Power Switch: Power Play Series Book 3

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  Is that an odd question to ask?

  “Not sure,” I say honestly, somehow answering both my internal ramblings and Sam’s actual question. Does that mean I get a triple-point score like in Scrabble? “I didn’t want her to leave, but I was desperate for her to go.”

  “Conflicting,” he says with a small smile.

  “Very.”

  “Seems to be your life these days.”

  I meet his knowing gaze and dip my chin in acknowledgment. “You have no idea.”

  “You wear your emotions on your sleeve, Randi. It's not that hard to figure out.”

  “Not the first time or the last, I suppose.”

  “No wonder you never went the corporate or defense attorney route after school.”

  I snort. “That among other things.”

  “Yet you went the political path. Strange, if you ask me.”

  The few agents and Sam follow me as I move through the front doors. Inside the house, dry warm air warps around my chilled body, slowly thawing my fingers and toes.

  “We all do what we have to do,” I say with a shrug. “I've always wanted to help people, and what better way to do that than at a large scale. I have billions at my disposal, yet you say this role is a strange path.”

  He trails me to the roaring gas fireplace. The heat stings my cold hands, but that's easier to ignore than his pulsing heat as he stands too close, also gazing into the flickering flames.

  “Most people think what they see is what they get with me,” I say, not glancing away, allowing the dancing orange and red to pull me into a near hypnotic state. “In some ways, I guess that's true, but they don't know what drives me, what made me do all this. What makes me put up with all this.”

  “And what's that?” he asks. The weight of his stare urges me to turn. Instead, I turn my cold ass to the fire.

  “Her,” I say with a nod toward the front doors. “Them. Everyone who's been forgotten by the people in this town. I'm their voice, and I won't let anyone take that from me, from them, now that I'm here. You said you wanted to strategize.” A glance around shows us alone in the grand living room. “Let's do it.”

  “Not here,” Sam says, bending down to whisper into my hair. “Walk with me.”

  I shoot him an incredulous look before waving a hand down my black leggings, Uggs, and sweatshirt. “I'm not prepared for a hike.”

  “I said a walk.”

  “In the fucking cold? I don't think so.”

  “It’ll be fun,” he says with a chuckle, amusement glittering in his green eyes.

  “For snowmen and Eskimos maybe, but not this girl.”

  “It's fifty degrees,” he says, now all-out laughing at me.

  “Exactly. It could start snowing any minute.”

  “You're ridiculous.” He steps closer, wrapping an arm around my waist and tugging me close. “What is it with you?” he mutters. “Why can't I stay away?”

  Lowering my shoulder, I wiggle out of his embrace, putting some distance between us.

  Ah, hell, was Taeler right? Does Sam want more than a business relationship?

  “I'm Team Randi,” I say like he should know what the hell that means.

  One dark brow rises up his forehead while he shakes his head. “You're a strange one, Randi Sawyer.”

  “Not the first or last to make that observation, my friend,” I grumble. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun sparkles through the glass, making the day seem beautiful and warm out. “I'll go get my jacket. Then we talk. There's a lot we need to cover.”

  I don't wait for his response. As quickly as my rubber soles can carry me, I hustle out of the room. At the corner, I dip out of sight and lean against the hall wall.

  “Give me a second,” I beg to the agent hovering too close for me to think straight. He doesn’t move. “Please. I won’t move from this spot.”

  With a reluctant grunt, he steps around the corner, giving me some semblance of privacy.

  A deep breath fills my lungs, tightening my chest. I hold it for three seconds before slowly letting it loose through my nose.

  When did my life become one big game of political Twister?

  Hand on fixing the bill.

  Foot on setting up your love with another woman for political gain.

  Head on creating a fake relationship with a guy you're physically attracted to, all while trying to not be attracted to him because you're in love with someone else.

  Other hand on treason and trying to take down the president because he’s a narcissistic twit.

  Ass on the fucking ground because you're out.

