Chapter Two Gideon
Chapter Two
Gideon
“You have good aim.” Nodding with approval, I cross my arms over my chest and stand back as the guys I’m training continue to shoot. Today is their last day here on my property in Montana, and after this, they’ll be out in the field, protecting celebrities, politicians, and billionaires.
My phone rings in my pocket. When I see “Bishop” on the screen, I send it to voicemail—for the fifth time today—and turn my attention back to the guys.
We go through my obstacle course, and I evaluate every one of them to make sure they’re ready to guard someone with their lives.
We started with ten trainees a month ago.
Six survived to today.
By the time we’re finished, Bishop has tried to call three more times, but I’ve ignored all of them. My old boss from Washington, DC, hasn’t called me in four years. He can wait another hour until my guys have left the property.
“Thank you,” Roberts says, shaking my hand. “You’re fucking brilliant.”
“I know.” I smirk and pat him on the back. “You’ve got this. You have my number if you have questions.”
They pack up into the van that’ll take them to their hotel in town, and when they’re gone, I walk into my house and take a breath.
I like training new guys. They’re motivated and dedicated, and they’re here to learn. If they’re not, they’re kicked out. I don’t tolerate bullshit.
But it’s always a relief when they leave, and I have a few weeks between sessions.
I’m ready to work the ranch with my brother, Ryker, for a couple of weeks. I have some work to do on the firing range, since I want to add another lane and extend it farther, for sharpshooting. I need to clean the armory.
There’s always shit to do.
My phone rings again, but this time it isn’t Bishop.
It’s Eagle.
“Madam President,” I say in greeting. “What can I do for you?”
“Why are you avoiding Bishop’s calls?” she asks.
“Because I’ve been working, ma’am.”
“I have a situation, Gid,” she says, and I can hear fatigue in her voice. “I won’t tell you what it is over the phone. I need your help with Blackbird.”
What the fuck has she done now?
Lena is the bane of my existence. She made every day on the job difficult. Every. Fucking. Day.
“I’m no longer—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” she says, cutting me off. “I need you here in twenty-four hours. And Gideon?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You’re taking her back with you.”
Stunned, I hold the phone against my ear, sure I’ve heard her wrong. “I’m sorry, could you please say that again, ma’am?”
“You heard me. Twenty-four hours.”
She hangs up, and I pull my hand down my face.
What the fuck is going on? What has she gotten herself into now?
“No.” Willow shakes her head adamantly as she wipes down her kitchen counter. “Absolutely not, Gideon. I don’t want her here on this property. She’s the reason you got hurt and lost your career.”
It wasn’t her fault.
But I can’t tell my best friend that because it’s all classified.
“You’re getting worked up, Trouble,” Ryker says as he pulls her into his arms and kisses the top of her head. He’s watching me with sober eyes. Ryker is my brother in every way that counts, including in name. Ray and Debbie adopted us the year we moved here.
And then, after twenty years of life as a family, of Ry going pro in hockey and kicking ass, me going into the Rangers and then the Secret Service, we lost them both. Debbie passed seven years ago, and Ray followed her two years later. I miss them like crazy every single day.
But Ryker, Willow, and I, along with Willow’s nephew, Aiden, are a family. These are my people, my best friends. We all live on the Triple Creek Ranch, and they need to know that Lena’s coming here.
“I have security locked down,” I continue, as if I’m giving a report to a superior. “No one gets on this land unless we want them to. I don’t know why they want her to come here. I haven’t had any contact with any of them since I retired four years ago.”
“Then tell them no,” Willow insists, and it about kills me when she has tears in her eyes. “No, handsome.”
“The president of the United States has asked for my help, and although I don’t work for the government anymore, she wouldn’t have called me unless there was no other option. They would never involve a civilian unless it was necessary.”
Fucking civilian. I hate that word. I’m not a goddamn civilian.
Except, I am.
“When?” Ryker asks, rubbing his hands up and down his wife’s back.
It’s been four years, and it still gives me a little jolt when I’m reminded that Ry married Willow.
We’re still the Three Amigos, but it’s different.
Not worse or better, just different. Ryker retired from professional hockey when Ray died, and moved home to take over the ranch.
And then, he and Willow reconnected and fell in love.
Or admitted that they belonged together. I’d seen the writing on the wall for twenty years, but no one listens to me.
“I’m leaving in the morning. We’ll likely be back by tomorrow night.”
