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Cold sweat prickles my skin.
“Can I see you later?” he asks as I pull on my belt and my cuffs, radio, baton, spare magazines, and flashlight.
I can’t look him in the eye, not even in the mirror. “We both have a full day.”
“Don’t remind me.” His smile turns to a grimace. “I’m asking the world for a war.” Sighing, he leans his forehead against my hair and closes his eyes as his arms wind around my waist. “I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
My heart breaks. I don’t want to leave him, especially not like this. I rest my hands over his, and he laces our fingers together.
But I’ve got to go, now. My five minutes are counting down. I’ve got to do something about my suit, wash my face, brush my teeth. Try to get the smell of sex off me.
He walks me to his door. Damn it, I didn’t think about the agents standing post at the ends of his hall. I check my watch again. It’s the shift change, and for once, I hope my people are distracted. That I can play this off, slide under the radar.
I can’t leave without backing Brennan to the wall and kissing him until my knees nearly buckle. God, I want him again. He rocks his hips against mine, and I groan—
I break the kiss and gently pull away. I have to, or I’ll never get out of here. “You’re going to do great.”
He looks at me like I’m the reason his world spins.
Time to go, before I make this worse than it already is. If that’s even possible.
I slip out and shut the door. I hear him rest his hand against the panel like he’s trying to reach me.
The ground crumbles with every step I take.
You should have stayed away from him.
You were supposed to protect him from everything.
Especially yourself.
You are bad for Brennan Walker.
I jog down the hall as quietly as I can move. One of the New York agents is standing post at the elevator, someone I’ve only seen around corners and across briefing rooms in the Brooklyn office. I school my expression and cut in front of him to the stairwell.
“Sir,” he says.
“Morning.” The stairwell door slams shut on the last syllable.
I take the stairs two at a time, my hand shaking as it skims the railing.
It crashes down on me then, alone in the concrete stairwell. I slam into the wall, slide down to my knees, and my hand fists in front of my mouth to cover my groan. I’m hyperventilating.
I’ve just done what I swore I never, ever would.
I’ve put Brennan in danger.
Brennan under fire in the media, the press shouting questions about me as they call his judgment into question. Scathing criticism on TV and in the newspapers. Plunging poll numbers. Congress beginning investigations, subpoenaing my agents, subpoenaing the president’s staff, subpoenaing Brennan.
The excoriation of my agents and of the Service. Who knew, and how? Who suspected? Who kept quiet, and who facilitated?
I haven’t just fucked myself, I’ve fucked everyone. They’ll all be destroyed. Henry and Sheridan. Nuñez and Roberts and everyone who was on Air Force One that day, or who has watched us run together. What did you see? And you didn’t report this suspicious behavior?
It will be everywhere. The downfall, the ruination of the Secret Service.
“Worthy of trust and confidence.” That’s what my badge says.With one night, I’ve destroyed a hundred years of the Service’s reputation and honor.
Well done there, Reese. You’ve fucked up as big as you possibly can.