  I cringe and scan the long hall. If I'm out, that could be detrimental not only to the part of life I enjoy the most—living—but the American people as well. Without me, Shawn would step up to the plate as the VP. That could trigger the end of the world.

  Dramatic, yes, but that doesn't make it any less of a possibility.

  The wall pops behind my back as I push off with my shoulder to stand tall. Nope, this clusterfuck is one I've created and one I'll see through.

  “Team Randi,” I whisper to myself and raise my fist high.

  “Trailer.”

  Ah, fuck.

  Maybe if I don't acknowledge his presence, he won't notice me. Acting like the gleaming hardwood floor is the most intriguing thing I’ve ever seen, I shuffle down the hall, desperate to get away from evil personified. The last thing I need on my plate is to be dead. That would really hinder my “save the world” plans.

  A viselike grip wraps around my upper arm and yanks me to a halt. Every muscle contracts and icy fear races through my veins, causing my heart to thunder in my chest.

  “What do you want, Shawn?” I somehow manage to get out even though my tongue feels too thick and my mouth too dry.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Contact my secretary and get on my calendar,” I snap. Indignation surges at his hold cutting off the blood supply to the lower half of my arm, shooting a rush of confidence to my system. Gathering leverage, I step back, trying to yank my arm out of his grip. I wince as his fingers dig deeper, trying to keep his hold, but in the end I win, slipping out of his grasp.

  Stumbling backward, I retreat two steps, putting me out of his reach.

  “I know what you need.”

  For the first time in this short confrontation, I snap my gaze to meet his. Dark eyes seem to absorb the bright sunlight pouring from the windows and overhead lights. I suppress a shudder at the malevolence lurking behind them. It's vast, unending darkness, like a blaring warning to run and never look back.

  “I can give it to you,” he continues. “For a price.”

  Hell no. No amount of money in the world would make me consider partnering with him.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I rasp. Reaching up, I wrap a palm around my throat.

  He dips his chin an inch, angling a knowing look my way.

  “Step the fuck away from her.”

  The wave of relief at the angry, gravelly voice weakens my knees. I shoot an arm out, palm smacking the wall to keep me upright.

  “Benson.” Somehow the hate pours off him in larger waves as his gaze shifts over my shoulder. “How's your fiancée?” Shawn asks, an edge to his voice.

  Trey moves fast, situating his body between me and Shawn.

  “Not sure. How’s Rachel?”

  I wince at the mention of his ex.

  “Tied up at home, just how I like them.”

  There’s a cruelty to Trey’s responding laugh. “Only way you can get them to stick around.”

  “You can't protect her,” Shawn chides. At the laughter in his tone, I step around Trey, putting me at his side. Shawn's gaze slides to me with a smirk. “It’s hilarious that you think you ever could from me.”

  With that, Shawn gives us a knowing malicious smile, then turns, marching down the hall and disappearing into a side room.

  The fight drains from Trey's
muscles where my hands grip his bicep. With a heavy breath, he hangs his head, eyes closed.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Fine,” I say with a shrug. “Are you?”

  Brows raised, he angles that handsome face my way. I suck in a quick breath at the emotions swirling behind his honey brown eyes. The pull is undeniable. I give an inch, resting my head against his hard shoulder, then sigh, letting the simple connection help seep the stress from my strung-out mind.

  “Am I okay? Doubting if I can take care of myself, Mess?”

  “Never,” I say with fake shock. “The mention of Rachel…. I don't know. Just asking.”

  Something passes over his features. “Yeah, that's not pleasant.” He chuckles. “But she doesn’t matter. You do.” He cups my face. “Only you.”

  “Team Randi,” I say more to myself to hold my focus on the end objective.

  His signature smirk pulls at his lips, showing off the boyish charm I've wholeheartedly fallen for. “Is there any other?”

  In a quick move, he tugs me close, our lower bodies pressing together.

