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“Are you accusing me of treason?”

“I'm asking a question, Agent Smith.” Randi shifts on the couch, causing the pillow supporting her ankle to slip. Before I can even think about helping, Smith has the rogue pillow back in place and, if I'm honest with myself, at a better position than I had it originally. “Thank you. Boy Scout?”

“No.”

“Mr. Prepared?” she challenges, her voice lighter than just moments ago.

“Absolutely not.” Squinting, I barely make out the hint of a smile fighting to the surface of his blank face.

“Bond?” Dark locks float over her shoulder as she shakes her head. “No, too cliché. Guess it's back to the drawing board. It would help if you, I don't know, opened up a little more. Gave me a little insight to your personality.”

“Personality.” A single light brow ticks up his forehead. “You seem to think I have one.”

“You do.” Smiling, she glances to the phone vibrating on the table. “And we'll find it, promise.”

“Don't try to save me, Randi.”

“Who said anything about saving?”

Leaning forward, he presses his elbows on top of his knees and clasps his hands. “I know what you're doing. Building rapport, trying to find a baseline of trust, hoping I'll tell you what I know. It won't happen, and I can guarantee you there's nothing you can do to alter what I am.”

“What are you?” she asks. Again the cell phone rattles on the coffee table.

“Unsalvageable.” A quick glance to the phone screen and he pushes off the couch opposite of Randi. “I’m sure you need to take that.” At the door, he turns and looks me straight in the eye. “I'm a lot of things, but a traitor to his country and the person running it is one thing I will never be. I agree, there is a leak, but you're looking in the wrong direction.”

“Think you can find out who it is?” I ask quietly.

With a dip of his chin, he slips out the door, all without a sound.

Randi's quiet voice filters through one ear and out the other without me processing her words as she speaks to the person on the other end of the phone.

“Did you get what you needed?” I ask Tank at the feel of a large presence at my back.

“He's hiding something, but hell if I know what.”

“Agreed. I can't shake the feeling that there's something we're missing.” I shake my head as I run a few fingers through my hair, disturbing the gel holding it in place. “Nothing can happen to her.” A commotion snaps both our heads toward the couch, where Randi struggles to stand on her own. “Fuck me.”

“That's her job,” Tank retorts with a laugh as we stride to the middle of the room to offer aid.

“Seriously?” she hisses, the mouthpiece pulled away from her mouth. “On the phone here.”

The silk blouse beneath her jacket slides as I wrap an arm around her waist to support her weight as she hobbles around the room, acting as her human crutch. The voice on the other end continues talking, but the words are too muffled to catch a full sentence. Her soft curves mold under my hand as I wrap my fingers around her thin waist. That simple touch, over clothes, and my cock twitches to life.

Twisting as we walk, I attempt to adjust myself without drawing attention to the situation growing in my pants.

“Really?” Tank chastises.

Busted.

“What?” I say, waving a hand down the front of Randi. “How could I not?”

“We discussed this already, Ben.” Her light weight leans harder against me. Eyes closed, she presses her forehead to my shoulder. “That's not going to happen. I don't—”

That fucker. What the hell does he want now? If only there was a way to distract her from the call, or hell, better yet, make her want to hang up on the asshole. Pressing the side button of my phone, I check the time. Eleven. Which means our shift ended an hour ago.

A smirk plays at my lips. The muffled voice of that dipshit ex of hers continues to sound through the phone as I guide her across the Oval Office floor and out the door. Halfway to the residence side, she holds the cell away from her lips and tilts her face up to mine.

“Where are we going?”