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Closing my eyes, I take a deep calming breath in before turning to face the DOJ jackass. “Listen here, you—”

“I have a choice of turning in my resignation too.”

Sam's eyes widen at her words, as do my own.

“You can't mean that,” he says, taking a step closer. Hand to his chest, I shove him backward.

“If that's what she wants, then that's her call, not yours.” Turning back to Randi, I step between her legs and hold her face between my hands. “Mess, baby, I know it's a lot to take in. I get that 100 percent. Your daughter was in trouble, she was taken, but she's fine. The marines have her. She's safe. But you can't let that fear drive you, drive your decisions from here on out. You took this job to make a difference. Do you think you've accomplished everything you wanted to?”

Her dark hair sways with the shake of her head.

“You have so much more to offer, so much more to change in this city. Don't give up because of tonight. Don't be afraid to continue forward. I'll be here, and so will Tank. We'll move Taeler into the White House if that's what you want. There's no place safer.”

The soft delicate skin of her cheeks slides beneath my brushing thumbs as we all give her a few moments to consider my words, consider what she really wants. If she wants to bounce out of this town, give up and walk away, I'll support her. But as much as she considers herself drowning in the VP role, she's killing it. I've never seen a VP work so hard and get so much accomplished in a short amount of time. If she leaves, the inky darkness that has begun to recede from this city will swallow it whole once again.

But as much as I don't want that, as much as I want her to stay and fight, I won't make her.

“Okay,” she says with a tight breath.

“Okay what?”

I roll my eyes at Sam, all for Randi's benefit, rewarding me with a small smile.

“You're exactly what I imagine as an attorney,” Tank grumbles to my left.

“And what's that?” Sam says, just as annoyed.

“Annoying as hell and can't take a fucking hint.”

And just like that, the world rights itself with her growing smile. I return the look and move back, allowing her to step down. Skimming her small hands over the black tailored pants and retucking her pale pink dress shirt into the back, she stares up at the White House.

“Let's do this.”

Tank seals himself to her left side and me to her right. Stride for stride, we march toward the door currently being held open by an agent. The rest of the guys flank around us, creating several layers of human armor with her in the middle.

“Madam VP,” the agent says in greeting. “Washington, Benson.” Tank and I dip our chin in acknowledgment but continue forward, keeping pace with Randi. “He's in his personal office waiting for you.”

“Joy.” Randi sighs.

With her fast pace, it takes less time than normal to reach the president’s personal office in the residential wing.

“You're with me, right?” she asks under her breath before turning the doorknob.

“Always,” I say at the same time Tank gives her a “Hell yes.”

The door opens noiselessly. Inside, the four of us pause, giving Tank and me a moment to assess the room.

Three agents linger along the wall, two on the left side and one on the right, and I can sense at least two more at my back. The large space has a single sitting area with four leather chairs surrounding a low coffee table. The mahogany desk similar to the one in the Oval Office sits near the back of the room but is clearly the center of attention. American flags dot the two front corners along with a single lamp and other papers and knickknacks scattered over the top.

Kyle sits behind the desk, his dimpled chin resting on the point of two fingers with his elbow anchored to the desk. A heavy scent of alcohol wafts through the room. Upon a deeper inspection of Birmingham, I notice his bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and nearly white lips, as if all the color has leaked from his face.

Tank and I notice his drunken state at the same time, seconds after entering the office. As one, we step in front of Randi, creating a human wall between her and Birmingham.

“Everyone out,” Birmingham barks, and if I'm not mistaken, there’s a slight tremble in his words. “Except her.”

“Not a chance,” I say back as composed as I can. Drunk, this clown is a loose cannon. Even I know not to poke him in this state.

This is a terrible idea. We need to get her out. Now.