A low angry animalistic growl rumbles through the earpiece in my right ear. Reluctantly, I tear my gaze off her for the thousandth time in the last fifteen minutes. Tank curses, and a smile ticks at my lips before I shut it down. Around me, other guys of the alpha team scan the room, one seeming more on edge than the rest of us.
Agent Smith. There’s no doubt he’s good at watching for threats. Randi is in good hands with him around. Now, safe from him, that's a different question. Tank and I agree there’s something off about him, something that keeps me on alert any time he's around.
An agent murmurs one word, and acknowledgments of the potential threat echo in my earpiece as Randi moves about the large ballroom, greeting the various minsters and advisors of the king. The king himself stands at the end of the receiving line several people down, the last for her to thank for the opulent banquet tonight. The purpose for this trip has been successful so far. The call last week between the king and Randi, and now her being here showing her support, has eased his twitching finger off the rocket launchers. Somehow she's convinced him the US is already looking into the attacks and will hold the people guilty of the bombings accountable.
Which we will.
We are.
As long as our time doesn’t run out before it's too late. These countries are balanced on the tip of a sharp knife; one skirmish, one more conflict, can cause all hell to break loose.
But if anyone can stop it all from happening, it's her. Beautiful, caring, crazy, and lovable Randi Sawyer. I was a fool to let those several weeks slip by without being at her side. Not anymore. No, I'm here now, and I'm fucking here to stay.
Her high-pitched fake laugh pierces through my distracting thoughts. Scanning the room, I sweep the crowd with a calculating gaze, monitoring their proximity to the president before focusing back on the woman now conversing with the king.
At his beckoning, the two make for the obnoxiously large dining hall. Sweet scents of roasted meats, crisp wines, and other delicacies float through as two white-gloved servants swing the doors open. A low grumble releases from my stomach. Fuck, of course I forgot to eat before leaving the suite. Randi’s eating habits are rubbing off on me, it seems.
Shit, that means she didn’t eat either.
Not that any of us have had time to today. Air Force One touched down before the sun was up this morning. Immediately we raced to the king’s palace, where Randi was ushered into several grueling hours of closed-door meetings. Hell, Randi barely had time to change into that red Carolina Herrera gown before rushing through the long stone hallways to not be late for her own welcoming banquet.
At least our stay is a short one. For optimum security, Tank decided the visit would be in and out, leaving less time here for something to happen.
Too bad, really. I'd love to check out the pool.
Inside the banquet room, everyone finds a seat in one of the twenty chairs lining the long table. Servers rush through the service doors, each balancing platters of varying foods or trays holding long-stemmed glasses with bubbling liquid. Around the room, the king’s security line the walls with US agents scattered throughout.
I don't search for T or any of the other guys. I already know where each are stationed and what their main focus is from the detailed rundown Tank made us cover four times on the flight here.
The clatter of silverware echoes around the open room while soft murmuring and boisterous laughter carry through, bouncing off the gilded walls. The device at my wrist vibrates, signaling the half hour mark.
Only four more hours before we can tuck her safely back into her suite.
Fuck, this will be a long damn night.
I wince as the leather harness slides over my shoulders, the muscles protesting the small movement from being tense for the past five hours. After securing both of my sidearms in the provided safe, I perch on the end of the bed to toe off one shoe and then the other. The clatter of the second shoe hitting the stone floor is muffled by a pounding knock. Before I can call out to whoever is on the other side, Tank shoulders through the door and steps inside the small room.
“I need you to do something for me,” he says, exhaustion and worry evident on his tight face and tired eyes. We all are. Even though Saudi Arabia is our ally, we're still in the middle of a potential war zone. Even without that threat, there are several insurgent groups excited for a chance to harm Randi, which would send the US into a tailspin. Plus, we still haven’t identified Whit’s plan to follow through on his threats since Randi didn't choose him as VP. That's a whole other shit pile we're trudging through each day.
“I'm not rubbing your feet,” I respond, attempting my normal humor. “Go haze Smith and tell him he has to since he’s the new guy.”
“I don't like her being in that room alone.”
“Agreed.” Even with two agents stationed outside her suite’s door, I don’t like it. There’s more than one way to get into that room, even if the other is a good three-story climb to her balcony. “What are you suggesting?”
“You, in there with her, tonight.”
The skin along my forehead creases as both my brows rise. “That will look a little suspicious, won't it?”
Tank reaches up to run a hand over his shaved head. “It will, but I'd rather people talk, not having any evidence of foul play, than her be in there alone and vulnerable. Without a female on our team, we're up shit creek in situations like this.”
Weak, tired, and fucking cranky as hell from the near twenty-four-hour shift, I gaze back at my bed longingly.
“I'm not asking you to stand guard all night,” Tank clarifies, no doubt seeing that I'm just as exhausted as he is. “I'm only asking you to stay in the room with her overnight and get the hell out before anyone wakes up tomorrow morning.”
I huff and shake my head, a few dark locks falling across my forehead. I swipe them out of my eyes and focus on the floor. “I'm fucking sick of sneaking around.” Annoyance at the whole situation and why we have to still hide our relationship simmers in my gut. “Why does her personal life matter? Why would anyone care if she was caught screwing an agent?” I yank a sock off my foot and hurl it into the corner.
