Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1)

by Lesli Richardson

  Maybe I can’t be on The Shift any longer, not officially.

  But every workday is still, for me, The Shift.

  I’m running hunched over, doing my best to keep her down and low and hidden by my body and by the other agents. I’m wearing body armor—and so is she, at both my and Chris’ orders—but there are plenty of weapons that will punch through body armor like it’s wet tissue paper.

  I, of course, am not allowed to carry a sidearm when with her. This moment, I’ve never felt more naked and vulnerable in my fucking life, except for that night in the club with Jordan.

  I dive into the back of The Beast with Shae clutched against my body like it’s the Super Bowl, I’m the quarterback making a last-second tie-breaking play, and she’s the damn football. At least three agents land on top of us and the Beast is already moving even before I hear the heavy rear doors slam shut.

  That gives me a second to actually take a damned breath as we all untangle ourselves. The agents who ended up inside with us move to the jump seats to either side.

  I realize Shae’s yelling, and has been ever since I grabbed her and bolted. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  Her lead agent made it inside with us. He wears a grim expression that freezes my heart even before he speaks. “Shooting, ma’am.”

  “Here?”

  He shakes his head and a blizzard washes through me.

  “Please tell me Priest is okay,” I say before he can expound. I know Chris has a public appearance today, while Elliot should be safe at the White House.

  “What?” Shae gasps.

  “Priest is uninjured,” the agent confirms. “But Prophet’s down. Being transported now. Priest is with him. Refuses to let his agents return him to the residence.”

  Shit.

  Shae’s eyes go wide, and before she can say anything and betray secrets I know damn well they’ve tried their hardest to protect, I do what I’m sure Chris will agree with later, on the other side of the events. These agents might be sworn to secrecy but the fewer who know, the better.

  I cup her face in my hands and press my forehead to hers, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Madam President. Shh. We’re returning to Air Force One, and need to get in the air. Now.”

  “I have to get to Kev—”

  “There are security protocols we have to follow. We will get updates, but you. Cannot. Be. There.”

  I see a mix of grief and anger flash through her gaze, but she finally gives me a curt nod. Only then do I release her and sit back.

  I focus on the agent. “I want Angel ready to go wheels-up as soon as we arrive.”

  He nods. “Already in progress, sir.”

  I take over for Shae, because I know damn well she’s in no position to give orders at this moment. My training has kicked in, and it feels like I never spent a day away from the Secret Service.

  By the time we reach the airport and screech to a stop next to the plane, where, yes, the engines are already running, I know we are literally ready to take off as soon as we can get her inside, close the doors, and strap in. All other air traffic is being held and we have clearance to take off immediately.

  The two fully armed F-16s that will escort us scream past, flying low as they buzz the runway in preparation for us getting underway, ensuring the path is clear. Fully armed ERT agents and local SWAT members are awaiting our arrival, automatic rifles held at the ready and their gazes fixed on the edge of the runway.

  Again, even though I logically know the risk is low, both myself and the three agents with us swarm over Shae as we rush her up the lower stairs and into the plane before the other SUV full of agents screeches to a stop on the apron behind us.

  Neither of us speak while I make sure she’s securely strapped in before I take my seat next to her and the plane starts taxiing down the runway. The pilot takes off under full throttle and pulls up hard at a steep angle, a cautionary evasive maneuver, which probably tests the upper limits of this very special aircraft.

  I only breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the landing gear thump into the underbelly and the plane’s ascent angle begins to level off. Shae holds my hand during our takeoff, squeezing tightly as tears roll down her cheeks. It’s just the two of us in the private suite, and I know she’s terrified.

  Not for her own safety—but for Kev, and for Chris. Their children.

  She’s had to deal with a lot lately.

  I don’t take for granted the vulnerability she rarely shows, even around me.

  I’m concerned about Elliot, and Jordan, but I know they’re safe in the White House today, with no public appearances scheduled. Elliot’s feet likely never touched the ground when his detail grabbed him from his office and dropped him into the PEOC bunker beneath the White House. They probably “crashed” the White House, putting it in a full lock-down mode. Jordan won’t be able to leave the East Wing. And because he’s high-level staff with full clearance, he’ll be safe there until the all-clear is sounded.

  I squeeze her hand before releasing it to unfasten my seat belt. “Stay here. Stay strapped in. I’ll go find out how he is.”

  She curtly nods. I hand her a box of tissues and she grabs one, dabbing at her eyes.

  I know this is tough on her, but she’s got a job to do.

  She’s going to hate even more that she’ll be doing it from Offutt, until we’re cleared to return to DC. That’s the contingency, to land there, a secure base, the home to STRATCOM, and remain there until the all-clear is given to bring her back to DC.

  Keeping her in Offutt will be my job, unfortunately. Because obviously she can override the orders. She’s the commander in chief.

  Meaning I have to somehow channel Kev for her and remind her that she has a job to do.

  I make my way to the comms center, to a cluster of grim-faced agents surrounding her lead agent. He’s on a handset of a secured line and his free hand pinches and rubs his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

  I wait. I already know he’s finding out exactly what I’m here to ask, because it’s the logical next step.

