Chapter 13
Nathan
“Oh my God,” I repeated stupidly, even as I automatically held out my hand to the man across from me. “Mr. President, it’s…it’s an honor.”
“Honor’s all mine, Mr. Wilder.”
I doubted that, but I was still too awestruck to say anything besides, “Call me Nathan, please.”
“Nathan, it’s a pleasure. Please, call me Everett.”
There was no fucking way I could call him that. I watched in stunned disbelief as Vincent handed the man a bottle of beer.
The former leader of the free world drank beer. And he twisted the cap off like every other guy in America.
And he somehow knew Vincent.
“Mmmm, stir-fry?” Everett said as he eyed the stove.
“Yep,” Vincent said, and then he was turning back to the stove and getting it going again.
“You’re not putting any of that tofu shit in it, are you?” Everett asked as he took a long pull from the bottle.
Holy hell, the president swore.
“Why yes, Everett, you may join us for dinner. And no, it’s beef.”
“Beef?” Everett said before letting out a low whistle. His eyes shifted to me and he said, “You must be special.”
His comment sent a rush of heat through me. Did he somehow know what had happened between me and Vincent? Fuck, had Vincent told him? My eyes shifted to the man next to me.
“He’s talking about the fact that I rarely eat red meat,” Vincent said calmly and then shot Everett a dark look. “Make yourself useful and set the table.”
“The table?” the older man said. “Wow, really special,” he quipped as he shot me a smile and then actually winked at me.
The former president of the fucking United States was taking orders from Vincent and he’d winked at me. What the hell alternate universe was I stuck in?
“You know the president?” I whispered to Vincent once Everett was out of immediate earshot.
“Clearly,” he said, and I fought the urge to punch him in the arm.
“You know what I mean.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Then tell me the abbreviated version.”
“Later,” he said. “Go talk politics – he loves that shit.”
“I can’t talk politics with the president,” I said fiercely.
Vincent laughed, actually laughed, and shook his head. “Fine, then talk about reality dance competitions. You’ll never get him to shut up.”
“I heard that,” Everett said.
“Should we set a place for Grady?” Vincent asked as he began sautéing the beef.
Everett let out something that sounded like a mix between a curse and a growl. “Bastard took an early retirement. Moved to Florida to be closer to his seven grandkids. Can you believe that?”
“That he moved to Florida?” Vincent drawled.
“No, smartass, that he’s got seven grandkids.” Everett began plunking silverware down next to the plates. “He must have been practically a baby when he started having kids.”
“Isn’t he like five years younger than you?” Vincent asked, a small smile flitting over his lips.
“Seven years, you asshole. Which means he’s only a few years older than you. Seven grandkids.”
It took me a moment to realize the men were grousing about their ages.
From what Everett was saying, he was only ten years older than Vincent, which put him near the sixty mark.
While the man might not be as built as Vincent, he was still gorgeous.
Thick, glossy salt-and-pepper hair, a little bit of scruff on his wide jaw, stunningly bright blue eyes, and a fit body that filled out his dress pants and button-up shirt beautifully.
It wasn’t until I sensed Vincent’s eyes on me that I realized I’d been staring at the older man.
Vincent’s knowing smile said he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.
“They assigned me a new one.”
“A new what?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t stepping on any toes. But I was completely clueless as to what they were talking about.
“Secret Service agent,” Vincent responded.
“The snot-nosed little shit’s turning the house upside down with all his security measures. He’s convinced I’m the target of the next great terrorist plot.”
“Was there a threat or something?” I asked.
Everett waved his hand as he returned to the island and took another swig of his beer. “He’s looking to prove himself. He pissed off some muckety mucks somewhere along the way and he’s doing time in purgatory.”
“What did he do?” Vince asked.
“Rumor has it, he slept with the VP’s daughter…the VP’s barely-legal daughter.”
Vincent laughed before saying, “Fuck purgatory. He’s going to burn in suburbia until you send him into early retirement like you did Grady, or till you’re six feet under.”
I watched in astonishment as Everett punched Vincent’s upper arm. “Nice,” he said. “And I didn’t drive Grady away. We had an understanding.”
