Dead.
Or.
Alive.
“Thank you, Tiffany.”
The woman smiled.
“No problem, Elizabeth.”
When the window rolled up, the motorcade of blacked-out vehicles rolled out of there, continuing the trip into DC.
And as soon as they were on the road, Elizabeth broke down.
Devon Slater got a good shot in now, and he’d hit that tender part of her heart.
He’d killed one of her Marines.
And for some reason, she didn’t think Jet would be the last.
* * * The Blackhawks * * *
The White House
Thirty Minutes Later
When they rolled down the driveway toward the entrance to the White House, Gabe and Alessandra were waiting for her. He was in a suit, proving he’d been working, and Lessa was in a dressing gown.
She was showing as she stood beside her fiancé. It was clear that someone had retired for the night.
As soon as the door opened, Raphael got out and held out his hand for Elizabeth. He helped her from the ride, and immediately, Gabe was there.
“Honey.”
More tears came.
The weight of this crushed her, and she couldn’t keep herself going any longer. While she’d cried in the car, this was going to be far worse.
The meltdown was happening.
As soon as he saw her tearstained cheeks, Gabe didn’t question it.
Instead, he scooped her up, and carried her into the White House, his fiancée beside him.
“I’ll order her something hot to drink,” Lessa said, as they found a room and went inside to have privacy.
As Gabe sat, Elizabeth was curled up like a child in his lap, the weight of the world present for everyone to see.
“I have you,” he said, comforting her. Honestly, he knew there weren’t going to be words to make this better.
But he’d try.
“You’re safe.”
She said only one thing.
“Jet.”