  “Some people might say there are others,” I whisper, face tilted up toward his. I fight against sighing in the comfort and safety of his arms. A faint whiff of his unique expensive cologne wafts off his jacket. Losing the battle, I lean my nose closer, hoping for a stronger hit of the scent that drives me wild. My muscles quiver with need. Need for him. For his touch, for his lips and tongue sliding along my skin.

  “Well, then, they're idiots.” Wait, what were we talking about? I feel like it was important. “It's your world, Mess. We're just revolving around it.”

  “I think that's just you,” I say into his chest. A vibration tickles my lips at his chuckle.

  Thick fingers press under my chin, tipping my face up.

  “It is to anyone who matters,” he murmurs, his eyes searching my own. “I miss you, Mess.”

  “I know,” I say around the growing lump in my throat. “I think I—”

  “I thought you were going to get your coat.” The resentment in Sam’s clipped words is clear.

  Panic seizes my thoughts and my muscles. The slight twitch of Trey's muscular arms around my waist tells me he's not thrilled about the interruption or Sam's tone. Quite frankly, neither am I.

  “She was accosted in the hallway on her way.” If premeditated death had a tone, it would be the one dripping from Trey's words. He turns his fury to the agent who I’d begged to give me space. “And where the hell were you?”

  “I'll be right back,” I grumble as I maneuver out of Trey's embrace. With zero desire to stick around for this pissing contest, I scurry down the hall, eager to get my coat so I can get out of this suffocating house and away from the infuriating men inside it.

  Just to be on the safe side, I slip on a pair of fleece-lined leggings, then snag a scarf and a toboggan from the room too. The bedroom door clicks closed behind me, my attention on finding the back to my soft hat and not on the lurking danger.

  “Walmart.”

  I startle with a curse. Narrowing my eyes down the long dark hall, I find Kyle leaning against a doorframe several feet away.

  “The hell, Kyle?” I snap, tightening my grip on the knit cap.

  “I told you we needed to meet. Don't act surprised.”

  I take a nervous glance over my shoulder at the beta team agent who’s standing a couple feet away, attention on the wall like a good agent, not seeming affected at all by Kyle’s presence.

  “I was just about to go on a walk,” I say, putting some power into my voice that I don't exactly feel in the moment. I'm a strong, independent woman, yet every time this asshat is around, all my confidence flees. Maybe it’s from those few years of his daily torment during law school. “And I need coffee.”

  Lots of coffee to put up with your twatwaffle ass.

  “That can wait.” His voice is hard and determined. “You,” he says, pointing to my agent. “Stay out here. My guys will cover her inside.” Without waiting to see if I follow, probably knowing full well that I will, he shrugs off the wall and disappears into a room.

  I cast one more pleading look down the hallway at my back, hoping Sam or Trey will pop around the corner and save me from going into this alone.

  But they don't.

  I straighten my spine and head to my fate.

  No protection. No friends. No support.

  Just me meeting this head-on. Like it's always been.

  17

  Randi

  The dark green walls seem to absorb the light and heat from the room. To my left, a roaring wood fire crackles inside the stone fireplace. Several deep leather armchairs scatter the floor, all in groups of three or more around low dark wood tables. Across the expansive room, an antique-looking pool table sits with the balls perfectly lined up, ready to be broken and played.

  Studying the pool cues along the side wall, Kyle absentmindedly rolls up one sleeve, tugging it above his elbow, then does the same with the other. Uneasily, I step deeper into the room, scanning the dark corners for Shawn but come up empty. That’s one small blessing.

  “Give us a few minutes to talk,” he says, not addressing the three agents directly. “Watch from the security feed, no audio, and have two men stationed outside all the doors to make sure Benson or any of the others don’t get in before the meeting is over.”

  I swallow as the three agents nod like this isn’t the first time they’ve been asked to leave the room for a secretive meeting. I watch them file out, my gaze still stuck on the closed door minutes after they’ve left.

  “Choose,” Kyle commands, never looking up from the end of the pool cue he's holding. The light blue dust flakes into a small cloud as he chalks the end.