“You know why, Playboy. Especially now, with your family name plastered all over every paper in this city, you two together would be damn near Christmas Day for the media. Those bloodsuckers are looking for anything to help with their smear campaign against our girl. And before, when she was VP, your relationship with her was frowned upon, but now she's under a damn microscope. Don't go adding that stress to her plate because you’re tired of the secrets. Don't ask her to make your relationship public because that's what you want.”
Without any better comeback, I throw my other dirty sock at his face, aiming right between his eyes. The bastard bats it away. With a grumble, I press off the bed. The cold stone floor seeps through my bare feet, calming some of the ache my shoes caused.
“Can I at least walk through the bedroom door, or do I need to sneak through the window?”
“I stationed Smith and Champ outside her door, since they both know about you two after that dumbass stunt you pulled in the Oval Office the other day in front of Smith. I asked both to hang around until you came by, and then I'll switch them out with two beta team members.”
Lifting my arms up high, I stretch until the edges of my dress shirt slip out from the confines of my pants. “He seemed on point tonight.”
Tank follows me as I move into the bathroom. “There's something about him that’s off, but he's damn good at keeping her safe, and that’s all we can ask for.”
“You think there’s a hidden agenda to why the director put him on our team?” I ask around the toothbrush in my mouth.
A slow nod is my only answer, leaving more questions in its wake.
“I’m still trying to figure that part out.” Shoulder digging into the doorframe, he remains silent until I’m done brushing my teeth. “Sleep with one eye open tonight. If you sleep at all, that is.”
Hand towel pressed to my face, I finish wiping the remaining toothpaste off my lips. “You think they’re planning something?” Nerves take flight in my gut, hastening my steps as I slip on a fresh pair of socks and a new pair of shoes.
“Just a gut feeling, nothing confirmed. Hell, there isn’t even any chatter.”
Lips pressed into a thin line, I walk behind him to the door. Halfway down the hall, I cover a wide yawn with a fist to my lips. “As much as that woman turns me on, the thought of sleep is more appealing than anything else. Is it just me, because of my relationship with her, or is this ten times more stressful than our old gig protecting the VP?”
“Twenty times from my perspective. So much more goes into each step she takes and the various angles and supplies and transportation. If it weren't for her, I'd say screw this and step back to our old detail. But it is her, and I'd be more stressed wondering if she's protected and safe if I weren't the one in charge.”
I grunt in acknowledgment.
At a door matching my own room's, Tank pauses and grips the handle. “Radio me if you need me.”
“Sleep with some damn clothes on.” I slap his back and continue down the hall. “No one needs to see your fat naked ass racing through the halls if something does happen.”
“Yeah, best keep my weapon concealed unless we need me to club someone with it.”
My low chuckle rumbles down the hall. Looking over my shoulder, I smile back at my tired friend, who's yet to enter his room. “Hostile takedown by massive dick. That would be a new one.”
“One for the books. Keep her safe, Playboy.”
Hand in the air, I offer a goodbye wave and start my trek to her suite once again. The halls are silent as I make my way through the maze of walkways and rooms. A few of the king’s guards watch me, their gazes monitoring each move I make. I tap two fingers to my brow in a small salute and take a right at a corner, continuing toward my destination.
A cold breeze rushes through an opened window, the sheer curtains framing it floating along, dancing in the shifting air. I walk past only to pause and turn back to the window.
Odd.
Head whipping every direction, I search the empty hallway for the king’s ever present guards but can’t find a soul. Unease churns my stomach at the randomness of the only open window being along this deserted hall. My shoes clip the stone floor as I pick up my pace to a quick jog.
As her suite door comes into view, I let loose a tight breath at the sight of Smith and Champ outside. Smith’s unfaltering gaze zeroes in on me as I continue my hasty approach. After a quick glance over my shoulder, he shoots me a questioning look.
“Open window, seemed odd,” I say, pointing behind me.
Something like recognition flashes across his gray eyes. Before I can get another word out, he's shoving open Randi's suite door without warning. I follow hot on his heels, Champ staying outside guarding the hall, and step around his slim frame to take in the entire room.
Eyes wide, Randi bolts up from the low lounge chair in the far corner of the room, blindly setting her laptop aside before it plummets to the floor.
“What's going on?” she asks. Gripping the edges of her thin silk robe, she tugs them together, closing the gap exposing her chest and legs. Possession blazes through my veins, triggering my temper at the hint of what Smith caught a glimpse of. Even though the tight tank top and soft cotton shorts covered most of her even without the robe, the hard peaks of her nipples standing at attention from the chill in the room are for my eyes only, even hidden beneath a layer of clothing.
I motion to Smith, letting him explain, but he seals his lips shut.
After mentally punching him in the balls, I turn back to Randi. “It’s nothing, Mess.”
“What are you doing here, Trouble? What’s going on?”
Slipping both hands into the pockets of my slacks, I hitch my chin in the direction of the room I left behind for this one. “Tank asked me to do him a favor.”