“I don’t like it.” She shakes her head again. “Gid, your leg—”
“Is fine. And I’m not asking you to like it,” I remind Willow. “I’m telling you what’s happening. I don’t know how long she’ll be here. I don’t know what kind of shitstorm is going on. And I likely can’t tell you about it once I’m filled in.”
“This is your home,” Ryker reminds me. “You don’t have to ask our permission for this.”
“I know. But you’re my family, and I need to keep you in the loop.”
“Do I have to be nice to her?” Willow asks.
“You’re nice to everyone, sweetheart,” Ryker says.
“She hurt him,” she whispers and buries her face in Ry’s chest. “So I don’t want to be nice to her.”
“She didn’t hurt me,” I say before I can keep the words back. “I can’t tell you more than that.”
I want to defend Lena. I hate that Willow has so much animosity toward the First Daughter. Sure, she caused a lot of irritation in the time that I was on her detail, and I wanted to take her over my knee more than once, but my injury wasn’t her fault.
“I just love you,” Willow says.
“I know.” I smile at her, and her face softens the way it always does when I send a grin her way. “I love you too. This is going to be okay.”
She nods and then sighs. “Fine. I’ll be nice. Until I have a reason to not be nice.”
“You’re kind of scary, Trouble.” Ryker lifts an eyebrow.
“I know. I learned it from Gid.”
“Say that again.” My voice is cold steel, my arms are crossed, and I’m staring at Bishop as he rubs his hand over his forehead.
Bishop has been the director of the Secret Service for almost twenty years. I worked well with him in my time here. I trust him.
And he looks fucking exhausted.
“There was a kidnapping attempt by one of our own.” One of our own.
“He was taken down during the incident, but there are rumblings that he wasn’t working alone.
We need to get Blackbird out of here and hidden away somewhere safe.
That’s why we called you. No one would guess that she’s in the middle of nowhere, Montana. ”
I shake my head. “You’re telling me there’s an inside job happening? What about the president?”
“What about her?”
“Is she going into hiding?”
“No.” The woman herself strides into the room and holds her hand out for me to shake. “I’m not hiding out. The intel we have says that I’m not the target.”
“Only Blackbird.”
Her chin goes up. “That’s right. There are theories as to why, but no concrete information. I want her out of DC, where no one will look for her.”
“For how long?” I ask.
“Until it’s over,” Bishop replies. “And we have no idea how long that might be. A week. Six months. Your guess is as good as mine.”
I don’t want her on my ranch for a million reasons, starting with, she’s a pain in the ass. She’s spoiled and does what she wants. She’ll be in my way, underfoot, likely spouting off with her smart mouth. I like quiet and orderly.
Did I mention she’s a pain in the ass?
“I’m not asking,” Madam President adds, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll be well compensated, Gideon. I’m going to be candid and say that you’re the only person on this planet that I trust with my daughter’s life right now. I don’t trust anyone else.”
Well, fuck.
“Looks like your daughter’s going on a trip.”
She doesn’t smile. Her eyes, so much like Lena’s, are sharp, but I also see fear there.
“Thank you. She’s in her old bedroom now.
She knows she’s going somewhere, but I haven’t told her where.
I wanted to get you here and debrief you first. You’ll leave in the next thirty minutes, so go on up. She’s packed.”
Why is she speaking about Lena as if she’s a child? She’s not. She’s a twenty-four-year-old woman.
But I’ll never question the president of the United States. That’s way above my pay grade.
With a nod, I walk out of Bishop’s office, into the private residence, and up the stairs that lead to the bedrooms.
Lena’s is the last room on the right.
I rap my knuckles on the door twice, and she calls out, “Come in.”
I haven’t seen her in four years. I remember a twenty-year-old woman who was rebellious and feisty, despite being relatively quiet, unless she was with her troublemaker of a best friend, Chelsea.
She dressed mostly in jeans and T-shirts, her raven-black hair barely hit her shoulders, and she never wore makeup.
But when I open the door, that girl is gone, replaced by a fucking gorgeous woman.
She’s in black slacks and a purple silk blouse unbuttoned far enough to show off just a hint of cleavage.
Her hair is long, almost to her ass, and she’s wearing just enough makeup to accentuate her lavender eyes and high cheekbones.
She’s . . . stunning.
I can picture that hair wrapped around my fist.
Those eyes shining up at me as I fuck her senseless.
This is bad. This is so motherfucking bad.