Page 194 of Bona Fide

“I don’t know, Mr. President,” is my answer.

“Find her, now.”

“When you are secure, we will—” I seize the first coat my left hand finds and tug weakly on it.

“I said now.”

“Right away, sir.” But no one around me moves away as I’m lifted in the air and rushed out the back of the venue.

“Stoic’s car is ready.” I roll my eyes, looking skyward at the code name my Secret Service gave me. It’s fucking hilarious.

“All roads are being cleared.”

“Emmy!” I bellow. “Where the fuck is she?”

“Marshall is looking for her now, sir.”

Carefully, I’m put into the back of the blacked out SUV and sped down the street like we’re in a police pursuit.

“What happened?” I ask the suit next to me. “Where is Francis?” Neatly combed blonde hair and a lumpy nose, the man next to me stares straight ahead.

“You were shot, Mr. President. And so was Francis. He’s behind us.”

Shot? You see, they don’t train you or fully prepare you to hear those words. Instead, when you take office, your Secret Service only tells you that they’ll protect you at all costs. That whatever dangers become imminent, they’ll be sure to eliminate them.

I knew I had enemies, I just never took any of them seriously.

“I want him looked at first,” I order through another knife-like pain. “He has two young daughters and a wife.”

A chilling silence fills between us when he responds with, “You’ll need to go first, Mr. President. You’re first priority, everyone else goes behind you, no matter the damage.”

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