Page 50 of Enemy Within

Levi headed his way, blinking hard. “Welby,” he said, speaking low. “I’ve got to run down to Horsepower. No one goes in the Oval Office until I’m back.”

Welby nodded. Levi moved down the hall, heading for the stairs taking him to the White House basement and the Secret Service’s bunker.

His eyes darted back to the Oval Office. Levi had been spending a lot of time with President Wall. Granted, he’d become the new detail lead, the president’s personal body man. But he rarely left Wall’s side, and if he did, like now, he always left her behind closed doors, secured… and cut off from everyone else.

It was almost enough to make someone wonder. President Spiers and Ethan had been like that in the beginning, spending too much time together, and alone. But Ethan had never sequestered Spiers away. Kept him from everyone else.

What was going on?

“What thefuck?”

His thoughts were cut off by Levi’s shout, coming from down the hall between the Press Secretary’s office and the Cabinet Room. A thump, and then a crash, and Welby took off, running toward the noise. He had his weapon out, raised and ready to fire, before his first step.

A lamp lay on the floor, the shade crumpled and flaring skyward, like an old-time dress flipped back to reveal the hoop skirt and petticoats. A vase of flowers, white lilies and tulips—funeral flowers—had crashed to the carpet, water spilled everywhere, stems and crushed petals scattered over the tan rug.

And Pete Reyes had Levi shoved up against the wall, both his hands fisted in Levi’s suit jacket. Pete’s face was only millimeters from Levi’s, and he hissed, fury shaking his voice and his words. “Where is he?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Levi tried to push Pete off.

Pete wouldn’t budge. “Where is Scott Collard?”

Levi frowned.

Welby stuttered, freezing.

“He disappeared after the bombing at Langley. Ethan’sbest friend!” Pete shouted. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Personal leave!” Levi barked. He shoved at Pete again. “Last warning. Let me go.Now.”

“Personal leave,” Pete snarled. “Bullshit!Personal leave with Ethan, right? Both of them in ‘deep mourning’? Hiding from the world?”

Levi’s dark eyes flashed, and Welby knew it was over. Levi twisted, slipping his leg between Pete’s before sweeping Pete’s legs out from beneath him and hurling him to the ground. Levi leaned over and grasped Pete’s throat, pushing him down and holding him there, a blatant show of dominance. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he hissed.

Pete stared up at Levi. Lying on the White House West Wing carpet, stained shirt untucked, tie loose and rumpled, Pete looked like a drunk after a long night in Atlantic City. It was pathetic. Welby almost felt sorry for him.

“I know something’s going on.” Pete’s eyes blazed. “I know it. I fuckingknowit, Levi. Where is Ethan? He wouldn’t just vanish like this!”

Levi stood, shaking his head. Disgust flowed off him. “You need to take some time off and get your head straight. Accept what’s what.”

“Where’s Scott Collard?” Pete stayed on the ground, on his back. “Where is Agent Scott Collard?”

Levi stepped over him. “Scott’s with Ethan.” He gave Welby a withering glare before he turned down the stairwell, heading to the lower level.

Pete closed his eyes, sighing. He didn’t move. Didn’t try to stand or pick himself up off the floor.

Welby held out his hand. “Come on, Mr. Reyes. Get up.”

“Where is Agent Scott Collard?” Pete opened his eyes.

The bleakness in his gaze was a punch to Welby’s gut, a hand that reached out and grasped his throat, choking him. Pete’s bloodshot eyes had lost their bright sparkle.

Pete had been the perfect choice for Spiers’s press secretary. He was just like the president, quick and sharp and more than a little mischievous. Pete had played with the press, and they loved him for it, the verbal give-and-take making the briefing room a lively, spunky place. He liked the press, enjoyed the game, and respected them… to a point. Pete had been like a rampaging tiger when defending Spiers and his relationship with Ethan.

When the president had joined the press briefings each Friday when he was trying to loosen up and be more approachable, the two together had been DC’s best amateur comedy hour, playing off each other with so much warmth and respect.

This emptiness, the rawness, the desperation in Pete, waswrong.

Welby leaned down, helping Pete sit up. He opened his mouth, the line they had all been given about Scott’s sudden personal leave after the blast on the tip of his tongue.