Smith’s nose twitches as those all-seeing eyes scan the house like he can see through the walls. “Did you set the house on fire?”
I attempt a shrug, but Trey’s tight hold prevents the movement. “That was my idea.”
“Of course it was.” T sighs.
“What’s my present?” Trey asks above me, curiosity in his tone.
“Hand over the president and I’ll show you.” When Trey doesn’t make a move to pass me off, T sighs. “You’ve protected her, got her out alive, but we need to get her checked out by a doctor. I’m sure some of that dried blood is hers, right, Madam President?”
His pointed tone urges me to respond. “Uh, yeah?”
“And you need to see a doctor, right?”
“Yes?”
“And you’ll be safe and protected if Benson here puts you in the ambulance and lets them look you over.”
“Well, yeah. T, just spit it out. What are you getting at?”
“Look at him, Randi. Really look at him.” With a sigh, I do as he asks. Scanning Trey’s blood-streaked face I don’t see anything off—well, besides the blood—until I reach his honey brown eyes. There’s a wildness swirling, one I haven’t seen before. “He’s not himself, not after seeing… hell, I don’t want imagine what he saw or did to keep you alive.”
“Thanks. And yeah, it was rough, but he was fine until now. Trey?” Leaning closer, I place a hand on his chest, allowing his natural heat to soak through to my palm. “I’m good now. You got us through it all, but now I need to get my ribs checked out.” For the first time since we left the basement, his entire focus shifts to me. “Remember my ribs? They hurt like hell, and I’m pretty sure I have a concussion. My thoughts are way more random than normal, even for me.” I offer him a small smile. “I’ll be fine. Just let me down, okay?”
Earlier I needed him to be strong for me. To carry me when I couldn’t fathom going another step, feeling too weak to carry on, even if that meant safety. Freedom. Now I need to be the strong one and help him let me go. I don’t want to—I want to stay in these safe arms forever—but I know that’s what he needs.
“Mess.” His voice is ragged. “I can’t let you go just yet. I’ll take you.”
“Okay, Trouble.” Turning to T and Smith, I dip my chin. “Lead the way, boys.”
Against my better judgment, I take a deep inhale the moment we clear the threshold and step out onto the small wooden porch. Enormous trees surround us, a thin gravel driveway the only break between them. Above us, the thump of several helicopter blades fills the early evening air. Pale pinks and blues highlight the sky in a peaceful feel that contradicts the twenty or so SWAT vehicles and SUVs surrounding the cabin.
Trey clomps down the few stairs, his hold tight to keep me from jostling around. We stay close to T as he leads us through the crowd of people now staring. In true Randi fashion, I hold up both thumbs like the idiot I am.
The small gesture cracks the ice surrounding Trey. The deep lines along his forehead lessen; the concern and focus surrounding his narrowed eyes lifts. His footsteps smooth, his strides slow to a less urgent pace. Against my shoulder, I feel his chest balloon out with a deep inhale.
T directs us to the red ambulance, its lights still flashing, where two familiar faces wait.
“Oh goodie it’s Bert and Ernie,” I grumble.
The back doors are already open when Trey pauses in front of the doctors. Inside, another team of medical personnel stares, eyes wide. Based on their expressions and those we just passed, I must look way worse than I realize.
Bert… or maybe Ernie… whoever steps forward, gesturing inside the ambulance. Trey’s hold tightens a fraction.
“Why don’t you sit with me?” I offer as I tug on Trey’s shirt to gain his full attention. “And then you can find out what present T and Agent Smith have for you. I bet it’s a unicorn.”
“That would be a present for you, not me. Come on, up you go.” A heavy breath pushes over my matted hair as he steps into the ambulance and squats low, maneuvering past the awaiting medical staff and stretcher.
Sighing in relief, I close my eyes, anticipating him lowering me to the stretcher.
But he doesn’t. Those arms cradling me to his lean chest don’t loosen a fraction as he sits down on a bench. Shifting, he leans against the shelves of supplies, his hold never wavering.
