Pacing the Center Hall lasted until midnight. Russia, the summit, the Caliphate, China’s deployment, Russia’s deployment, and Ethan—always, always Ethan—rolled around in his brain. What should he do? What was the right course?
Jack flopped into bed after one in the morning. He tossed and turned. Stared at the ceiling. Stared at his clock.
Finally, Jack padded into the closet. There, hidden among his suits, was Ethan’s jacket.
He stared at it for a minute, before reaching out and tugging it off the hanger. The hanger clattered to the floor, but he ignored it, pulling Ethan’s jacket close to his chest. Inhaling, Jack closed his eyes. Another inhale, shorter, almost a gasp, and he buried his face in Ethan’s jacket.
Collapsing, Jack hugged Ethan’s jacket to his face, suddenly screaming, angry, rage-filled screams, and then, suddenly sobbing, heaving, chest-aching, heart-wracking sobs. He buried his face in the fabric as he lay on the closet floor, huddled in a ball. The fabric caught his tears, soaking beneath his face, and Ethan’s scent lulled Jack, carrying him to sleep as his sobs slowly subsided.
* * * * *
He woke coming in his boxers.
Jack groaned, grinding his hips against the carpet, more than half-asleep. Wet come squished around his balls, soaking his boxers. He bolted upright, eyes wide, and stared down at his crotch.
He backed away, trying to escape his own come, brushing at his boxers and the stain beneath him on the carpet.
No, no!
This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t have just come in his boxers like a teenager. And—
shit!
Come on the White House carpet wasn’t the legacy he wanted to leave behind. Jack ripped off his shirt and rubbed at the stain, furiously trying to pull it up. The stench of sex hit him full in the face.
Jack fell back on his ass, leaning against his suit pants in the closet. What the hell had happened? He hadn’t come in…had it been years? After Leslie, his sex drive had died. He’d masturbated a few times after a few years, and then a bit more as time went on, but he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d touched himself. What did that say about him? He was basically sexless. Practically a robot. He certainly felt like one.
His dreams, fragmented, flashed in his mind.
He’d been dreaming of Leslie, of his wife. Her smile, the way she laughed when they first met. How his heart had beat faster, every time he saw her. The first time they made love, sliding over her body, kissing his way down her neck.
He’d nuzzled warm skin, and his hands had stroked down a thigh.
A strong, hairy thigh, flexing powerfully beneath his touch.
He’d kept kissing, down the warm neck, across the quivering Adam’s apple, and down to a broad, hairy chest. Strong, powerful, and heaving beneath his touch. Beneath his lips. A deep voice, breathing his name, reverent and pleading.
Ethan
. He’d been dreaming about Ethan.
He flushed, suddenly burning up. Embarrassment flooded through him, followed by shock. He’d been dreaming about Ethan. Flashes of memories flooded Jack: Ethan protecting him, shielding him from crowds and unseen danger. Ethan running beside him at Camp David. Ethan’s smile and his laugh.
Ethan’s lips, kissing him.
Jack exhaled, shaking. His dream memories grabbed him, replaying the feel of Ethan beneath his hands.
What would have happened if Ethan had turned him against the pool table and kissed him deeper?
What if he had grabbed Ethan in return and kissed him back?
What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t attracted to men.
But he’d just come, dreaming about Ethan.
He was ridiculous. Jack hauled himself up, shucking his ruined undershirt over the stain. Ethan’s jacket lay in a crumpled mess on the floor. He stared at it. Come had smeared on one corner. Tears stained the collar.
Jack grabbed the jacket and balled it up. He wanted to throw it away. He wanted to bury his face in it again. He wanted to rip it to pieces. He wanted to put it on and wrap Ethan around him.
Instead, he headed back to the bedroom. The clock showed four AM. He wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight.
Suitcases were open at the foot of his bed. The stewards had packed for him yesterday, and they left the personals to Jack to finish. In a few hours, he’d be heading on Marine One to Andrews Air Force Base and then to Prague.
Jack stuffed Ethan’s jacket into one of the shoe pockets in his suitcase. Even to himself, he had no explanation for why he was doing this.
