Page 139 of Enemy of My Enemy
He kept walking, going down the stairs and past the Oval Office, and then went down one more floor, stopping at the secured doors outside Horsepower, the Secret Service’s White House headquarters.
He took a deep breath and knocked.
They knew he was there, waiting outside. His movements were tracked around the White House, a little red blip on their monitors moving over their giant map, tracking him everywhere, all the time. If he thought too much about it, he ended up wanting to climb out of his skin and run from the White House, and never, ever come back.
Slowly, the door opened. Scott poked his weary head out. Deep lines furrowed into his forehead and his cheeks, and dark bags hung beneath his eyes. Cold fury flowed off him. “Mr. President. If you have a request, you should make it through official channels.”
“Scott…” His skin buzzed, crawling, and he just wanted to jump and scream and shout until his voice went hoarse. “Scott, can I speak with you? In private?”
Scott stared at him, and if possible, his expression grew fiercer, angrier, the lines around his eyes tightening, his lips thinning. “Mr. President. One moment.”
He said something to the agents behind him and then ducked out. He folded his arms, spread his legs, and stood like a linebacker in the hallway, squaring off against Jack like he was about to deliver some kind of raw high school locker room justice.
Well. He had hurt Ethan, Scott’s best friend. He deserved Scott’s wrath, and so much more.
“Where’s Ethan?”
Scott looked away.
“Please, Scott. Where is he? I’ve been trying to call him, but he’s not answering.”
Scott glared at the wall. “Why do you want to call him? Just to tell him it’s over? Give yourself closure? Trust me, he knows. He doesn’t need you to twist the knife any deeper.”
“God, no!” Jack ran his fingers through his hair, gripped the back of his skull. “That’s not it at all! Scott—”
“Why are you wearing his sweatshirt?”
“Because it’s the closest I can get to him right now. I’m falling apart, and I need him?”
“You can’t just use him like that, call him whenever you feel like you need him—”
“Damn it, Scott!” Jack shouted, his hands fisted in his hair. He spun, gasping, and glared. “Damn it, I’m not trying to use him! I’m trying to bring himhome! I just told Leslie that I couldn’t be with her because I’m inlovewith Ethan! And, because he’sit! He’s the one for me! I want to grow old with him. Spend forever with him. I wanteverythingwith Ethan!”
Scott stared, his jaw hanging open. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Goddamn it, Mr. President.”
“Please,” Jack pleaded. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Scott slumped against the White House basement wall. “He was staying at my place. I came home and he was gone.”
“Gone?” Panic clawed at Jack’s heart.
“Gone. Left his cell and his wallet.” Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Irwin wanted to know where he was that day. I think he went to see him.”
“Irwin.” Exhaling, Jack pushed back his frantic nerves. “Lawrence. Okay. So… he’s probably on a mission, then. Black bag. Compartmentalized.” He squinted at Scott. “Right?”
“I guessed the same.”
“Okay.” Jack paced in front of Scott. “I’ll talk to Irwin. See what’s going on. I don’t want to interrupt if… if it’s something dangerous.” His heart leaped into his throat, nearly strangling him, and he felt the color drain from his face.God, be safe, Ethan. Be safe. Come home to me. Please.
“Here.” Scott dug in his suit pants and pulled out Ethan’s cell phone. “I’ve been holding on to this. In case he calls or something. I don’t know.”
Jack took the phone, turning on the screen. A background picture of him and Ethan, smiling for the camera on a sunny day in the Rose Garden came up, and a moment later, his thumbprint registered, unlocking the phone. The same picture smiled back at him, behind Ethan’s icons. Seventeen missed calls—all from him—and five unread text messages—again, his—blinked. “At least he’s not deliberately ignoring me.” He tried to smile.
Scott didn’t smile back. He stared at Jack. “Are you certain?” he growled. “Ethan loves you more than you know, and this is tearing him apart. If you’re notabsolutelycertain, dead sure, about this, it will break him. He’s like a brother to me. I don’t want to see him like this again.”
“I’m one hundred percent certain. It’s him. Forever.”
“When he gets back,” Scott growled. “Don’t fuck this up, Mr. President.”
