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As she sat on a hard chair in the hallway, waiting for him to complete his meeting, Rachel spied Gold slinking up the hall toward her. Why’d he have to move like he was a villain in old movies, she thought and sighed. He’d bring up the gossip article, it was a sure bet.
“Payne, you lose your way?”
“No, Gold, what makes you say that?”
“Your ‘boss’ isn’t at your side, or rather, walking in front of you, like a pasha or such.” His tone was grating even when in its normal whine but now, with sarcasm thrown in, it felt like the screech of a rusty door.
“My boss is in a meeting with the Senior Senator,” she gestured at the door to her side. “They didn’t need me in that meeting.”
“Yet you sit here, waiting.”
“That’s what I’m assigned to do,” you moron, she continued silently. “I’m his private security.” Everyone in the building knew that, it was in the official directory, for Pete’s sake.
“Security, huh?” He continued, his eyes ranging over her. She’d had it, finally.
“Yeah,” she muttered, letting her military and Shadow Ops training come to the surface. “Want to see my gun?”
Gold actually paled when she stood and reached for the concealed pistol at her side. He took a step back then wheeled around and trotted down the hall, disappearing into a public bathroom. Rachel chuckled and resumed her seat, only to startle at Gavin’s voice.
“What was that about?”
She turned to see him leaning on the other side of the closed door, his arms folded across his chest.
“He’s a pest.”
“So you thought some pest control was in order?”
“If needed. At least he’ll leave me alone for the rest of the day,” she straightened her jacket, suddenly embarrassed at her loss of control.
“He do that a lot?” Gavin nodded toward Gold’s exit.
“Follow me and jab me? Yeah, but it usually doesn’t sink in. I guess I was more susceptible today, with little sleep and all.”
“Yeah,” Gavin said then straightened at the sound of movement behind the door. Rachel stood and glanced at the opening door, her charge and the other senator shaking hands at the entrance. Senator Mitchell didn’t look pleased and Rachel figured the rest of the afternoon would be filled with them working around a senior senator’s edict.
When she looked toward Gavin she found him absent. He wasn’t in the hall, didn’t appear to ever have been there. How’d hedothat?
Mitchell asked for a drink that afternoon, surprising her. Rachel made a call to one of his other staffers and they delivered a bottle of scotch and an empty glass without a word. She watched as the senator poured a healthy amount of amber liquid into the glass and start the process of sipping it while going over a report. After several minutes, he asked her to give him a little time alone and she walked down the hall toward Gavin’s office.
In the short time she’d been working with the Senator, she’d never seen him drink anything other than a small scotch or glass of wine at functions. He’d never asked for a drink during the day, never asked for one to be delivered to his office. Something was going on and she wasn’t in on it. That rankled.
She knocked on Gavin’s door, then entered. “How well do you know the Senator?” she asked.
Gavin, who’d been typing on his laptop, looked up and then studied her. “Why?”
“He asked for a drink. He’s in his office, drinking a very healthy glass of scotch as we speak.”
Gavin’s eyes turned pensive then he closed the lid on his laptop and pulled the charging cable free. He stood and tucked the computer under his arm then walked to the door. “Let’s go find out what’s up.”
Gavin gave a cursory knock on the door then entered. The Senator sat at the desk, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. A sheen of moisture glistened under the closed eyelids and Rachel stopped in her tracks. Tears?
He lifted his head and stared at them. “I wanted some privacy, Payne.”
“Sorry, sir. But—”
“She’s worried, Gray. And so am I.” Gavin put the computer down on the edge of Mitchell’s desk. “What’s up?”
The Senator sipped the dregs of his drink then replaced the glass on the desk before swiping at his eyes. He pushed the glass away and pulled a pile of letters toward him. “My wife died fourteen years ago today. My son is dead and my daughter was almost murdered. And what is any of this” he swiped at the pile of correspondence and it scattered on the desk, some of it falling to the floor, “doing? I’m spinning my wheels. Not getting a damn thing accomplished.”