  I roll my eyes. “You can always say please.”

  “Not to you.”

  “Your personality needs work.”

  I swear a near smile tweaks at his lips before he schools his features. My defenses slip a fraction at his ease. It seems today isn't one of those days when we're at each other’s throats.

  Eyeing the rack, I toss my coat onto a random chair and slowly unwind the scarf around my neck, adding it to the small pile along with the hat I never managed to tug on.

  “I'm not terrible,” I say over my shoulder as I pull a cue off the wall and lift it to eye level, ensuring it's straight. “Just a fair warning.”

  “Would you like to break, then?”

  I nod and take a step toward the head of the pool table.

  Smiling, he leans forward and draws his cue back. The booming crack of the balls bursting apart startles me even though I knew it was coming.

  “You're an ass.” I chuckle. Two stripes and one solid fall into various pockets. “Choose a side.”

  He nods, his smile falling. “Coincidentally, that's what I wanted to talk about.”

  A soft snort leaves my nose. “I've never known you to talk about anything. You demand, Kyle. So go on, tell me what this is all about.”

  He stalks around the table, eyeing the balls still dotting the top. Those ice blue eyes narrow on a complicated shot just before he leans forward, inspecting the various ways to address the ball. Today he's more casual in dark jeans, loafers, and a light blue button-up that makes his eyes seem more blue than clear. The dimple of his chin seems to twitch as he raises the cue to strike.

  Of course he sinks it.

  I groan and lean my forehead against the narrow part of the cue in my hand.

  “I’m aware of everything you’re doing to cover your tracks. From you and Benson to the idiotic farce you’re playing with Pierce. Which means you’re still moving forward with helping the DOJ. I wanted to explain my side and let you see there's more going on than you realize, Walmart.” Straightening, he eyes the table, searching for his next target. “You think you know what I'm doing and why, but you don't.”

  “Then explain.” Putting a bit of weight on the cue, I lean forward, meeting his surprised eyes. “I’m not going to sit he
re and spill everything I know hoping you’ll do the same. You want to set the record straight, then go ahead.” His head dips in acknowledgment. “Spill it.”

  Maybe if I can get him talking….

  “You wouldn't understand the pressure I'm under,” he says under his breath.

  “Pretty sure things aren't just rainbows and unicorns in my role either. We're both under a lot of pressure. That doesn't mean you can—”

  “It doesn't matter the why,” he grits out as he draws his cue back. The ball goes wide by half an inch, missing the hole. “Damnit.”

  I don't stop the slow smile from spreading up my cheeks.

  Finally.

  Leaning over the pool table, I search for the shot I want.

  “I need you to make Pierce drop his case, stop looking into it.”

  I peer up through my lashes before focusing back on the cue ball.

  “Even if I wanted to, which I don't, I don’t have that kind of pull over him.”

  “You do and you will.”

  The three ball smacks the back of the pocket before dropping inside.

  “And why would I do that?” I ask, lining up my next shot. “You act like we're friends, or that I owe you.” Point aimed at the cue ball, I flick a look up at Kyle. “We're not and I don't. And your assuming I’m working with the DOJ isn’t enough for me to be within breach of our contract, so you can’t hold that over my head.”

  The solid ball lands softly into the pocket exactly where I aimed it. Who knew those nights playing while in Austin would help me defeat the president in his own game room one day? Tiny loves to play pool and had a beat-up table in the back of the shop to help with his “creativity.” It was a way to shoot the shit while the shop was empty, usually early afternoons when the drunk college kids were still recovering from the night before, too hungover to get out of bed and venture back downtown.

  “Randi.”

  My attention flicks from the white ball the split second before the cue tip connects, making the shot go right, missing the seven ball completely. Still bent over the table, I don't move. I shiver at the real fear lurking behind his eyes, something I've never seen. It’s disturbing as hell. With a slow blink, he shakes his head, and the vulnerability that was there for a half a second vanishes.