  He finally hangs up and looks around, apparently seeking me before he speaks. “Prophet’s in surgery. Priest is on-site at the hospital and is secure. Refuses to leave. Hospital is locked down. Shooter in custody, apparently a lone wolf.”

  “No other injuries?”

  He shakes his head. “Agent with a minor hand injury. He tackled the shooter and got his hand on the gun under the hammer before the shooter could fire again.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. That man’s a hero, even though he was just doing his job. “Kids?”

  “Safe. They’re pulling them from school shortly. They’ve already got several teams at the school. They don’t want to frighten the other children, though. They’re waiting for a scheduled class change to move them.”

  I lean against the bulkhead and take a deep breath both to steady my nerves as well as to give the impression that my next question is nothing more than merely an afterthought. “And Plumber?”

  “They moved him to the PEOC. White House is crashed. Everything’s locked down.”

  I slowly nod as tense relief fills me. Elliot and Jordan are safe.

  I mean, I knew they were safe.

  Still, a man’s going to worry about those he considers his.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It’s a looooong damn day. The president is understandably upset and stressed, meaning everyone around her walks on eggshells. The press didn’t make it back to the plane with us—and neither did most of the staffers who came with us—so I’m sure we’ll hear some howls over that.

  Oh fucking well. Can’t be helped. Secret Service is already working to arrange transportation for staffers and press who were left behind.

  Add to that everyone’s collective worry about Kev’s condition, with the subtly simmering rage all my fellow agents share over him being shot, and it leads to potentially volatile conditions.

  Especially when we land at Offutt Air Force Bas
e—ironically just outside of Omaha, Elliot’s neck of the woods—and there aren’t plans for us to leave anytime soon.

  I herd Shae into the private suite and lock us in after interrupting her from going off on her head agent in an angry, stress- and grief-fueled tirade. “Talk to me, Leo. If the fucker’s in custody, why can’t I return to DC and go to the hospital?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, I force myself to remain calm and steady with her. “Ma’am, it’s procedure. The perp could be lying. They have to be sure.” I take her hands in mine and squeeze. “Shae,” I whisper. “He’s got the best doctors in the nation working on him. He’s healthy.”

  She blinks back tears. When she replies, it’s barely a whisper. “I can’t lose him, Leo. I thought I could do this. I always wanted to do this. This is literally what I’ve worked my entire life for. But if he dies, it’s going to kill me, because I know what it’ll do to Chris, too. I need him. We need him. We can’t do this without him.” She swallows. “I love him. He’s my Sir.”

  I pull her in for a long, tight hug. “I know, honey. Just keep breathing. Don’t say or do anything that will bite you all in the ass later.”

  I’m not her Sir. I know Chris and Shae have some sort of a dynamic, but even Chris isn’t her “Sir.”

  Not the way Kev is.

  “I want to be with him,” she mumbles against my shoulder.

  “I know, but you can’t go to the hospital. The logistics are shaky enough with Chris there. Other people are being impacted—the ER department, families of patients, other patients who are supposed to be having surgery today. If we take you there, it’ll be a total nightmare, even worse than it is now. You’re the president—you can’t do that to people. They’ve had to close their ER department to intake. Prophet will want you to think about the optics, and will beat your ass if you don’t. He’ll be upset enough at Priest.”

  After a couple of minutes, she steps away and locks herself in the lav. Probably to have a hard cry alone.

  It’s been a rough time for them lately. She’s a strong woman, but everyone has their breaking point.

  Kev getting shot might be hers.

  I think about Elliot and his hidden fractures and seismic emotional faults. I hope that, when the time comes, I can find a way to be a rock for him to lean on.

  If he’ll let me. And Jordan, too.

  I don’t want to contemplate Kev not making it, because it wouldn’t shock me if Shae resigns if he doesn’t. It’ll shatter her and Chris both, and the children. I wasn’t honestly sure if Kev was going to remain on the job after we lost Lauren.

  Unfortunately, I don’t honestly believe Elliot is in any shape to take over right now. Not unless he lets me and Jordan help him.

  I’m loathe to return Shae’s phone to her, as upset as she is. We finally strike a deal that she’ll let me see texts to anyone other than Chris before she sends them, and she starts texting with Chris.

  I stand back, leaning against the bulkhead, my arms crossed over my chest and trying to channel as much of her chief of staff’s presence for her as I can.

  It’ll have to be enough, for now.

  * * * *

  We’re finally cleared to return to DC and land at Andrews right around ten p.m. local time.

  What a fucking day.

  Kev’s out of surgery and is in a private room, with Chris and his detail standing watch over him. While Kev’s condition is guarded, he’s stable, and doctors are extremely optimistic. Only time will tell if he has any bleeds or infections. They were all belly wounds. It could’ve been so much worse.

  The thing really bothering me is one of my contacts tells me Priest wasn’t the intended target. The shooter hitting Kev wasn’t an accident, or because Kev threw himself in front of Chris and took bullets meant for the First Spouse.

  The shooter meant to shoot Kev. Aimed for him.