“Sir, we need—” Ernie says as he wrings his thin fingers, glancing from me to Trey.
“Do what you need to do, but she’s staying right here.” A thunk reverberates around the ambulance as Trey slams the stolen gun to the bench. “Do we have a problem?”
“No, no problem, Agent… Agent—”
“Benson,” I chime in. “Agent Benson.”
“Right, okay. Well, let’s see what we have here,” Bert says as he steps into the ambulance and shuffles toward us.
He stills at Trey’s inhuman growl.
“Agent Benson, we need to—”
“Her,” he grunts and nods toward the quivering female medic in the back. “Not you, not him. Her.”
“Okay, big boy,” I say, softly patting his chest. I shoot T a panic-filled glance, which only earns me a shoulder shrug. “Seriously, T. Help me out here.”
“I would, but I’d be doing the same thing with my Sarah. Let him have this, Randi. Once he feels comfortable, he’ll be back to the same old idiot we know and love.”
“If I weren’t in so much pain and at the point of near exhaustion, I’d balk at this behavior, Trey Benson.” I jab a finger to his sternum to let him know I mean business. But the answering smirk tells me he sees through my bravado. “Okay, fine, I love it.” Shifting to face the still terrified female medic, I extend both arms, palms up. “Do your worst.”
“Or best.”
“Right.” I tilt my head toward Trey. “What he said.”
Her hands shake as she takes mine. “Madam President—”
“Randi, please. I’m covered in blood. I think we’re past the formalities.”
“Um, right, Randi. Let’s start with what hurts the most, and then we’ll do a full-body scan and workup when we get to the hospital.”
“Um, okay, so let’s see here. It hurts to breathe. Seriously, every breath feels like someone is stabbing an ice pick into my lungs. Not fun. Oh, and my ears are ringing from Rambo behind me shooting his gun too close to my ear.”
“Saving our lives, I’d like to add.”
“Noted. What else? Oh, I think a few teeth are loose, my head feels like there’s a high school marching band tryout bashing and clashing in my skull, and there’s something going on with my pinkie toe.”
Everyone in the ambulance glances at my feet. I wiggle the sore toe.
“Yep, that one. Other than a few cuts, bruises, and maybe a busted kidney or two, I’m good.”
Her long dark lashes slowly lower in an exaggerated blink.
Awesome. This should be fun. And quick.
After what feels like fourteen and a half hours later, my ribs are wrapped and not broken—yay, me—most of the blood is cleaned off my arms, legs, and face, and all the cuts have been cleaned and bandaged. My pinkie toe is broken. Sadly there’s nothing they can do about that; it just has to heal on its own.
Sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, I stare at the tiny swollen appendage, feeling sorry for the little guy. During the exam and treatment, Trey loosened his death hold and slipped out of the ambulance. Well, after he put approximately forty heavily armed men around the mobile hospital and a few snipers sprinkled about for good measure.
Men.
Overprotective men.
But let’s be honest: I fucking love it. His firm yet gentle hold keeping me safe while they worked on my bruised and broken body had me hot and ready for him to take me on the stretcher even with people watching.
A few happy tears might have slipped out as I watched him and T hug. It was beautiful. Not that I’d ever tell them that. At least not today. No, I’ll use that later when they’re not ex
pecting it or still riding the emotional high the last day has brought.
Even now, with the last of dusk slipping into the night, those two talk, Smith awkwardly the third wheel but adding in a few jabs and comments when he can.
Maybe it’s because of today, everything I went through and stayed strong. Or seeing these three talking and laughing despite it all. But right here, with the warm metal digging into the backs of my thighs and my body covered in bandages, I know two things.
Trey is it for me.
And I want to run for another term.
It’ll take its toll on us. He’ll have to step down from the Secret Service and become a full-fledged First Husband—the first one ever. But today proved to me that we can handle it. That with the help of our friends, and the US military, FBI, and Homeland Security, we can make it through anything.
“I don’t want to quit just yet.”
