the aide, give him a few instructions for the morning to adjust Elliot’s schedule. and ask a Secret Service agent to go with him to make sure the bags get put in Elliot’s office. If it wasn’t for Elliot’s laptop, I wouldn’t care.

  The burner is off and in my bag. Elliot’s work cell and mine are in my pockets and will be handed over for safekeeping when we enter the SitRoom.

  “Is President Samuels downstairs?” Elliot asks an agent as we walk.

  “Yes, sir. She headed down there a couple of minutes ago when they let her know your ETA.”

  Okay, just go ahead and tune my nerves to 11, thanks.

  We’re escorted downstairs. My stomach knots the closer we get, but I can’t balk, can’t let Elliot see me nervous or upset. My mask must be perfect.

  I need to be strong for my boy.

  But I see no sign of Leo.

  When we enter the SitRoom foyer, the Secret Service detail stays behind. I’m still…gobsmacked that I am allowed to walk into this room.

  FYI—that word totally applies in this sitch.

  I immediately step over to the desk officer to secure our cell phones in the locker before following Elliot inside the briefing room.

  Except for one chair, the table is at full capacity. President Samuels is sitting at the head of the table. She looks exhausted and has both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She’s wearing a light blue oxford button-up with the Presidential seal embroidered on the left chest. It’s unbuttoned over a bl
ack cami top, and from the way her hair’s pulled into a messy bun on her head, and her lack of makeup, I’m guessing she’s not fully awake yet.

  The seat on her right is empty, so Elliot heads there. Kevin Markos is sitting on her left. He also appears exhausted. While he’s wearing a suit, it looks like he didn’t shave yet. Totally unlike him.

  Bracing myself, I finally glance around the room and do not see Leo anywhere among the assembled staffers, briefers, and others who line the walls.

  I don’t know if that relieves or disappoints me.

  “Good morning, Madam President,” Elliot says. “Kev. Welcome back.”

  She waves him into his seat. “Good morning, Elliot. Sorry our easy morning just turned rough.”

  “Not your fault, ma’am.”

  She glances my way and sends me a tired smile. “Welcome back, Jordan.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “They told me you’ve been visiting Pecan in our absence to keep him company.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Excellent. I’m sure he missed you, too. Please feel free to stop by when the kids are home from school this afternoon. They’d love to see you. They’ve missed you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I will.” Whelp, that’s as good as an order.

  Kev also gives me a tired smirk and a head nod that I return.

  I move around the far end of the table and along the wall, where there are several empty chairs for people who aren’t at the table but have reason to be in there.

  This morning, I opt to stand, along with nearly everyone else lining the walls. I’m positioned where I can make eye contact with Elliot from across the table, and he can easily summon me when he needs me.

  The NSA starts the briefing. Instead of listening to what they’re saying, I opt to focus on Elliot and just breathe. I don’t want to hear the details. I don’t want to know the history of the area. I don’t need to know any of those things.

  This is why I absolutely do not want to be Elliot’s chief of staff. Besides not being qualified for the job.

  I only want to be in charge of Elliot.

  Mimi, I wish you could see me now. I hope you’d be proud of me.

  I mean, I know she would. This is fricking overwhelming, but in a good way.

  Meanwhile, I sip my coffee and stare at my secret boyfriend’s face as he listens and processes the intel they’re giving him and the president.

  People are coming and going from the room—NSC, officers, intel staff—and it’s only so much background noise for me. Like those times in church when I sat there tuning out and staring at the rafters, thinking about architecture.

  Until the door opens and I already know even from the peripheral glance I take. Even before I focus my gaze on him. I know his shape, I know his walk. With my eyes closed, I know how the very air feels as it changes when he moves through it.

  I know everything about this man except how he’s going to react when he processes it’s me standing here.

  He’s only three steps inside the briefing room before he pulls up short, frozen in place, his eyes wide as he stares at me.

  Well, fuck me. Here we are.

  I can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes right now, so my gaze stops around his chin, his lips, and I hold myself very, very still, like a hunted rabbit.

  Ironically, we’re wearing the same tie today.

  How about that for kismet?

  “Leo,” Kev says, and that breaks his spell.

  “Sir?”

  “Grab a chair or wall, please, but you’re making me nervous and blocking traffic there.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

  I shift sideways, to my right, as Leo moves around the end of the table and toward me, until I’m standing almost behind Kev. I feel Leo’s gaze burning into me even more because I won’t look him in the eyes. He stops near the end of the conference table, finally. Not within arm’s reach or comfortable talking distance.

  Nervously, I sip coffee from my travel mug.

  That’s when Leo finally seems to process Elliot’s there, too. “Good morning, Mister Vice President.”

  One of the military officers had just started talking again, and Elliot’s intently focused on him, so Elliot acknowledges Leo with a nearly dismissive wave.

  God, please don’t let me faint right here. I couldn’t handle the embarrassment if I did.