My belly did an insane flip-flop motion when Vincent cast his eyes in my direction and rolled his eyes.
“You know new guy probably put a tracker on your car.”
“Yeah, I know. That ungrateful shit Grady probably warned him I liked my alone time.”
“Alone time?” I asked.
“Everett has a habit of ditching his Secret Service detail. He ropes his household staff into helping him.”
“Staff,” Everett snorted. “It’s Helga and Jeremiah,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You’re making me sound pretentious, Vincent.”
“Shut up, old man,” Vincent returned. “No one’s buying your “aw, shucks” act.
” Vincent glanced at me as he began searching out a bowl in the cabinet next to the stove.
“Everett’s sharp as a tack, even for his advanced age.
He pretends he’s all about making pottery and babying his prize-winning roses, but it’s complete shit.
He could just as easily walk into the situation room at the White House and take control of whatever fucked-up shit’s going on there. ”
I shifted my eyes to Everett, who winked at me as he finished his beer.
Before I could say anything, Vincent’s phone was beeping.
“There’s your man,” Vincent said. “You tell him the rules?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Everett asked. Vincent shook his head which had Everett saying, “I told Grady to tell him.”
Vincent turned the stove off, and then he walked over to a small monitor on the wall near the entrance to the kitchen.
I followed him and saw him punch a button on a digital panel next to the monitor.
I could see on the monitor that a dark sedan was sitting in the driveway.
The first gate opened and the car immediately pulled in.
The gate closed behind the car, but when the second gate didn’t move, the driver began honking his horn and then an arm came out to hit a button on the small metal post just before the gate.
“Yes,” Vincent said, his voice holding none of the mirth it had a moment ago.
“United States Secret Service,” the voice said sternly. “Open the gate.”
“What’s his name?” Vincent asked Everett.
“Nash?” the other man said.
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“It’s either Nash or Bridges.”
Vincent shook his head. “Where are you getting that from?”
“I remember thinking I miss that show when he introduced himself,” Everett explained. He looked at me and said, “It was a good show, huh?”
Since I’d never seen it, I merely nodded in agreement.
“Ev, focus,” Vincent said.
“Nash,” Everett murmured with a nod.
“First name or last?”
“Not a clue,” the older man said with a shrug.
I smiled to myself as I watched the byplay between the two. Whatever they were to one another, it was something they’d likely spent years building.
Vincent hit the button on the dial pad and said, “What’s your name, Agent?”
“Special Agent Jonathan Nash,” came the response, and then the man was holding up ID. “Open the gate, sir.”
The man’s tone left little doubt what he expected to happen, but seeing the way Vincent tensed up, I knew the fun had come to an end. “Agent Nash, I assume you’re armed.”
“That’s none of your concern, Mr…”
“If you were any kind of agent, you’d already know my name.”
“Fine, whether or not I’m armed is none of your concern, Mr. St. James. I’m here to collect President Shaw and if you don’t open this gate immediately, I will be forced to break it down and you will be arrested for interfering with a federal officer.”
Yep, the game was definitely over because Vincent straightened and then he was striding past the door.
“Bad move, Nash Bridges,” Everett said to himself, and then he was rushing past me. I hurried after both men and caught up to them just in time to see Vincent pull a rifle from the trunk of his car in the garage. He slammed his hand against the garage door opener on the wall between the doors.
“Vincent,” Everett called, but Vincent ignored him and strode out of the garage. “Fuck,” Everett muttered, and then he was striding after Vincent. By the time I caught up to them, Vincent had reached the gate.
“Get out of the fucking car!” Vincent snarled and then he pulled the lever back on the rifle.
“Put the weapon down!” the man in the car yelled. “Put it-”
Vincent shot out the front driver’s side tire before the man could even finish talking.
“Jesus, fuck, Vincent,” Everett yelled and then he was pushing between Vincent and the gate. I reached Vincent’s other side and grabbed his arm, not caring what he’d likely do to me, considering how he normally reacted anytime I touched him.
“Don’t,” I said softly.
