Chapter One #2
Grabbing her purse, she got out of the car and went up the ramp to the home she shared with Nick and Scotty. An agent greeted her at the door and opened it for her. “Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure, Mrs. Cappuano.”
Not that long ago, Sam would’ve told the agent to call her Lieutenant Holland, but lately she’d grown used to hearing her married name from the agents that surrounded her family.
It didn’t rankle the way it once would have.
In the ten months they’d been married, some of Lieutenant Holland had given way to make room for Mrs. Cappuano.
Speaking of the devil who’d made her his missus, Nick came out of the kitchen wearing a gorgeous dark gray suit with a cranberry-colored tie that was one of her favorites. As he had from the moment she first met him years ago, he took her breath away by walking into the room.
“Hey, babe. How was the appointment with Trulo?”
“More of the same.” She dropped her coat and purse on the sofa, earning a frown from her neat-freak husband.
In a mocking tone, she said, “‘Tell us how you feel, talk about what happened, blah, blah, blah.’ I don’t know what they want me to say.
It happened, I survived, it’s over and he’s locked up. ”
Nick kissed her forehead and gazed down at her, taking in every detail with gorgeous hazel eyes that saw right through her—and her bullshit. “You know what they want from you, Samantha, and the sooner you give it to them, the sooner you’ll be back on the job.”
The Secret Service had given them the room, so she ran her fingertip down the silk tie and dipped it under his belt, pleased to realize he’d delayed the start of his day to be here when she got home.
“Maybe I don’t want to go back to work. Maybe I’d rather be the second lady for a while and tend to my vice president anytime he needs tending to. ”
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Um, who are you and what’ve you done with my wife?”
For the first time in hours, Sam laughed.
“No, seriously. You want to be the second lady rather than a cop?” He pressed his hand to her forehead. “No fever, but maybe we should call Harry to be safe.”
“Knock it off.” She batted his hand away. “Is there anything wrong with enjoying a little break from the rat race?”
“If you were anyone else, I’d say of course not. But because you’re you, I see reason for concern. Perhaps even alarm. You love the rat race. You live for it. Or you did until Stahl lost his mind. Since then, you haven’t been quite yourself, babe. We’ve all noticed it.”
Sam wasn’t surprised that he was tuned in to her as always and wouldn’t settle for the platitudes she’d given Trulo.
“I’m working through some things having to do with the attack and the job and where I go from here.
” It was the most she’d said to anyone since that awful day.
“I need some time. As long as I’m on leave, I may as well enjoy it, right? ”
“I suppose. But the cleaning and all that… You’re kind of freaking us out.”
Smiling, she put her arms around him and leaned into the comfort of his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of home. “I’ll knock off the cleaning.”
He held her tight against him. “Thank God.”
“How come your car is outside? I thought you sold it.”
“Yeah, about that, I lied.”
She lifted her head off his chest to give him the wifely evil eye. “You lied? Start talking.”
“When we declined Secret Service protection for you, I didn’t exactly do that without some significant fears—and that was before everything happened with Stahl.
So I decided… Well, come with me. Let me show you.
” He held her coat for her while she put it back on and then took her by the hand to lead her to the door.
The agent on duty stopped them. “Are you leaving, sir?”
“Just going outside for a minute.”
The agent spoke into the microphone attached to a wire that hung from his ear. “Hotshot and Fuzz are on the move.”
“Fuzz?” Sam said, looking up at Nick. “That had better not be a reference to my hair.”
“Did I forget to mention we’ve been assigned code names? And I believe yours is more about your job than your hair.”
“It had better be. Fuzz? Really? How come you get to be Hotshot and I’m Fuzz? Is there an appeal process?”
Hand over his mouth, the agent laughed silently.
“It’s not funny! I have a reputation to uphold here. Fuzz is a puppy or a kitten. It’s not a badass cop.”
“I’ll take it up with those in charge,” the agent said solemnly, obviously trying not to laugh out loud.
Sam scowled at him. “You do that.”
“You may proceed, Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano.”
Sam left the agent with a final glare as she let Nick lead her out the door.
“I can’t tell you how much I hate having to get permission to walk out my own door,” he said.
“You knew it would be like that.”
“Still, it sucks balls.”
“Speaking of sucking balls—”
“Not here. Not now.”
“How do you know what I was going to say?”
His side-eyed glance said it all. Removing a key fob from his pocket, he unlocked the BMW. “Hop in,” he said, holding the passenger door for her.
“Um, okay. I thought you weren’t allowed to drive yourself anywhere?”
“We’re not leaving.”
“I’m not making out with you in broad daylight with your entire detail looking on.”
“Good to know,” he said, laughing. “Now get your sweet ass in the car.”
Sam slid into the soft leather seat and breathed in the familiar scent of leather and cologne that would always remind her of their first days together. They’d spent a lot of time in this car since then, and she’d been sad to see it go after he became vice president.
He got into the driver’s side and pulled the door closed.
She leaned across the center console. “You’ve got me all to yourself, Hotshot. Whatever will you do with me?”
Flashing the irrepressible grin that made her panties damp every damn time, he said, “I’ll show you around your new armor-plated, specially outfitted bulletproof security vehicle.”