Chapter 16 #2
“He also told us you used to let them order whatever food they wanted,” Isis adds, a dreamy look glossing over her eyes. “One time, he said you got pizza AND Chinese, just because they wanted it.”
“Sounds like something I would do,” I whisper, voice wobbling at bit.
It’s strange to hear what parts of his experience in my care stuck out to their brother.
Things that felt so insignificant in the moment but left an impression on him so strong they found new life in his sisters’ memories, laying the foundation for the bond we’re forging now.
Isis, Imani and I spend the rest of the day trading stories about our lost loved ones.
Some stories make me laugh, and others make me cry, but no matter what the resulting emotion is, I never forget to feel grateful.
For their candor and insight, for their laughter and sass that even gives Monique a run for her money.
For the hugs they give me when Joanna’s car pulls up to the curb, engine sputtering, brakes squealing.
The woman clearly has better things to worry about than me, but she still manages to toss a nasty glare in my direction before she peels out of the parking lot.
“I can have my sister pull her file,” Agent Morgan offers.
She’s been so quiet all day, I almost forgot she’s been shadowing me. I watch Joanna breeze through the stop sign without even tapping her brakes and sigh.
“What good would it do? It’s not like I could use anything in there to have them removed from her care.”
I hadn’t even realized that was something I might want until the words leave my mouth and leave the flavor of truth on my lips.
Everything I’ve seen of Joanna West tells me the desire is justifiable, but I’m also aware of how naive it is to think taking her out of the equation would automatically make things better for Imani and Isis.
“True, but it would give you an idea of who you’re dealing with. Maybe help you build some kind of relationship with her, so she doesn’t become an obstacle between you and the girls.”
I nod, impressed at how the agent’s thoughts complement mine. “You’re right. Any information your sister could provide would be greatly appreciated.”
“I’ll ask her tonight.”
“What are you two doing out here?”
Both Agent Morgan and I turn to find Agent Shaw approaching from the left. She’s got her hands tucked in her pockets and a frown marring her features.
“You’re completely exposed out here,” she says to Morgan, shaking her head as she herds us back inside the building like wayward sheep. “You know better.”
“It’s not her fault. I wanted to see the girls out.”
My defense barely registers as the senior agent begins to reprimand her second-in-command.
“No cover. No backup. The protectee standing in front of you, poised to take a bullet you’re sworn to jump in front of…
.” She rants the entire way back up to my office, and Agent Morgan takes the critique beautifully, nodding when appropriate and only responding verbally when absolutely necessary.
Despite her easy acquiescence, Agent Shaw keeps going, turning what should have been a quick moment for correction and redirection into something else entirely.
I slam my purse on my desk. “Enough!”
Her mouth snaps shut, but resentment at being silenced shines in her eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to hunt down a hint of calm in a body buzzing with second-hand embarrassment and anxiety.
“Ma’am—” Shaw starts, but I refuse to hear anything else from her right now.
“Agent Morgan has done an amazing job leading your team today. She has demonstrated a level of competence, dedication and flexibility most agents at her level wouldn’t even dream of possessing, and most importantly, she has remained respectful and patient in the face of what is, quite frankly, an obvious case of punching down. ”
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Agent Morgan says. “I should have known better.”
“And maybe you should have, but that doesn’t make it okay for her to come in here and take what has clearly been a bad day out on you.”
Shaw mutters a curse, head hanging heavy with shame. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Morgan.”
The other agent shrugs. “It’s okay.”
I gesture to the armchairs in front of my desk. “Sit down and take a load off, Shaw. You too, Morgan.”
Within seconds, we’re all seated and staring at the ceiling.
I’m thinking about how awful it’ll be to go back to the White House knowing there’s not even the slightest chance I’ll catch a glimpse of Cal’s broad shoulders or Beck’s bald head in the halls.
I miss them so much it hurts, and today, for the few hours I spent with Isis and Imani, that ache was bearable. Now it’s back in full effect.
“What happened in your meeting that put you in such a bad mood?” I ask Shaw, hoping that hearing her problems will distract me from mine.
Of course, I’m not that lucky.