  That’s all he’ll say. The guy also isn’t talking about why he went out of his way to target President Samuels’ chief of staff instead of her husband, when Chris should’ve been the obvious target. Agents are swarming the shooter’s house, questioning the guy’s family, and picking through his life with a fine-toothed comb in an attempt to discover a motive.

  I return to the White House with Shae, even though I could go home. I want to put eyes on the kids for myself, and when I check on Chris and Kev, I want to be able to tell Chris I personally walked Shae into the residence.

  And I want to see if Elliot is still on-site in his office. Because if he is?

  I need to hug him.

  I need to put not only eyes, but hands on him.

  I need to hold my pet for a moment, and I’m reasonably certain he needs that, too.

  Him, and Jordan, although I know Jordan’s already safely made it home, because he texted me.

  Yes, he took a cab. I would have blistered his ass in a bad way if he hadn’t. Especially after today’s events.

  Despite having full clearance to come and go from Elliot’s residence, I try not to go there alone when it could trigger uncomfortable questions. We’re supposed to be friends and coworkers and don’t want to draw undue attention to my visits.

  Rather, Elliot doesn’t want attention drawn to my visits.

  I have to—and will—respect that.

  Even when I really don’t want to and wish I could scream to the world that he’s mine, and how much I love him.

  With the media circus today, there might be dozens or more cameras and cell phones outside the gates of Elliot’s residence to capture my arrival and departure. Or even drones. It’s difficult for Secret Service to keep up with advancements like that. It only takes one money-shot photo to create a scandal.

  We take Marine One to the White House and I follow President Samuels inside the building after we touch down on the south lawn. She’s pulled herself together since her earlier and completely understandable breakdown in private on Air Force One.

  I escort her upstairs, where the kids are still awake with their nanny, Yasmine. After giving the kids hugs—and one last hug for Shae—I head downstairs and walk over to the West Wing.

  Elliot’s alone in his office. He looks up when I step inside and close and lock the door behind me. Passion flares in his blue eyes before he carefully schools his expression. We haven’t had much alone time lately.

  “How’s Kev?” he asks. “Did he wake up yet?”

  “Not yet. They think he’ll be okay but the next couple of days will tell for sure.” I slide my hands into my pockets and stand there, watching him.

  Waiting.

  In some ways, he’s like an easily spooked horse. His nostrils flare and his hands flex like he’s going to clench them before they relax again.

  The way he nervously swallows.

  “I want to come over tonight.” I think about him alone in that huge house and it breaks my heart.

  It doesn’t have to be like that.

  He doesn’t have to be alone.

  Especially not tonight.

  His chest hitches slightly, a catch in his breath. “I…I don’t know about tonight.”

  “I could ride with you and ask for a lift later from another agent. Considering today’s events, no one will question it.”

  He wants me to do that, or for me to order him to do it. I see it painted across his face, fear mixed with need and desire.

  But tonight, he has to be the one to ask me for it.

  I step closer, rounding his desk, so close he has to look up at me from where he’s sitting.

  “Ask me, pet,” I whisper. “Just ask. That’s all you have to do. Please.”

  He flings his arms around me and holds on tight, his face pressed against my stomach. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and lean over so I’m engulfing him.

  But I already know what his answer will be. I know my pet.

  He won’t ask.

  Not tonight.

  Sometimes, he has to reach a breaking point before he will finally reach out to me.

&nbs
p; I know a large part of him wants me to force him to submit, but that’s not a long-term recipe for success.

  In fact, it’s a guaranteed recipe for disaster. Because he’ll be able, at some future point, to convince himself that he’s not responsible for anything that happened. It’ll allow him to justify blowing it all up.

  I need him totally invested in this, in us.

  Yes, I’ll happily do any number of dark and dirty and perverted things to him and enjoy every second of it.

  I’ll gladly own him.

  But he has to own those desires.

  He has to own us.

  He has to own his part of it, if he wants me to give it to him.

  After all these years, I hate that I’m starting to secretly wonder if he’s capable of owning it.

  I cup one hand around the back of his head and plunge my fingers into his hair so I can massage his scalp.

  He practically melts.

  If only sex were enough to convince him to relinquish every bit of his fear. We’re great in bed. That’s not an issue for us. And alone together outside of bed, things are easy.

  It’s everything else that’s difficult as hell, things others might witness, due to Elliot’s fear. It’s not easy with him, like it is with Jordan. I’m increasingly catching myself comparing the two of them when that’s not fair to either.

  Of course Jordan was free to commit himself to me. He’s not a public figure, not really. Adjacent? Yes. But no one looks at a picture in the paper and says, Oh, there’s Jordan Walsh. Because as far as the public’s concerned, Jordan is one of the First Spouse’s staffers. That’s all. Just another nameless White House wonk. For all they know, he could be staff from the EEOB.

  Elliot finally sits back. “I’ll probably head home soon. Did Jordan get home safely?”

  That’s a minor win, I suppose. That he’s asking. “Yeah. He texted me when he arrived.”

  He nods. I know Elliot feels something for Jordan but he’s conflicted. Goes back to his fear.

  Damned fear.

  He looks into my eyes. “You should go home, Master. You must be exhausted.”