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“All the more reason to say hello. If you don’t mind, Samantha.”
“I don’t mind.”
The feeling of normality he’d briefly enjoyed evaporated as soon as they stepped into the cool evening air to find hundreds of people gathered outside the Secret Service perimeter, hoping for a glimpse of them.
As Sam and Nick waved to the gathering to the left of the restaurant, people called out to them.
“Mr. President, I love you!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw a sign raised above the crowd that saidNOT MY PRESIDENT. He’d no sooner registered what the sign said than they were pelted with flying objects. Something red smashed against Sam’s face. For a second, he thought it was a bullet.
Everything seemed to happen fast as Sam cried out and the agents surrounded them, hustling them into the car with precision Nick hadn’t experienced before now.
Brant and Vernon were practically on top of them as they landed in the back seat of The Beast.
“What the hell?” Sam asked as she rubbed her face where a red spot was visible.
Brant stared at them, looking a little wild in the eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Sam got hit by something, but she’s not cut.” Nick was extremely relieved to realize that.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Brant said. “Our officers will determine what was thrown and by whom.”
The car was already moving to get them out of there when something hit the window with a loud thud and a splat.
“I think that was a tomato,” Sam said.
“Do you require medical attention, ma’am?”
“No, not at all. I’m fine. Just a little rattled.”
“I’m sorry, babe. Brant was right. We should’ve gone out the back.” When Nick thought of what might’ve happened, he felt sick.
“You were both right,” Sam said. “The crowd was larger than expected, and you can’t hide from the people you represent.”
Nick put an arm around her and drew her in close to him as their lead agents sat across from them, looking upset. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
What if they’d had a gun rather than a bunch of tomatoes? Nick realized his hands were shaking. There were no metal detectors when people showed up spontaneously.
He told himself that everything was fine—this time.
One thing he was certain of was that he’d be talking to Brant about increased security before he took Sam on another date in public.
Secret Service AgentJohn Brantley Jr. was seriously undone by the chaos outside the restaurant. The minute he had the first couple safely back at their rental home, he went to the house next door call his supervising agent.
“What happened at the restaurant?” his boss barked.
Brant wasn’t surprised that the word was already out. “Something was thrown from the back of the crowd. The first lady was hit in the face. She said she believed it was a tomato after another was thrown at the car.”
“What the hell? Didn’t you secure the crowd?”
“Of course we did, sir. But it grew exponentially while the first couple was inside the restaurant.”
“Why weren’t they taken out a secondary exit?”
“The president insisted on saying hello to the people who’d come out to see them.”
