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But if I ask him if he does, that will make it real, so I don’t.
We keep each other in check with our bullshit back and forth. He buys me a larger Dri-Fit T-shirt. I buy him a coffee mug that says, “World’s Best FBI Agent.” He calls me an asshole.
I move Sheridan to Henry’s shift, pairing them, and then catch them in almost every corner of the White House as Henry tries to pour a hundred years of history and training into Sheridan’s young mind.
Friday night finally arrives, and with it, our illicit run.
I’m calling it a date in my head, even though it’s as far from a date as we can get. Henry and Sheridan are here, and even though the eyes of the world won’t be on us for the next sixty minutes, their eyeballs will be more than enough scrutiny.
I meet Brennan on the curve of the Grand Staircase, and we spend thirty seconds up against the wall, kissing each other until my bones melt and my skin burns from the inside. I want to say fuck the run, and maybe he does too, but we can’t.
We slip through the East Wing and escape to East Executive Avenue. Henry’s SUV is idling in the dark spot on the camera feed that runs back to the command center.
I pull open the rear door for Brennan and climb into the back after him. Sheridan is in the passenger seat, traditionally where the lead agent sits.
There’s nothing traditional about what we’re doing.
“Mr. President,” Henry says, meeting Brennan’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Where to tonight? Chinese takeout? E Street theater? Flight to the Bahamas?”
“That last one sounds pretty good.”
Henry puts the SUV in drive. He eases us down East Exec, the closed avenue between the White House and the Treasury Building. It’s a delivery access now, with gatehouses at each end. The uniformed officer waits for Henry to roll down the window and checks his ID before he lowers the barricades. “Have a good night, Agent Ellis.”
“Ah, the work never ends, Mike. Just grabbing a coffee. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“You work too hard, sir.” Mike waves as Henry pulls out onto E Street.
Brennan and I are pressed together, our hips, our knees, our sides, our shoulders, all touching. Brennan’s fingers thread through mine, hidden in the darkness.
“Drop us off on Fifteenth by the restrooms,” I tell Henry.
He nods. The air inside the SUV thrums. We turn right on Fifteenth and glide across Constitution. At eleven p.m., the Mall is nearly deserted.
Henry pulls into the bus turnout next to the Washington Monument, and Sheridan and I scramble out of the SUV at the same time. I hold Brennan in the vehicle, scanning left and right as Sheridan takes the block position.
“Clear,” Sheridan says softly.
Brennan’s waiting, gaze glued to me. Henry’s watching him in the rearview.
My heart lurches at the shine in Brennan’s eyes. Damn it, I want to take his hand, pull him to me and lay one on him, right here beneath the glow of the Washington Monument and all these snapping red, white, and blue flags.
Brennan tugs his beanie down and slides out of the SUV.
Henry pulls away as soon as the door closes. He’s going to loop around the Mall while we pound the pavement. I draw his route in my mind, calculate the distance and speed he’s driving. He’s never going to be more than thirty feet away.
We take off at an easy pace, Sheridan and me bracketing Brennan. We keep to the lit path and pass two National Park police on patrol, but they don’t give us a second glance.
Brennan never came to DC before moving into the White House. This is all new to him, and I play tour guide as we come up on the World War II Memorial, then move past Ash Woods and the Korean War Memorial. At night, the illuminated soldiers look like ghosts moving beneath moonlight and mist. It’s a haunting, beautiful sculpture, and we slow to take it in.
I clock Henry’s SUV passing on Independence as we turn toward the Lincoln Memorial.
Brennan challenges Sheridan and me to run up the steps. We’re all huffing and puffing at the top, and I call for a quick break as Brennan stands in front of Lincoln. He’s having a moment, and I watch the anxiety, the uncertainty, the fears and the pressures of the office, tangle in his eyes.
How did I ever believe this man was unreadable? I can sense his emotions as if they’re my own.
When we start jogging again, we head to the Vietnam Veterans Wall.
Brennan slows, then stops.
