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“He can’t intimidate you. You’re better than he is, and you’ve suffered worse.”
Chris could have kissed Helen Barratt for that, because her words made Jamie stand straighter, drawing himself up to his full height, his face determined. In the first moment that they had met, Chris had caught a glimpse of the man that Jamie normally kept hidden under his cheerful, sweet, and playful disposition—a man that could be dangerous, or even lethal when crossed. This was the man that squared off with Geoffrey Pierce.
“Mister Barratt,” Pierce greeted him, his hand held out to shake. Jamie took it politely, although he looked as though it would give him great pleasure to rip it from his wrist. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“Mister Pierce,” Jamie replied in the same condescending tone, refusing, just as Pierce had, to use his correct title. “I could say the same thing about you.”
“Indeed? I would say that the ballet was more my thing than yours. No pounding bass lines or sweating bodies here.”
Jamie visibly bristled. “I’m accompanying my aunt,” he replied as levelly as possible.
“Of course,” Pierce said dismissively. “I must say, you’re looking remarkably well, considering your recent…problems. All better now?”
“Much,” Jamie gritted out.
Chris took a step closer. He may not have had Boomer’s acute senses, but he could easily tell that this situation was causing Jamie a great deal of stress. He was ready to step in at any second.
“Good, good,” Pierce crooned, obviously enjoying himself. “Well,” he said, reaching out to casually straighten Jamie’s tie with one hand, then giving them all a wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope you enjoy the performance.”
Pierce turned away and began walking, but then turned back after a few steps. “Oh, and Mr. Barratt? I hope your new Secret Service agent is more trustworthy than your last.”
Chris frowned. Jamie seemed frozen to the spot, watching the retreating figure of Geoffrey Pierce. Helen squeezed Jamie’s arm.
“That man is a weasel,” she growled. “You did good, honey. Pay him no more mind.”
A minute later, they finished their drinks and moved to take their seats in Helen’s private box. Chris’s eyes met Jamie’s as they turned and it made his blood run cold—he looked at Chris with uncertainty and a little fear, before looking away and ducking his head, following Helen and moving away from him.
* * * *
Jamie was a mess. From the second he had seen Geoffrey Pierce striding towards him, he had felt the icy tendrils of panic grip him. He had swallowed it down; he had worn his mask of indifference as well as he could, and it would have been alright if it hadn’t been for Pierce’s last comment.
He hoped the new Secret Service agent was more trustworthy than the last.
Jamie had never had a reason to doubt Chris’s motives, doubt if he was genuine, not until right then, until that second when Pierce had planted the seed in his mind. He was ninety-nine percent sure that Pierce was full of bullshit. Chris was trustworthy. Chris was beautiful and sweet and genuine and…
His mind kept flitting back to Reiss.
Jamie was bordering on a panic attack.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he whispered to Aunt Helen fifteen minutes into the performance. As he stood, Helen gripped his arm. She looked concerned, and with good reason. “I just need to splash some water on my face, Aunt Helen. I swear.”
She held tight for a second, but then let go, turning to Chris, who was standing just behind them as always and hissing:
“You go all the way into the bathroom with him, do you hear?”
Chris nodded, carefully eying Jamie as he dashed past. Agents Ryan and Gregg followed them into the quiet hallway as Jamie balled his hands into fists at his side, walking as fast as he could to the bathroom. The other two agents waited outside as Chris followed Jamie into the white-tiled room and locked the door behind them. Jamie grabbed the sink and finally let the panic wash over him, gripping the ceramic so tight he could have cracked it, and emitting high-pitched, shuddering breaths.
“Jamie, what is it?”
Jamie spun around, gulping in enough air to try to answer. “Swear to me this is real,” he replied, his voice cracking, tears threatening to fill his eyes. Jamie cursed himself for losing control so fast.
“What?” Chris asked, worry plainly visible on his face.
“Please, Chris. Just promise me that you’re not sleeping with me for any kind of gain. I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t bear it…” Jamie choked back a sob and ran the back of his hand over his eyes, taking another shuddering breath. “Just swear to me that what we have is real.”
Chris took two steps towards him and caught Jamie’s face in his hands, big blue eyes looking earnestly at him.
“I swear,” he said.
