Page 44 of Power Play

Ignoring her pointed look I shift my attention on the hallway door and yank on the handle. The two agents outside the door stiffen, assuming full alert at her presence. Both flank us down the narrow hall and into the employee elevator, which is held, waiting, by another agent.

We stand stiff, as still as statues as the elevator descends while she shifts from one foot to the other. We’re used to this. It's what we live for. Protection, constantly on high alert. The rush you get when out in public, needing your eyes on everyone and everywhere at once, provides the perfect high for an adrenaline junkie.

Like me.

Humid heat assaults me as we push the kitchen's swinging doors open, and my steps falter. Sweat builds along my forehead, a light trickle already dripping down my spine. Employees perk up from their stations as we move down the line, marching toward the back door. One glaring look and the curious glances shift away, focusing back on their work.

Good.

They should be afraid. We're all packing multiple weapons and are proficient in multiple types of hand-to-hand combat. Of course, I hope it doesn't come down to a fight, since my fists are tender from beating the shit out of that idiot earlier. I couldn't stop myself. The second his yellowed eyes raked down Randi, the leash I keep on my self-restraint snapped. Tank was beyond pissed but didn't stop it from happening, even though I broke a very fundamental rule.

One of the beta team agents files out the door first. Randi makes to follow, but with a hand to her waist, I tug her back to me.

“Wait until we get the all clear,” I say into her hair. My eyes dart across the kitchen. Tension builds and my muscles tighten, readying for a fight. The agent beside me meets my gaze and nods. One hand pressed to her lower back, I push against the metal bar, releasing the latch keeping it closed.

A cool breeze swipes across my sweaty brow, instantly calming my frazzled nerves. I fucking hate being hot. After four deployments and various other missions in the Middle East, I can't shake the automatic tension that builds, ready to snap, in a hot room. I was one of the lucky ones who came back whole, but I can't untrain my mind and body to realize I'm not in a war zone when my body temperature spikes.

I scan the back of the building and our surroundings. Randi steps out of my reach, settling on a stack of plastic crates someone stacked together in a makeshift seat. The scratch of flint meets my ears in the otherwise silent alley. With it being dinnertime, all the employees must be inside hard at work, preparing various meals for the hotel guests. Hopefully she'll be done with this smoke break before a lull allows their own breaks. The fewer people out here the better.

“So.” After one more scan up and down the alley, I turn my attention to her. “You bring those bottles or what?” she asks as a puff of gray smoke billows from her lips. Smoking really shouldn't be as sexy as she's making it.

Instead of answering, I take the few steps toward her. The silk lining of my pocket slides across my knuckles as I grasp the two bottles and pull them free. Careful to not make the same mistake again, I drop the bottle in her awaiting hand, preventing any accidental skin-to-skin contact.

I watch in fascination as she bites the end of the lit cigarette, allowing it to dangle from her mouth, to open the tequila bottle with both hands.

“Who are you?” I ask before I can think better of it. At every turn, she's shocking me off my feet, completely disrupting everything I thought I knew about her. Hell, about women in general.

“No one. Haven't you figured that out yet?” Anger and concern strangle my chest at the sadness in her voice. “Right place, right time. Lucky. Whore. Gold digger. Fraud.” Hazel eyes stare into my own. “Right?”

Well, that solidifies one thing I've always thought was debatable.

Iama complete ass.

Chapter Fourteen

Randi

The smoke burns in my lungs oh so good. Damn, I missed this. The gum and other shit I've tried isn't the same. Something about being outside, the smoke-filled inhales and exhales combined with the delicious burn stall my constant thoughts. This right here, these few minutes, I get to relax. It's few and far between on the campaign trail, and I cherish each second of calm I can steal.

“I'm an ass,” Trouble finally says. Twisting my lips, I blow smoke out the side of my mouth to keep from sending it into his face. “I didn't… I thought I knew you.”

“You didn't. You don't.” The glass rim of the bottle, still warm from his body heat, slips between my lips as I take a sip. “It's okay though. I'm still trying to figure out who I am, so I can't expect anyone else to figure it out before I do, you know.” I let the comfortable silence fill the calm space between us before I go on. “But I can guarantee what you see is what you get. I've always been me and have fought to accept who I am, hot mess and all.” I smirk using his words to describe me. It really is a perfect description of this life I find myself living.

I look up at the clink of glass on glass.

“Cheers to you being a hot mess and me being an ass, then.”

Trouble tilts the bottle back, sucking down the entire contents. His Adam’s apple bobs with each deep swallow. I stare transfixed at the way it slides up and down tempting me to lean closer and take a nip.

“So, now that you know I'm not who you thought I was… friends?” My pitch rises with each word. I should be embarrassed by how bad I want him to say yes, but I’m not. I'm desperate in more ways than one. If I can trust him, trust Terminator and the rest of the team, maybe I have a sliver of a hope of surviving the next few months until the general election. After… well, let's just take it one step at a time.

“I have a friend.”

“Oh, okay.” The slow sip of tequila slides down my throat. “But do you want another one?”

Trouble's assessing gaze swipes up and down the alley. “Depends.”

“On?”

---