  At least I have Elliot to focus on. And he glances my way a couple of times, meeting my gaze, waiting until I look him in the eyes before he’ll let his focus shift elsewhere.

  I think that’s how Leo finally starts to process and put pieces together, because I’m aware of his head snapping in Elliot’s direction while Elliot’s looking at me, then Leo slowly swivels his head toward me.

  “Leo,” the president says. “Can you please bring me something for breakfast and tell the kids I’m sorry I won’t be there to tell them good-bye this morning?”

  He’s still watching me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He finally leaves the room. As soon as he’s gone, I ease my way around the far end of the table and down the opposite wall, until I’m standing directly behind Elliot.

  I know he’s paying attention to where I am, too, because he drops his right arm down next to his side, over the arm of his chair, like he’s stretching. But he twists his hand a little. Just enough I know what he’s doing.

  One of our cues. Something Leo never had with him, because Elliot never wore a day collar for Leo.

  That’s the wrist on which he wears his bracelet. It’s the silent cue that tells me he’s aware of me and while focused on his job, he knows I’m there.

  I tune out again. They’re starting to discuss details about the murder of the male journalist, the history of this particular insurgent cell, intel about their whereabouts, all of that.

  Fifteen minutes later, Leo returns to the room. I’m guessing he might have actually run to make it to the residence and back as quickly as he did. I shrink against the wall, thinking he is going to walk between me and Elliot, but he doesn’t. He circles around the far side of the table, sets her plate in front of her, and then steps back behind Kev.

  Watching me.

  Fuck, the man looks good. Maybe some exhaustion, but they did just return from three weeks bouncing around the globe.

  It’s about fifteen minutes later when my attention snaps back and I realize Leo has, in fact, eased his way around behind the president, and is now standing only feet away from me. I can even smell him and fight the urge to lean toward him.

  I can’t let myself do that.

  I cannot.

  But that’s not what really caught my attention.

  They’ve started playing the video posted by the terrorists on one of the monitors behind the president. She swivels her chair around so she can watch, Elliot turns his sideways, too, and all eyes are glued on the monitor.

  For a moment, I watch Leo, the tense set of his jaw, and can almost tune out the forced dispassion in the translator’s voice as the man interprets the captor’s words.

  I can almost not pay attention to the terror on the kidnapped man’s face as he kneels in the dirt with several masked men looming behind him, while in accented English he reads a statement that they’ve ordered him to read.

  I can almost not pay attention to the large blade—is that a fucking sword?—in the one captor’s hands.

  There’s more speaking by the captor, translated by the guy standing on the other side of the table.

  But from the way Leo’s jaw clenches a split second before the translator speaks, I realize he understands what’s being said.

  I wish I’d kept my attention on Leo and not let it drift to the monitor again. Everyone in the room flinches when the sword is raised and swiftly descends.

  I realize I must have gasped or said something. I don’t know, because from the roaring in my ears, I think a train’s about to blast through the room.

  Oh, wait, is this…bad? Because I suddenly fe
el like I can’t breathe.

  Kev’s sharp, clipped voice pierces through my mind. “Leo.”

  I think me, Leo, and Elliot all focus on Kev at the same time. Then both Elliot and Leo look at me, where I’m now white-knuckling my travel mug and trying not to give in to the overwhelming urge to faint.

  “Jor,” Elliot whispers, and I struggle to pull my focus onto him as I raggedly saw gasping breaths into my lungs.

  I step to his side, leaning in close as me motions to me. “Mister Vice President?”

  “Go take a few,” he whispers, his fingers briefly squeezing my left wrist, where my bracelet is hidden by my shirt and blazer. “Then come back. It’s okay.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, Mister Vice President.”

  Somehow, this bitch doesn’t run, but I’m not so sure I don’t levitate. I do my damnedest, however, to beat a dignified, power-walking retreat from the room.

  I scoop our cell phones from the locker with trembling hands and wait until I’m outside in the hallway to start jogging toward the stairs.

  What I want to do is puke in the nearest garbage can.

  What I need to do is hold it until I’m locked in Elliot’s private bathroom in his office. I slide the phones into my blazer pockets and move with all due haste and then some.

  Behind me, I hear the door to the SitRoom open.

  “Jordan, hold up.”

  Leo.

  I’m five feet from the bottom of the staircase, and I do believe I made it in one leap.

  “Jordan!”

  No, I don’t look back.

  Oh, hey, look, something can help me hold back gut-twisting nausea: Fear.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I now bolt for the office at a dead run. At least I have unlimited access to Elliot’s office, and don’t need to explain to Suzanne or anyone else what I’m doing when I dash inside and shove the door closed behind me. I don’t pause to lock it, though, now moving at a dead run into the bathroom because I’m not sure I’m going to make it.

  That door I do lock, however.

  Somehow, I manage to set my travel mug on the counter by the sink before I drop to my knees. At least I make it to the toilet, where I retch and puke up my coffee and breakfast.