Page 152 of Incisive

Tommy laughs. “Man, we have some stories, don’t we?”

“Yeah, we do.” I get so caught up in our talk that as we’re led off the paved path and onto a smooth, mulched path that winds uphill, I finally register we’re closing in on the moment of truth.

There go my nerves again.

I glance around and spot Leo lagging behind us, walking with the agents and his head on a swivel as if he were still working The Shift with them.

I guess, in some ways, from today on Leo will always be working The Shift. Unofficially, of course. I sincerely doubt my Master will ever be able to shed his deeply engrained training. Even as he walks beside me as my husband I’m certain he’ll be scanning crowds, his fingers twitching because he isn’t wearing a sidearm or hooked into the detail’s comms with a radio and earpiece of his own.

Brushing my hand along the outside of my pocket I feel the ring box there, my pulse spiking in anticipation.

This is it.

All these years…I’m finally going to start living my life on my terms.

About damned time, right?

We approach the overlook, which sits on the top of a low hill. The facility’s paths wind around the entire property and make it feel much larger than it is. Below us, approximately three hundred yards away, lays the main facility, enclosed, heated pool, track and field facility, and parking area. Twenty-five yards in the other direction awaits my motorcade, staged along a paved service road that cuts through the property and leads to the shooting range where they have an accessible skeet, trap, and sporting clays facility.

For obvious reasons they’re waiting to hold those events until later this evening, once I’m long gone. Normally I might have asked to participate, but I also suspect the sound of gunfire will trigger nightmares in me later tonight and I don’t want that.

Not tonight of all nights.

The official White House photographer accompanied us and I don’t miss how Jordan’s staged him where he’ll have a clear view of us. Only two pool reporters joined us on the actual hike, the other two staying behind at the facility. I gave a few statements and took questions from the press earlier to satiate their bloodlust, and now they’re bored with what they feel is a nothingburger fluff story about disabled vets.

Most of the other hikers who were part of our group continue on their way, including Tommy and his husband. If it wasn’t for my other plans I would seriously ask them if they wanted to come back to the White House with us right now.

I meet Jordan’s gaze and give him a nod, our prearranged cue for him to get Leo over to my side with whatever excuse he needs to use. I turn, standing at the low wooden fence along the edge of the overlook, staring down it. I’m about to turn away when down at the edge of the parking area I catch sight of a man having what appears to be an animated conversation with a woman, waving his arms and gesturing in what definitely looks like an aggressive fashion. She turns to walk away from him when he yells and she turns. Then he points at her, something in his hand.

That’s when I hear the first shot. In the second it takes for my brain to register and process that it’s small arms fire and not a shotgun like they’d use at the shooting field here, the woman falls to the ground and then the man points the gun at his head. Nearby uniformed officers scream unintelligible orders as they turn and converge on him while bystanders scatter. Another a series of shots sound off.

Simultaneously, agents in my detail start yelling.

“Go! Go! Go! Evacuate Plumber now!” I also hear Leo screaming something as I’m scooped up by several of my agents and practically carried over to the Beast. I can’t even turn my head to look to see where Leo and Jordan are before I’m bodily tossed into the back of the Beast, the doors are slammed shut behind me, and we roar off down the service road.

CHAPTERFORTY-TWO

Despite how itfeels like time warped I know less than ten seconds elapsed from when I heard the first shot until I landed inside the Beast.

“What thefuckwas that?” I scream at the two agents up front. “What happened?”

“Uncertain, Mister President,” the passenger calls back. “Shots fired.”

“Whowas firing?” I think about the woman and man I saw arguing and a sick feeling rolls through my gut.

“Unknown, sir,” the agent replies. “Two casualties reported.”

When I feel light-headed I gulp in a few breaths and realize my pulse has spiked once again. “Are Jordan Walsh and Leo Cruz safe?”

“Unknown, sir,” the driver replies.

“Well fuckingfind out!” I’m certain I’ll feel ashamed later for blowing my cool, and I’ll owe these two agents an apology, but I need to know Leo and Jordan are safe.

“Working on it, sir,” the driver says.

The passenger speaks into his radio and, after what feels like an infinity, he turns. “Mr. Cruz and Mr. Walsh are in one of the other vehicles.”

“But are they okay? Are they safe?”