Page 32 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

“Why wouldn’t they want to be identified?” A small, horrified gasp passes through my lips when silence greets my question, and I balk, pressing my body into the door on my right as images of gun-wielding assassins on bikes flash in my mind. “You think they’re trying to…”

I can’t say the words, and I don’t need to because they know.

They’ve seen the death threats and prepared for the possibility of someone trying to turn words into lethal action.

I thought I’d prepared for it too, but as I peer out the window, searching for any sign of a gun or a bomb on the bikers who haven’t even looked in our direction, I realize how foolish it was to think that.

Agent Beckham follows the unspoken thread of my thoughts, and his face softens marginally.

“We don’t have any reason to believe anyone on this road is trying to hurt you,” he says.

His voice is low, his gaze severe, demanding me to believe him.

And despite the tight grip Cal has on the wheel and the constant barrage of commentary spilling from the comms that tell me this is all a show of bravado to keep me calm, I want to take this gift he’s offering me.

I take too long to accept it, though, so he reaches for more words.

“For all we know, these are just impatient Atlanta drivers in a rush to go nowhere fast. Isn’t that right, Cal? ”

Cal gives an enthusiastic nod of his head. “Yeah, that’s right.”

As if to prove their point, the red sedan in front turns on its signal light and moves over to the right, crossing two lanes of traffic to take an exit at the last second.

Moments later, the lead SUV with Agent Harris at the helm picks up speed, passing the bikers and crossing lanes to take up residence in front of us, which earns him a bevy of leather-clad middle fingers as the motorcycles peel off.

Over the comms, I hear Agent Anderson confirming that he was able to reclaim his position behind us.

He doesn’t mention where the blue sedan went or when it left, and I find that I don’t really care to know.

“See? We’re all good,” Agent Beckham says, forcing the tension out of the muscles in his shoulders as he turns back around in his seat, putting an end to our tenuous connection.

“Yeah, all good,” I agree, sinking back into my seat with a sick feeling in my gut that remains firmly in place for the rest of the ride.

When we arrive at the venue, I push it down and away, tacking on my future First Lady smile that only falters when I come face to face with Senator Cordelia Barnes.

She’s holding court in the middle of the small space behind the stage, where Aubrey and I will be in just a matter of minutes.

Everyone who should have been at the door to greet me is standing around her, hanging on every syllable of her exaggerated southern drawl.

To my surprise, Aubrey notes my approach before anyone else does, and he parts the crowd surrounding the Senator to meet me with open arms. I have no choice but to step into it.

He squeezes me tightly and places his lips to my ear. “ Behave. ”

I swallow my snarky response as he lets go, spinning me around to face the group of awaiting onlookers. Senator Barnes has stepped forward, placing herself ahead of everyone else. Aubrey urges me toward her with a firm hand on my back, and I fight the desire to swat him away.

“Well, if it isn’t our aspiring politician,” she remarks, extending her hand.

I glance at Aubrey, a silent inquiry about why he didn’t issue the same warning about behaving to his cohort.

He stretches his eyes wide and laughs at the Senator’s bad joke along with everyone else.

Her blue eyes glow with the pleasure of shared humor at my expense, and her blonde bob swishes with condescension as she tilts her head to the side to await my response.

I square my shoulders and take her hand, squeezing harder than I need to just to get her attention.

“You must have me confused with someone else, Senator. I’d never waste my time, talents, or intellect on a career as frivolous as politics.”

There are fine lines in the pale, thin skin around the corners of her eyes that grow deeper when they narrow into slits.

All the laughter dies down, leaving nothing but a heavy silence as everyone but me holds their breath waiting for the Senator’s response.

I watch her weigh her options, deciding whether she wants to continue this catty exchange or retreat to safer ground.

She drops my hand unceremoniously and frowns as she wipes her palm on her pants. “My apologies. I assumed someone with so much to say about legislation and policy would have a desire to do the work, not just publicly dissect the approach of those of us who are actually trying to make change.”

“That was your second mistake.”

“ Excuse me? ”

“I said?—”

“Oh, no, I heard you just fine, Mrs. Taylor,” she says, forcing the words out between the narrow spaces of her clenched teeth as her left eye twitches. “I don’t make mistakes.”

Last night, when I was in desperate need of a distraction from the hate being thrown my way, I kept myself busy by doing a deep dive into all things Cordelia Barnes, so I know that’s not true.

I know every mistake she’s made publicly, from her fumbles in the stock market to the inaccurate Gloria Steinem quotes in her speeches.

I even know the exact series of missteps she made that cost her the Republican nomination in the last election.

I don’t have time to run through all of those things with her now, though, so I focus on what’s relevant to this conversation.

“You’re human, Senator, of course, you make mistakes.

In this instance, you’ve made two.” I hold up my right hand, lifting my index and middle finger with a smile.

“Your first mistake was writing a bill that was more about performance than real progress, and your second was assuming that I, or any American, has to be an elected official in order to voice valid concerns in a public setting.”

“Selene,” Aubrey hisses, censure laced in every syllable of my name.

Cordelia holds up a hand to stop him from saying more, but her eyes never leave mine. “It’s fine, Aubrey,” she says, a sinister smile curving her thin lips. “I like this one. She’s feisty.”

Her unnecessary stamp of approval seems to soothe Aubrey, but it unsettles me, adding to the sick feeling I’ve been carrying with me all day and leaving me certain of one thing: nothing good will come from Cordelia Barnes being in our lives.