Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

Chapter Fourteen

Evyn woke with Ricochet draped on her left ear. “Get off.”

Ricochet stretched, shifted, and settled around her forehead like a fur hat. His belly reminded her of feathers dancing on her skin. Feathers. Fingertips. Wes’s thumb tracing over her cheek. A shot of adrenaline spiking her pulse, her clit instantly hard. Her eyes jolted open. “Hell.”

She stared at the ceiling. Flat gray light. The weatherman had said more snow was coming. More freezing cold. She wasn’t cold now. She kicked the covers off. Ricochet complained and stalked haughtily to the bottom of the bed. Evyn touched her cheek and her clit did that twitching thing it had done yesterday when Wes had touched her. Wes made her so freaking hot—didn’t mean a thing, though. Just good old reflexes. Never mind the way Wes had looked at her when she’d been moving her shoulder around—so serious, so right there . Wes looked at her—looked into her, and okay, that freaked her out too. She’d grown up in a houseful of men she wanted to be just like—tough, competitive men who taught her to win. And any fear or uncertainty—and, God forbid, tears—that cropped up along the way, she hid. And eventually she didn’t need to hide those things because she didn’t feel them any longer.

Except when Wes touched her, she felt the doors opening and light leaking into the closed rooms where she kept her secrets. Not good. Didn’t matter, though. She had a handle on it. She slid her hand down her belly. Had a hand on it too. She was hard all right, and wet, and damn if she couldn’t get Wes’s scent out of her head. So she closed her eyes and let the green of Wes’s gaze and the piercing winter-bright scent of her fill her mind as she came.

*

“Morning,” Wes said when she found Evyn in the ready room at 0730. A box, empty save for a lone white powdered doughnut, sat in the middle of the round table. Evyn was dressed for fieldwork again—khakis and a blue polo shirt with the USSS logo on the chest.

“Hi,” Evyn said, rising abruptly and dumping the remains of her coffee in the sink. “Ready?”

“Another sim? Sure.”

“Nope. Today we go live.” Evyn raised her left wrist and said, “Team One, ready to move out.”

Wes followed her out into the hall, waiting for Evyn to fill her in on what was happening. They’d reached the south exit before she finally asked, “Isn’t it customary to brief me?”

“There is no customary.” Evyn reached the door first and held it open. “The only thing you can count on in this detail is that plans always change. Today’s already have.”

“Am I the only medic?”

“You’ll have the usual backup in the follow car.”

Wes caught the door and followed Evyn outside. A limo idled with the three black SUVs on the circular drive. Gary waited by the open rear door of the first vehicle, sunglasses on, earbud just visible behind his left ear. He nodded briefly to Evyn, and Wes thought she saw his eyebrow quirk before his stony expression returned. Several other men and a woman stood waiting by the other vehicles, and the profiles of additional agents were visible inside each one. She hadn’t expected so many people to be involved in a training scenario but said nothing. Evyn obviously wasn’t planning to answer any of her questions.

“We’ll be in the first follow car,” Evyn said. “Eagle is on his way.”

Wes hesitated. “I thought this was a training scenario.”

Evyn met her gaze, no trace of humor in her eyes. “Did I give you that impression? This is as real as it gets.”

Wes adjusted her expectations and reassessed the situation. “Then shouldn’t I ride with the president?”

Evyn opened the rear door of the SUV directly behind the limo and gestured for Wes to climb in. “Under most circumstances, no. You’re part of the secure package now—we need you out of the kill zone. You can’t treat Eagle if you’re dead.”

“Makes sense,” Wes muttered. She accepted the reasoning behind safeguarding the first responder, but in light of the sim the day before, she didn’t like it. If the vehicles were separated or the president’s vehicle took a direct hit, she wanted to be closer than she would be in a follow car.

Evyn must have read her displeasure, because she said, “If a threat arises, we’ll do our jobs and you’ll stay out of the way until needed.”

“I know the protocol, Agent Daniels.”

“Then we’re all happy.” Evyn pulled out her handheld and started flicking through screens. Conversation over.

Wes settled onto the black leather bench seat and watched out the window as a group emerged from the White House. She caught a fleeting glimpse of President Powell, flanked by four agents, striding briskly toward the limo. Seconds later, they pulled away and exited the South Grounds onto E Street. The streets had been plowed and snowbanks lined the curbs. Somewhere in front of them, motorcycle engines rumbled, probably a police escort clearing the way. Across from her, Evyn texted.

Wes wondered what would happen next, and when. The thrum of anxiety in her belly was probably something she was going to live with indefinitely. Every trip the president took outside the White House was akin to a military engagement. Danger was always imminent. Stress and uncertainty didn’t bother her, as long as she knew she was prepared. And she planned to be.

Forty minutes later, the motorcade pulled off the highway onto a wide drive and stopped in front of a row of large stone buildings. Car doors slammed, and Wes saw the group from the first car moving inside. Evyn opened the door and said, “You’ll stay here with one of the military aides. If you’re needed, he’ll inform you. I hope you brought something to read.”

“It never occurred to me I’d need it.”

Evyn laughed. “Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to kill on this assignment. I recommend an e-reader. Travels easily and holds up well.”

“I’ll make a note of that.”

Evyn closed the door and disappeared inside along with several other agents. Wes settled back to wait, watching out the window. No foot traffic. An occasional car passed along the drive. She wasn’t sure where they were. The uncertainty heightened all her senses. Her pulse was a little faster than usual, and tension in the back of her neck indicated her blood pressure was probably slightly higher than normal too—nothing to worry about as long as the tension didn’t escalate into anxiety, which blunted response time. A certain degree of stress augmented essential reflexes. She felt on edge but sharp. The way she needed to be.

An hour passed before the main doors of the building opened and Evyn walked out, followed by the president and a phalanx of agents. A blur of motion cut across Wes’s field of vision, shouts erupted, the loud crack of gunfire shattered the quiet. Evyn crumpled, the president staggered, and Wes grabbed her FAT kit and bolted from the SUV along with a sea of agents from the other cars. Agents converged on the president, others swarmed a young man holding a pistol and dragged him to the ground. Wes raced up the sidewalk, scanning the injured, automatically triaging. Only those who would die without immediate attention could be treated. Those who would die despite emergency care and those who would survive without it were passed over.

Evyn lay on her back, eyes closed, the collar of her shirt soaked in blood. Neck or chest wound—likely fatal without urgent treatment. Another agent, a man she didn’t recognize, curled on his side, clutching his abdomen. A second potential fatality. The agents with the president pushed past her toward the vehicle she’d just vacated. The president seemed to be moving under his own power—injury status unknown. Without medical treatment, Evyn and the other agent would likely die.