He didn’t take his eyes off the man in the car who’d at least had the sense to put his hands up. But he also didn’t throw off my hand.
“Get the fuck out of the car, Nash,” Everett snapped and then he went to the side of the gate.
I finally noticed he had a watch just like mine and Vincent’s.
He waved his wrist against a small metal panel on the gate post and it slid open.
The car door slowly opened and the man got out.
His arms were no longer raised, but he was careful about where he put his hands since Vincent hadn’t lowered his gun.
The easygoing Everett I’d met just moments ago was gone, and in his place was the man I’d watched countless times on television as he’d talked to the American people. A man I’d hoped to be just like someday.
“Did or did Grady not explain to you who this man is?” Everett pointed to Vincent who had yet to take the gun off the man. Everett seemed completely unconcerned that the weapon was essentially now pointed at him.
“He did,” Agent Nash said, his voice steady and even as his eyes remained on Vincent.
“And is it your habit to disrespect a man who is more of a brother to me than my own fucking flesh and blood?”
“No, sir,” the man responded coolly.
“Yet you come onto this man’s property, knowing what you know,” – Everett’s voice ticked up as he spoke – “knowing I’m safer with him than I am with ten of the likes of you, and you don’t show him or me the courtesy of respecting his wishes. Do I have that correct, Agent?”
I was stunned when, instead of cowering, the man stepped forward, getting into Everett’s face.
“With all due respect, I am not Grady, and contrary to what you and everyone else thinks, I’m here to do my job and that includes keeping you safe from any threat.
” The man’s eyes shifted briefly to Vincent, but he seemed unfazed that the gun was still trained on him.
“If you’d shown me even an ounce of the very respect you’re demanding, you would have allowed me to accompany you this evening instead of running off like an errant child, and I would have been given the opportunity to meet Mr. St. James under more appropriate circumstances.
And only once I’d made sure you were safe in his care would I have respected his ridiculous rule about leaving all of my weapons in my trunk. ”
Agent Nash shifted his focus to Vincent.
“If you care about him so much, you would let me do my damn job and keep him safe. Just because he’s with you doesn’t mean I’m off the clock,” the man bit out.
“I don’t know what your deal about federal officials coming onto your property armed is, and frankly, I don’t care.
I’m here to do my job and I’ll damn well do it, no matter how many of my fucking tires you blow out. ”
Vincent’s jaw ticked a few times and then he lowered the weapon. “You get five minutes with me while I explain the perimeter’s security, and you can wait out here until Everett is ready to leave. But you will not come armed into my house, and I will not be showing you the interior security.”
Agent Nash held Vincent’s gaze a moment before nodding.
Everett was noticeably quiet, and I couldn’t help but think that he seemed lost in thought as his eyes followed Agent Nash as he walked through the gate towards Vincent.
I fully expected Vincent to comment on the fact that the man was still armed, since I could see a pistol sticking out from beneath his jacket in some kind of shoulder holster, but Vincent remained silent.
I guessed Agent Nash to be a few years older than me.
His hair was coal black and his skin had a slightly olive tone to it.
Italian heritage maybe. He was almost as tall as Vincent and had a similar build, but whereas Vincent had a certain hardness about him, Agent Nash seemed stiffer. Like he was always on point.
Everett stopped by my side as we watched the men begin walking along the fence line. I noticed that Vincent kept his finger near the trigger of the rifle and while he wasn’t holding it on Agent Nash, it wasn’t exactly in a non-threatening position either.
“What happened to him?” I murmured before looking at Everett. I’d initially thought Vincent’s reaction had been about Agent Nash being a federal agent, but I’d quickly realized the real issue – the only issue – had been that the agent had been unwilling to put his weapons away.
Everett patted my back and said, “Would you believe he’s actually come a long way?
” There was no humor in Everett’s voice as he spoke, though, and I knew he too must have been rattled by the encounter.
Though he didn’t seem overly surprised by it…
at least not by Vincent’s reaction. Now Agent Nash’s reaction…
As I followed Everett back into the house, I had to wonder if Agent Nash would still have a job come tomorrow…assuming he and Vincent even made it back to the house in one piece.