“I was formally reprimanded for taking the trip to Kentucky without clearing it with the higher-ups,” she mutters.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” The apology is genuine as is the worry that slices through me seconds later. “Is your job in jeopardy?”
I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I were the reason for someone else losing their job.
Especially if that someone is Agent Shaw.
She’s been nothing but a source of support for me since taking over my security, and I would feel awful if her kindness was rewarded with a trip to the unemployment line.
“No.” She sinks further down into her seat. “At least not yet.”
“What does that mean?” Morgan asks, stealing the question straight from my mind.
Shaw blows out a harsh breath. “It means they’ve started outsourcing our jobs, Morgan.
Can you believe that?” She laughs, but the sound is bitter and full of anger.
“I work my ass off for twenty years to get here, and as soon as the world is used to the idea of a Black, female Secret Service agent, they decide to change the rules so any motherfucker who knows how to hold a gun can walk in off the street and guard the President of the United fucking States.”
I’m trying my best to follow her rant, but there aren’t enough details. I rest my elbows on the edge of the desk, squinting at Shaw like the context I need is going to appear in a bubble over her head.
“Elaborate, please.”
She rights herself in the chair, sitting up straight and linking her fingers together over her stomach. “Your husband has a new security detail. They carry our government-issued weapons and wear our fucking badges, but they are not Secret Service agents.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Morgan says. “We hold federal positions. Anyone tasked with guarding the President would have to go through the hiring requirements and training protocols.”
“Right, and according to Director Evans, they have.”
Sal Evans—the director of the Secret Service—has never struck me as a particularly honest man. His dark hair is always greasy and he has the kind of smile that warns you to never leave a drink unattended when he’s around.
“But you don’t believe him?”
Shaw stares at me for a long second, contemplating the question, then shakes her head. “No. I talked to the new heads of Aubrey’s detail, and I’ve only seen them once before: on the day Drake and Beckham were fired.”
Images of strange men rushing into the sitting hall and pinning Cal and Beck to the floor flash in my mind.
My stomach turns when I remember the way light reflected off leather boots as they dug into skin and muscle, threatening to crack bone.
I’d put that part out of my mind, forcing myself to forget the way the fibers of the carpet bit into my skin when I got on my knees and begged two strangers for the lives of the men I love.
Agent Shaw had been the one to lift me from the ground, and it was her team that came in and deescalated the situation Aubrey was content to let turn deadly. Shaw stayed with me, escorting me to my room, while Morgan and the rest of the team separated Beck and Cal from Aubrey and his henchmen.
“You’re sure it’s the same men?”
There’s a hint of desperation in my tone. I would give anything not to be in the same room with those men again, but if Shaw is right and Aubrey has hired them, then I won’t have a choice.
“I’m sure,” she says. “They even remembered me, thanked me for helping them ‘take out the trash’.”
Morgan visibly bristles. “What’d you say to that?”
“Nothing. I changed the subject, asked them how they managed to score the Presidential detail when I’ve never heard of them.”
I’ve always enjoyed Shaw’s bluntness and find myself releasing a small huff of amusement. “Did they tell you?”
“Of course not. They just spouted off some bullshit about me never hearing of them because I wasn’t on the short list for the President’s detail.”
“The short list?”
Both agents look at me, confused by my confusion.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Shaw explains. “A list of names compiled by the Director that includes the best agents to lead a specific detail.”
“The more prestigious the detail, the shorter the list,” Morgan adds.
I rub my chin, interest more than a little piqued. “Who has access to the list?”
Shaw yawns, either bored with the conversation or done with this day. “The Director and the protectee, so in this case, Aubrey.”
“And no one else ever sees it?”
“Nope,” Morgan says.
Shaw’s brows fold in on each other. “Well, that’s not true.”
Now the other agent’s brows are furrowed as well. “It’s not?”
“No, when I was selected as the head of this detail, the Director gave me the list. He suggested I use my competition to build my team. I got access to entire personnel files, psych exams, credit reports, the whole nine.”
Morgan looks a bit dismayed by her superior’s confession, but I’m too distracted by the spark lighting up the edges of a path in my mind that starts at Shaw’s revelation and ends at the only place we can find answers to the questions we have about the men who are now in charge of Aubrey’s safety.