Page 77 of Power Surge

“A chaotic scene out front would play into your conspiracy that they needed us stuck inside the embassy instead of escaping. Why?”

“To take you alive,” T states matter-of-factly.

“Damn, T, tell me how you really feel.” His bulky shoulders rise and fall in an “I don't give a fuck” shrug. “It would make sense if they took me alive. Then they could use me as a bargaining chip, I guess? Or hold me and place the blame on various countries to make the US engage with military force? It's not much of a plan if it is one though.”

“Agreed. We never said they were military minded, just sneaky as hell. The fact that the CIA hasn't located them yet says a lot about the money at their disposal and their ability to hide under the radar.”

“Let's say you're right,” I muse. “And the bastards orchestrating all this did hire someone. Who would it be? You two know everyone, right? Especially everyone on the alpha team.”

“Mess, you're forgetting one person.” A pinch of pain pulses from my ankle as I swivel to peer down at Trey. His light blue dress shirt stretches across his lean chest, the top two buttons undone, showing off the tan skin beneath and diverting my thoughts from the conversation. “Mess?” A bit of humor laces his voice, like he's trying not to laugh. “Focus, baby.”

“Right.” I offer a wiry smile. “What did you say again? The pain meds Bert and Ernie gave me are starting to kick in, I think.”

“Bert and Ernie?” This time Trey’s chuckle goes unchecked.

“The doctors.”

A corner of Trey's lips twitches. “I don't even want to know, do I?” Shaking his head, the almost smirk falls. “And I said you're forgetting one person. Smith is new to the team and basically attached to our hips by order of the director. I'm not saying it is him, but the timing is right.”

Tiny pinpricks sting the tips of my toes, fingers, and nose, slowly spreading, leaving a warm numb sensation in their place.

“I think it's time for my nap.” The words slur with my heavy lips. “Those fuckers drugged me.”

As graceful as a cat, Trey stands and carefully scoops me in his arms. “We'll finish this later, Mess.”

T swings the door wide and offers my head a little “night night” pat as we pass.

Several curious eyes pretend they're not watching every step Trey takes toward my room with me in his arms.

“They're all looking,” I say out of the corner of my mouth. The hand not gripped behind Trey's neck gives the more obvious stares a little wave.

“You're hurt.”

“To your knowledge, has a presidenteverbeen carried back to their bedroom bridal style because they were injured?”

His gaze flicks to me before focusing back on our destination. “I think you've shattered the ceiling on what's precedent for this role.”

An agent stationed outside my room pulls the bedroom door open for Trey. With a quick dip of his chin in thanks, we slip through. It clicks closed almost immediately behind us.

“I'm taking that as a compliment,” I muse. Numbness weighs down the muscles in my arms and legs. Maybe it was a good idea for Trey to carry me, even if it’ll be discussed at every water cooler in the White House starting tomorrow.

Trey smiles and rests me softly on the edge of the bed. One hand helps me lower to the soft mattress as he moves in front of my knees. A quick flick and tug, and the tight waistband gapes open. Features scrunched in pure concentration, he urges the fabric down my thighs, paying extra attention past my knees to make sure the injured ankle remains untouched.

With a forearm behind my neck, he helps me sit up, holding me there as he works the buttons of my shirt free, sliding each tiny slice of plastic through its respective hole with efficiency. Brows furrowed, I watch closely, confused by his careful actions.

“You're about to pass out on me, Mess. Yes, I'd rather rip this shirt off you and give in to every dirty thought, but I'm holding back because you’re hurt and drugged.”

At that exact moment, the muscles supporting my back soften completely with the influx of pain meds. Before I can crumple to the bed, Trey steadies me and eases me back. The comforter slips beneath me before folding back over my mostly naked body, cocooning me in its warmth. Several solid tucks along one side of my body, then the other, and I'm officially a stuffed and drugged Randi burrito.

Giving up the exhausting fight, I allow my lids to flutter closed, dousing me in a peaceful darkness.

“Trouble,” I slur.

“Mess.”

His voice is distant, too far from where I lie completely vulnerable. Anxious thoughts bloom in my gut. Forcing my eyes open, I frantically search the room. I find him at the door, hand on the knob.

“Don't go,” I beg. “Lie with me for a little while.” Swallowing hard, I fight to stay awake. “I… I don't want to be alone.”

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