Page 21 of Enemy of My Enemy

“The West Point Classic football game is a pretty big deal. You didn’t go this year because the secretary of defense went. But Wilson always wanted to go, and it’s a nightmare to coordinate security. The FBI runs the game as part of their Special Events squad, and they don’t play well with others, so we end up having to pull rank and force our security plans on top of their infrastructure.” Ethan shook his head, groaning. “Anyway. I was younger then,” he said slowly, grinning, “and it was one of my first assignments where I was charged with securing POTUS for a segment of the event. It was the worst segment, but I was proud.”

Scott and Daniels were grinning, and Scott leaned back, balancing an ornately carved Jefferson dining chair on two of its cherrywood legs.

“So Wilson, who can’t be contained for five seconds, follows me down into the basement of the football field. The plan was to stage the president in the visiting team locker rooms until the game started and then bring him up securely. Everything nice and controlled.”

“I do know how you like to keep things secure.” Jack winked.

Ethan pressed on, his eyes bright. “Those locker rooms were disgusting. I don’t know if that’s some kind of football thing, where you shit on the team visiting your stadium, but they were rank. I had just walked him in and I was doing my final checks around the room. Well,” Ethan rolled his eyes, “dummy me, expecting him to follow the plan. I turned my back on him. Wilson walked in, took one sniff, and said, ‘I’m outta here.’” Ethan slapped his palms together, one hand flying forward, mimicking flight. “He took the fuck off, racing out of the tunnel toward the field. The football stadium with twenty thousand people in it, including all of my bosses.”

“Oh no…” He didn’t mean to laugh at Ethan, but he could just picture his lover, panicked and losing his mind over his protectee pulling an escape attempt. “You chased him down, right?”

“Oh, of course, I chased him down. I was going to bring him back to the locker room and explain to him the importance of listening to the Secret Service.” His fist hit the table, and the dishes jumped.

Jack snorted.

“Wilson was a very fast man. I was running all out, but so was he.”

“He had a taste of freedom!”

“Yes! And he was taking it! He ran down that tunnel and burst onto the field, right into the directors of the Secret Service and the FBI, a whole bunch of generals, and about all of the senior agents.” His arms swung at his sides as he pretended to run. “And then there was me, chasing him out of the tunnel, losing my shit.”

Loud laughter filled the room at Ethan’s tale of woe. Ethan shook his head, chuckling, and held Jack’s gaze.

Jack reached out and laced his fingers through Ethan’s on the tabletop.

“We were up in the stands, watching the crowds. We had to listen to this one—” Scott jerked his chin toward Ethan. “—talk, talk, talk about how he was ‘securing POTUS.’”

Jack couldn’t suppress the snort or the giggles that came after, even as Ethan glared good-naturedly at Scott. “I can see it all perfectly,” he said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Ethan’s knuckles.

Scott pulled out his phone and checked the time. “This has been fun, but I’ve got to head out. My wife and daughter will be home soon.” He stood, and so did Daniels.

“We’ll have to do this again, and soon. Please don’t be strangers.” Jack rose with Ethan, keeping their fingers linked. “Drive safe out there.”

“They’re already plowing. And yes, Mr. President, we should do this again. Gotta keep your first gentleman in line.”

“Leave the embarrassing stories behind next time.” Ethan pretended to grouse as Scott and Daniels laughed themselves out of the dining room and down the hall toward the main staircase.

“Why don’t you walk them out?”

“No, I’ll take care of this.” Ethan started stacking plates, but Jack stilled him.

“Go. They’re your best friends. I’ll clean up.”

Leaning close, Ethan pressed a kiss beneath Jack’s ear. “Be right back.”

Jack shuttled plates and silverware and four wine glasses to the Residence’s kitchen and started loading the dishwasher. His thoughts wandered, circling back, always, to Ethan. His smile. The sound of his laughter. Jack’s heart seemed to swell. He was going to make love to Ethan tonight, slow and sweet. He wanted to feel Ethan in his arms. Taste his kisses. Press their bodies close together.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway, someone running at a fast pace.

Jack froze, the wine glass in his hand slipping free and crashing to the floor. Shards of crystal scattered and the stem rolled away, a long, slithering warble of glass on marble.

Footsteps pounding, running through the West Wing. Gunshots blazing, popping in every direction. Plaster walls exploding. Shouts, guttural cursing. Jeff’s face, sneering. Pushing him to his knees with his hands laced behind his head, the world moving in slow motion, each heavy breath seemingly a lifetime—

Pete appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as he heaved in breath after breath. He was in the same shirt from that morning, now completely untucked, and he’d lost his tie. His pants had a ketchup stain on the knee. “Mr. President.” Pete pulled out his cell phone.

Shaking off the clawing memories, Jack stepped over the shattered glass. What would bring Pete running up to the Residence at nine at night? Dread settled heavy in his chest. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Pete swiped on his screen and passed the phone over. “I just got this from the editor of the Washington Eagle. It’s their headline tomorrow morning. Their lead story.”