Page 36 of Power Surge

“Good.”

I’m still blissed out as Trey makes quick work of tucking my dress shirt back into my trousers and refastening the zipper and clasp. After a retreating step, he gives me an approving nod at his work and lifts his gaze to meet mine. “I'm on shift tonight, but how about we pick this back up tomorrow night?”

Again all I can do is nod. I have something tomorrow night, a dinner with a foreign dignitary or a fundraiser of some kind, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but seeing him again. I have to find balance in this role or it will eat me alive.

And the only thing I want eating me is Trey fucking Benson.

* * *

“I'll assign our top analysts to this issue as soon as I get back to Langley.”

The CIA directors’ cold hand slips from mine as I step back with a confident smile. “Thank you, Director. I cannot emphasize enough that the sooner we find those responsible, the better. Time is ticking, and it is not on our side. Keep me updated on your findings.”

With a quick nod, he makes for the door.

“Oh, by the way,” I say, making him pause. “I have a new agent assigned to my alpha Secret Service team. They mentioned he came from the CIA.” Okay, that’s a tiny lie. No one confirmed my suspicion on Agent Smith, but the director doesn't need to know that. Hell, who knows, he might smell the lie itself. Wonder if the CIA chemically alters their agents to detect lies to make them smell a certain way. If a lie did have a smell, I’m sure it would 100 percent smell like black licorice. “Nasty stuff.”

“Excuse me?” The director narrows his brows my direction.

“Sorry, I meant to say his name is Agent Smith. Heard of him?”

Something was off about Agent Smith that day in the Secret Service director’s office three days ago that still nags at me. Or maybe it was her, the way she already had his file and him there ready to infiltrate my team. Even her body language changed after the mention of the new agent.

Or maybe I'm paranoid. Let’s face it, I’ve kind of had a rough go the last year with Shawn trying to poison me and Kyle abducting Taeler. Add in Kyle's mysterious suicide and being very aware that Shawn is out there somewhere plotting to take me down by harming someone—or hell, knowing him, everyone—I love, I think being paranoid is warranted. We've done what we could to keep everyone safe. We relocated Mom to a different recovery center with better security that’s off the grid. And of course I moved Taeler into the White House for her safety.

Ben refused the small protection detail I offered him on the slim chance Shawn would go after him. He’s a damn fool, not understanding how awful Shawn is at the core, but I can't force protection on him; it was his choice to decline help. Tiny, my old boss in Austin, laughed at the idea of having bodyguards. In the end, he said if someone wanted to hurt me through him, it was their funeral.

Is it bad to hope Shawn does target Tiny so he could make good on his threat and take out the sociopath? I could get Tiny out of jail, pardon him or something if he got caught. Or even use the angle of Tiny doing a public service in getting rid of Shawn Whit.

“We have over three hundred Agent Smiths, Madam President.” His forced smile is cold and calculating, resembling the one Shawn always wore when he thought he had the upper hand. I force myself not to flinch away. “Not that I would confirm or deny that anyone was once an agent.”

“Right, of course. I just wanted to vet him before he starts in a few days.”

A look of confusion flashes across his features, breaking the emotionless mask, before he turns. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses to glance over his shoulder, brows furrowed. For the past hour, he's been unreadable, not once balking at the information I offered about Kyle and the situation we’re now in because of him. The potential of war didn’t affect him, yet right now, something like worry or concern seems to radiate off him. “I will say this, Madam President. It would be the first time ever in my long career that we willingly transferred someone from our exclusive agency. If I were in your position, I'd ask why.”

I’m still staring at the door long after he's gone. Still staring when it swings open minutes later and Blake strides through, head down, eyes focused on the iPad in his hands. He doesn’t look up when he stops beside me behind the desk.

“We have a problem,” he states.

I massage both temples to ease the impending headache before running a hand through my loose hair. “Why do I feel like that phrase is your signature opening line?”

“Because it is. Look at this.” Spinning the device, he shoves it forward, thrusting it inches from my nose. I shoot him a glare before leaning back to see the screen. It takes a few blinks to moisten my eyes, shifting the soft contacts around to see the small print.

See it but can’t read the words. Hell, what does he think I am, an elephant?

Or wait, is it rabbits with good eyesight and elephants with good hearing?

“Memory, maybe?” I mumble.

Blake lets out an exasperated sigh and shoves the screen close once again, determined to make me read the fine print.

Giving up on reading, I shove the iPad away until the screen presses against the vest of his three-piece suit.

“Just tell me what it says, Blake. It's been a long damn day.”

“It's noon.”

“Fuck,” I groan, drawing out each letter in agony.

---