Trey turns, his hand gripping T’s shoulder. “Was wondering when you’d figure that out.” A loud smack bounces through the trees as Trey slaps T’s back. “Okay, I’m good. She’s… taken care of for now. What’s this present or surprise or whatever you said you had for me?” Trey rubs his hands together, brows raised and excitement radiating off him.
“Should they look you over first?” I toss out, knowing full well what the response will be.
“Nah, I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Nothing that won’t heal on their own.”
I roll my eyes to the pink and blue sky.
“We have Whit,” T states as calmly as discussing the weather.
That gets my attention and overrules any annoyance at Trey’s macho behavior.
“What?” he and I say at the same time.
That name. Just hearing it has my heart racing. My hands tighten on the ambulance bumper, the metal digging into my palms and fingers. I shoot Trey a panic-filled glance. Seeing my distress, he strides over to where I sit and drapes a protective arm over my shoulder.
“You’re okay, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. “He won’t hurt you again.” Standing tall, he faces T and Smith, who are grinning ear to ear. Yes, even Smith is wearing a smile. There’s something off about both though, almost evil or vindictive in a way.
I lean against Trey’s hard thigh. “What do you mean, you have that son of a bitch?”
Smith clears his throat directing our focus to him. “He means we caught the pussy trying to escape out the back when we attacked that shithole behind you. And we… kept him just over there for you to handle.”
“Handle?” Trey’s bicep tightens, curling me to his side. “Any way I like?”
“Any way you like. As long as I get a few… words in too.” T sneers. “That bastard ordered my execution, and I’d like him to know how much I didn’t appreciate that.”
My shoulder vibrates with Trey’s chuckle. “I can do that. Where?”
“Why not in the house that’s on the verge of burning? Less evidence to clean up.” I gape at Smith. He offers a half shrug. “Just trying to be practical. Cleaning up evidence is a bitch, and I’m too tired to deal with that today.”
I bark a laugh that turns into a groan. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you this talkative. What happened while I was… detained?”
“A lot,” Trey says above me. “A whole fucking lot. But we can talk about that and how in the hell Tank cheated certain death later. Right now, I want to go have that chat with Whit.”
He starts to pull away only to hesitate.
“I’m fine. The doctors are right. I need to get to the hospital.” I go to chew on a nail only to taste dirt, ash, and blood. “Fuck. I need to set up a press conference, have my press secretary alert the media that I’m okay, talk to Sam, call Todd to reach out—”
“Benson didn’t tell you?” T questions, running a hand over his bald head and giving me a reluctant look.
“Tell me what?”
“Didn’t really have time while we were devising an escape plan and I was dying a bit inside at the thought of my best friend being shot in the fucking head.”
“Damn, you’re dramatic.” T sighs, but a small smile tugs at his lips. “Your secretary of state is dead.”
“What?” I shout. Things still around us, all eyes focused on me as I shove off the bumper. “What are you talking about? Why? I mean….” I sway from the jolt of pain that shoots through me at the sudden movement. “I need more painkillers to handle this.”
Like magic, two white pills appear in a small outstretched hand. Without even looking to see who that hand belongs to, I swipe them from the open, slightly sweaty palm, pop both into my mouth, and swallow. The pills irritate my raw throat, but at least the four bottles of water I drank in the ambulance while they fixed me up soothed some of the scratchiness.
“I’ll tell you everything after we’re done,” Trey says, rubbing a hand down my back.
“Agent Benson, we really need to get her to the hospital for a full-body scan in case of internal injuries,” Ernie says nervously no doubt worried about Trey’s reaction.
Patting Trey’s chest, I sigh. “Trouble, you and the other two go do what you need to do. I’ll be safe. We’ll even take a helicopter instead of the ambulance if that makes you feel better.”
And me too. Not really excited about the idea of being in an automobile again anytime soon.
Trey smiles before sealing a hard kiss to my forehead. “Love you, baby. I’ll tell everyone to follow you out. With ten special forces teams surrounding you, I feel good about letting you go on ahead. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
With a nod to the other two, he turns and follows their lead into the woods, T already shouting the orders for the units to follow the ambulance to the hospital.
