Page 15 of Property of Saint

As Secret Service, I protect anyone who I’m assigned to, whatever political stance they might have, never able to show bias or give away any of my personal feelings. I’m not even supposed to have them. I’m mad as fuck his assassination went down the way it had. Sure, he was being an ass when he stood up and gave his killer an easy target. But I,we’dfailed him by not finding some way to counteract that. But in the split second we had for decisions, there wasn’t much action to be taken.Not when I’m much shorter than him, and was in the direct line of the shot firing.If I were taller, the bullet might have hit me. But that was my job, wasn’t it? Professionally, I’d failed. It should have been me who was dead, and I’ll take that regret to the grave.

But on a personal note? I can’t help but feel relief that my country was saved from the shambles of having a man like him in charge, a man who would have been out of his depth as soon as he stepped into the Oval Office, a puppet perfect for grooming by his masters.

Their man. Unfortunately, the “they” he referred to seems to be the majority of the population. Women wanted to be with him. Men wanted to be him. He’d even converted a swathe of the opposite party.

If the polls were to be believed, it was the minority of people who, like me, felt like they’d had a reprieve. And, felt guilty that they did.

Of course, there are conspiracies. It’s human nature to blame more than the gunman who was shot dead before he could explain his ideals. Even I wondered whether he’d been alone in his action, or fronted a cause. I knew the link between his name and mine had been thoroughly investigated, to no end, of course. I’ve never met or heard of him.

The only thing I knew for certain was that I was completely innocent, except insofar as I failed in my job.

Freak’s still waiting for some response. I put as much force into my voice as I can. “If there was a conspiracy, I was no part of it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

SAINT

I’ve been standing behind her as she’s sitting in my seat. Now I move around the table, pausing to lean against the opposite wall so I can look at her face. After her denial that she was any part of a plot, there’s been silence as we all consider whether she’s being truthful. Of course, she wouldn’t come out and admit it if she were. But how good a liar is she? That’s something I can’t know.

“Why are you in Arizona?” I suddenly ask, feeling like it’s one piece of the puzzle that seems out of place. “Surely your base is in Washington?”

She rubs at her eyes before answering. “There was too much heat on me.” She shrugs. “I had death threats, which my superiors couldn’t dismiss. What’s the point of assigning secret service protection when one of the bodyguards could be a target for a bullet, or even explosives? To keep me working was a threat to anyone we were working with, and my fellow agents.”

“You’ve been sacked?” It’s Stalker, our treasurer, who’s asked with a touch of indignation on her behalf. I half-smile. He’s always got an eye on the money.

Shaking her head, she replies, “A leave of absence on full pay.” Her eyes rise, meeting mine, then sensibly turning to Bullseye, knowing he’s the one she’s got to convince. “A chance to let the heat die down, and for those who want me dead to shift their attention somewhere else.”

Bullseye stares at her steadily, waves his hand toward me, and repeats my question. “So why Arizona?” I know he’s probably thinking, just like the rest of us, that a secret service agent is unlikely to be paid for sitting around, and if unable to do normal duties, maybe she’s been co-opted onto another task force. The feds, perhaps, are taking the chance to have her infiltrate a one-percenter club.

Eyeing her suspiciously, I recall how much she knew about the life, how important my cut was to me for a start. Half to clarify them to myself, I start to speak my thoughts aloud. “There was no way to predict I’d be on the road that night, and,” I huff at myself as I offer a wry look at my brothers, “no one would have expected me to stop. Normally, what happens is somebody else’s business, not mine.” After pausing to shake my head at my own actions, I say, “Those men came back and were dead set on finishing you. If the car hadn’t exploded, I couldn’t have stopped them.”

She raises her head and looks at me, then confirms, “If you hadn’t come down to help, I wouldn’t be sitting here now. It was impossible for me to get out of the car on my own. The seat belt had jammed, and I didn’t have a knife handy.” She bites her lip. “If I’d been more badly injured, if I didn’t have a lighter and hadn’t set fire to the car, they’d have ignored you and come down to end me.” Pausing, she then adds, “And you would have become collateral damage if they’d caught you out in a lie.”

She’s got a point, but it’s not my place to thank her for setting the explosion.

“How did they find you?” Freak asks.

She draws in air and grimaces as she’s clearly breathed in too deeply, but she answers as soon as she can. “I’m human. I eat. I stop to pee, I fill up with gas. Somewhere along the way, I must have picked up a tail.” Self-deprecatingly she adds, “I’m also a fucking poor agent as I didn’t notice them following me, but I wasn’t on duty.” She looks like she could beat herself up for that.

Tempest raises his eyes toward me, regarding me intently. “You’re absolutely certain you weren’t set up?” he asks, circling back to Rattler’s early queries.

“I can’t see how. If they wanted to get anyone involved, I’m the last one they would have targeted. Maybe Words, as he’s got a soft side.” There are snorts at my suggestion. There’s a reason Words works with corpses rather than those who are alive.

Bullseye slaps his hand down. “Fine. Let’s accept for a moment that she wasn’t trying to get an in with us in particular, but maybe one of the surrounding clubs. She just got lucky meeting you, VP.”

“I’m not here to infiltrate any club or gang, one-percenter or not.” Phillipa’s voice sounds steady, though weak.

“So why were you here in Arizona?” I growl, “You didn’t give a good answer earlier.”

“She didn’t give any fuckin’ answer,” Bullseye corrects.

She places a hand on the table, sets her eyes on me, and snarls, “If it’s any business of yours, I was visiting my parents.”

Genius butts in. “Who are they? Where do they live?”

Raising my chin toward him, I give thanks in advance, knowing he’s going to start investigating to validate her claim.

“I went to their gravesides,” she cries out, emotion drawn from her. The torment in her eyes means I, and I doubt anyone else, do anything other than believe her. Especially when she continues, “When shit goes down, isn’t it natural to want to be close to family?”

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