“And what was that favor? To race into my room and scare the shit out of me?” A single dark brow lifts higher on her forehead.
“Nope. To stay the night, with you, in this room.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
Her sharp snort fills the room. I can’t help but smile even though I’m dead on my feet. Randi’s loose dark hair shifts along the silk robe with the shake her head. “I’m not buying it, Trouble. Like T would allow you to stay in here with so many curious eyes around us.”
Hitching my chin toward the door, I point an elbow in the same direction. “I’ve got it from here. You're good to go, Smith. Radio Tank and let him know I'm in place and to send the beta team agents to relieve you.”
“I don't like it,” he states, his eyes scanning every corner of the room.
I glide my fingers through the soft strands of my hair. “Don't like what?” I don’t cover the exhaustion in my gritty tone.
“What you said with the open window. It doesn’t make any sense why it would be when all the others in the place are sealed tight.” Randi and I share a surprised look. Smith said a whole sentence. Two, in fact, back to back. That’s the most he’s spoken since he was forced on the team.
“Maybe one of the guards got hot,” Randi suggests. She wraps her arms across her chest and chafes her hands up and down her biceps.
“No, those guards wouldn’t leave their king or our president vulnerable by leaving such a gaping hole in our defenses. An open window offers anyone waiting a way inside undetected.”
“And how would you know what to look for?” Randi asks, pitching forward an inch, completely engrossed in Smith’s words. Hell, I am too.
He shoots a condescending expression across the room at her before going back to examining the area with his laser focus.
“Let's secure the room,” I offer, ready to get it cleared and myself in the massive bed that looks like absolute heaven. It’s not that I don’t buy his assessment, but we have too many agents and twice as many guards protecting Randi and the king. Unless someone knew our weaknesses or plans, there’s no way someone would get close enough to do either harm. “Then you go get some rest. You're no good to her or us exhausted. That publicity breakfast first thing in the morning is a security nightmare with all the press that’s invited, so we need everyone on their A game.”
An expression I can’t read flashes across his face. Eyes narrowed, I take in the agent beside me, trying like hell to figure him out.
“Are you concerned?” Randi asks. She looks to the balcony doors and takes a cautious step toward me.
If I weren't studying him, I would’ve missed his minuscule nod.
“Because an open window is what you'd look for if you were trying to find a way inside,” I say as a statement. “What are you thinking, Smith? Spit it the fuck out. We don’t have time for bullshit.” His file was so redacted we have no idea which agency he came from, but my gut tells me CIA. Which means we should heed whatever concerns he has.
“It means one of two things. Either it’s a signal for something or an access point for someone to gain entrance into the palace. Either option says someone inside this damn place is working with someone on the outside.”
My protective instincts flare. In two strides, I’m beside her, gripping Randi's thin waist and locking her to my side. “Secure the fucking room, then radio Tank and tell him we need more agents stationed outside her room than we planned.”
Randi’s entire body trembles beneath my tight hold as Smith combs the room, checking every nook and cranny with his gun drawn. Taking a knee, he shines a light under the bed for several moments to check the shadows beneath.
“I thought monsters under the bed were a myth,” Randi says, her voice high.
Smith stands and shifts across the room to check the reading area she was in when we first arrived. “The monsters I know don’t live in the shadows, and they sure as hell don't need you to believe in them to exist. They wait, they watch, an
d then they strike without you ever aware they were there.”
Randi’s throat works, her breaths quickening. “The ones I know stalk you out in the open, making you feel trapped, surrounded.” She sneaks a glance to the open hall door. “Hopeless.”
Smith pauses his examination of the room to focus on her before sliding his hard stare to me.
I let out a sigh. The returning callouses on my palm scrape down my face. “The previous president, Birmingham, associated himself with more than a few sketchy characters.” His attention hones in, listening to my every word while he continues checking the room. “There was—is—one worse than the rest. One who’s more sociopath than conniving. Shawn Whit, the previous director of interior. He’s always had it out for Randi, going as far as poisoning her even.” My grip tightens around her waist. “A few months ago, he propositioned Randi with something she wanted to force her hand—”
“Not something,” she hisses, maneuvering out of my tight hold. Swiveling on her bare feet, Randi turns her full focus to Smith, who's checking behind the curtains and thick tapestries draped along the windows and patio doors. “The location of my daughter, Taeler.” Smith’s hands pause, his attention now solely on her. “She was abducted while in France, and the bastard knew where she was and who was holding her.”
Stretching between us, I lace my fingers with hers and lift her hand to kiss the inside of her palm. “For the location of her daughter in Paris, Randi was forced to agree to Shawn’s demand. Then when it came time to follow through on that promise, she went another direction.”
Those thin, burdened shoulders round. “I couldn't put a man like him in the vice president seat. I know what I did—or didn't do, rather—put a larger target on me, but I couldn't do that to the American people. He's a fucking sociopath, not an arrogant asshat like every other politician in DC. I stand by my decision. There’s no doubt he’ll get his payback one way or another, but when, who the hell knows. The waiting for him to strike has all of us on edge even more than normal.”
“Why not kill him first?”
Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4 Page 13
