Page 51 of Power Surge

Agent Smith coughs into the fist against his lips.

“Does it matter?” Tank responds.

“No, I guess not. Good riddance, then. Their loss, if you ask me. I'm fucking fun.” Twirling in the chair, I watch the room slowly spin. “Minus almost shooting one of them. I'll apologize later. Right now I just need a nap.” The edge of the desk digs into my palm as I stop my turning. Flipping through the files spread across the top, I stack them and push the pile forward a few inches. “I'm nowhere near caught up, but I'm at a place where I can take a twenty-minute break.”

As long as nothing else happens.

Just as I think it, those words barely through my overactive mind, my cell phone vibrates on the desk.

All our eyes fall on the moving phone. A whimpering groan passes my lips as I bang my forehead against the top of the desk. Keeping my forehead sealed to the hard wood, I blindly reach for the still ringing cell phone and pull it to my ear.

“What, Blake?”

“We have a problem.”

I lightly pound my forehead against the desk again. “We really have to stop meeting like this.” I let out a dry chuckle at my joke, which sourpuss Blake doesn't return. “If this is about the pregnancy thing, it will have to wait—”

“Worse.”

“Natural disaster?”

“No—”

“Taeler's sick.”

“Madam—”

“I'm dying!” I gasp. “I have had these strange dreams—”

“Randi,” he shouts, stopping my rambling. “Fucking hell. It's none of that.”

“Why didn't you say so?”

“I'm getting too old for this,” Blake grumbles. “It's your ex, Taeler's father.”

“What about Ben?” Leaning back, I meet Trey's intense stare.

“He's here.”

“He's here,” I say on a pushed breath. Fire blasts behind Trey's stare. His hands tighten their grip on the armrest. “As in, in DC sightseeing?” I grimace. It's a false hope, but it's worth a shot.

“No, Randi, he'shere. In the White House. Waiting for you.”

Chapter Fourteen

Trey

Afiery burn scorches through my bare shoulders and back as they stretch and flex with each pull of the oars through the still water. Sweat slicks along both temples, dripping down my jaw before splattering to the boat. The push and pull of the heavy oars over and over provides a soothing cadence as I glide along the water.

Out here, everything makes sense. Nothing matters except for you, the boat, and the water. The oars go in, you pull back, and the boat glides. Every single fucking time. The guaranteed repetitive outcome so unlike my everyday life.

Up ahead, the docks come into view again.

Just like the few other times I’ve glided past the docks, Tank, Pierce, and several beta agents are all watching. Probably wondering if I'll venture in this time.

Maybe.

It would be a good idea to head in before I cramp up and become stranded out here. But the chaos that will greet me, the issues I’ll have to face, prevent me from stopping, offering my body the rest it desperately needs. The moment my foot connects with the worn boards on that dock, every issue I’m able to avoid out here will return like a damn sucker punch to the balls.

---