The first dose of painkillers kicks in, making my thoughts fuzzy as I watch the three disappear.
At least that’s what I’m blaming my wayward thoughts on.
Because there’s no other reason for me to think about his hot ass and how badly I need him inside me all while he marches off to kill a man.
Yep, totally the painkillers.
Maybe.
Chapter Twenty
Trey
Last fall’s dried and decaying leaves crunch beneath my feet as I trail behind Smith and my best friend. I’m not looking at where I’m going. No, my focus is on that brilliant bald head. I thought… I really thought I lost him. Thought Tank was a casualty of this job and I’d have to beg Witness Protection to take me in order to avoid Sarah’s wrath.
But now I don’t because he’s here—alive. How the fuck that happened, I still don’t know.
“You stashed him in the woods?” I duck under a low-hanging evergreen limb, the stiff needles scraping across my bare forearm.
“If no one knows he’s missing, then no one will have anything to report.”
I scoff at Smith’s remark, making him pause. “Guessing that was your idea? No way in hell the big guy would ever break rules. Believe me, I’ve tried to get him to loosen up, but it never happens.”
“Things change when a man looks you straight in the face and, without giving two shits, tells his skunk-ass boys to kill you.” The growing shadows from the dipping sun and tree cover keep me from reading Tank’s face. “But still.” He turns with a smile. “You’re right, it was his idea.”
“Fucking knew it. You owe me a drink.” Swiping a twig from the ground, I launch it at Tank’s head. “In all seriousness, I’m glad you’re not dead. Thanks for living.”
“You have this bastard to thank for that.” He hooks a thumb in Smith’s direction. “I was good as dead being tied up and surrounded. Then he showed up, taking them all out before they even knew what was going on.”
“How—”
“I saw you go through the escape tunnel and figured if the man orchestrated the abduction of the president and held her hostage without a single slipup, then he had an escape scenario in place in case we found him before he was ready,” Smith says like it’s no big deal.
“Yo
u knew he would blow the warehouse.” As we step into a small clearing, I quicken my steps to walk beside Tank. “Hey, bestie.”
“Don’t make this awkward,” Tank says on a sigh.
“I figured he would blow the warehouse or the tunnel, leaving me shit out of luck or dead. And considering neither was a scenario I was good with, I followed the last guy through the tunnel.” Smith swings the assault rifle over his shoulder, allowing it to hang from the strap. “The dumbasses didn’t even think to turn and look to see if they were followed.”
“That must have put you near the explosion itself.”
He nods. “I’ve had worse. Can’t hear out of my right ear, but I’m guessing that will come back eventually.”
Lifting the hem of my T-shirt, I wipe my forehead and upper lip. “Where the fuck did you guys leave Whit? North Carolina?”
“Just past the clearing. Stop whining. We did something nice for you.” Tank shoves my bicep hard, sending me staggering a few feet to stay upright.
“You’re the best gift giver, Tank. My fiancée’s nemesis in chains—”
“Rope. We were fresh out of chains.” I smirk at Smith’s response. Maybe he’ll fit in with us after all. Now that I know what I know, he’s not half bad. I didn’t realize how my suspicions had dampened how I acted around him.
“Either way, you caught him and tied him up for me to dispose of.” I clap a hand on Tank’s wide shoulder. “It’s better than a blow job on Christmas morning.”
“You’re sick.” Tank shakes his head but can’t hide his growing grin.
“You love me.” Letting go of his shoulder, I begin to crack the knuckles on one hand before moving to the other. “So you followed us through the tunnel, popped out—"”
“Snuck out,” Smith cuts in. “I’m not a damn bunny.”
“Right, snuck out, saw what was about to go down with Tank, and killed everyone before freeing him and following us.” I run through the events in my mind, but the details don’t match up with my memory. “I only heard one shot. Do you have a silencer?”
Smith holds up his agency-issued nine millimeter in one hand and the silencer in another. “Standard issue from Homeland.”
Power Term: A Secret Service Romantic Suspense Series (Power Play Book 5) Page 19