Slowly, Jack padded backward out of the bedroom, never taking his eyes off his suitcase. When he backed into the door, the knob jabbing him in his kidneys, he bolted outside, slamming it shut behind him. His heart was pounding, beating a bass rhythm in his brain, and he couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, could barely stand. Finally, he managed to catch his breath, deep and long, in and out.
Sticky with come-soaked boxers, Jack slid down the wall and buried his face in his hands.
* * * * *
“Knight One to Castle Keep. Vigilant on the move. Leaving airport now and headed for Castle.”
Ethan keyed the radio in the Command Post at the Aria Hotel. “Castle Keep to Knight One. Acknowledge movement. Route is clear and ETA is twenty-four minutes. Drawbridge will be down when you arrive.”
“Roger, Castle Keep. Knight One out.”
Daniels’s voice clicked off the radio channel. On screen, the presidential motorcade, a red dot on the map of Prague blown up on a wall-sized projection, moved from the airport to Czech R7, heading south toward the city. Daniels was the driver for Jack. Collard was running as point man, in Ethan’s place, while Ethan headed up the Command Post. Castle Keep was the Command Post at the hotel, and Knight was the codename for the agents moving with Jack.
Vigilant was Jack.
Ethan clenched the cup of coffee in his hand so hard the paper crumpled. Black coffee spilled over the side, hitting his skin. He shook it off, wiping his hand on his cargo pants.
His head still ached, even two days after downing that bottle of whiskey. He’d picked it up duty-free on a layover in Frankfurt, and he’d downed the bottle in the wee hours of the night between Frankfurt and Prague, and in the cab to the Aria. An eminently stupid move, but one he’d welcomed at the time. He just needed to not feel anything, just for a few hours.
Now, he felt nothing but pain. And not just the headache and the sore liver, either. Jack had landed, and that had ripped open the wounds on his heart, all over again.
He had no one to blame but himself.
“The president has thirty-five minutes at the hotel before he has to disembark for Prague Castle.” There was a reception for the heads of state that evening, in Vladislav Hall in the Czech president’s castle. “ETA to Prague Castle is ten minutes.” Welby stood next to Ethan, waiting.
“Just enough time for the president to unpack.” Ethan could picture it. He wondered what Jack’s face would look like when he walked into his suite. He was at the top of the castle-turned-hotel with a breathtaking view over the city. A view of Prague Castle glittered from the balcony off the president’s suite. Opulent didn’t even begin to describe the room. European decadence dripped from the walls, where medieval sconces, gothic sculptures, and original Renaissance artwork hung.
He just wished he could see Jack’s smile.
Welby peered at Ethan. “Would you like to brief the president when he arrives, sir?”
Even though Welby was the advance team lead, since Ethan had arrived, he was the ranking agent. It would make sense for him to brief Jack on the security procedures for the summit.
“No. No, you go ahead and take care of it.” Ethan’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want to face Jack. Not now. Not ever.
Ethan watched Jack’s red dot draw closer.
* * * * *
Thirty-five minutes was just enough time for Jack’s aides to haul his luggage into his suite and for the whirlwind hurricane that was his support team to descend on the hotel en masse. Rolling suitcases thundered down the hall as doors slammed, and aides and advisors congregated in the halls, sharing the Wi-Fi password and reading emails to each other. Ethan stayed in the Command Post, one floor below Jack’s suite.
He couldn’t help it. He listened in on the open mic when Welby briefed Jack.
Jack sounded exhausted, which was just another thing for Ethan to be pissed off at himself about. Undoubtedly, that was his fault. He’d heaped another problem on Jack’s shoulders, all in the midst of an international crisis. He just needed to stay away, keep his distance, and Jack would realize he wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t going to harass him again. Or try to kiss him.
Assault & battery
, his mind whispered.
Touching without consent. Unwanted touching without consent
.
Jack answered Welby’s questions with one-word answers and grunts, acknowledging the security plan, their timeline, and the emergency procedures should the worst happen.
“We depart in…” Ethan listened in, imagining Welby checking his watch. “Ten minutes, Mr. President. We’ll knock on your door when it’s time.”
Jack grunted, and Ethan heard Welby excuse himself.
“Agent Welby?”
“Yes, Mr. President?”
Ethan pressed the headset to his ear. Jack’s voice made his bones ache, but he wanted to hear just a little bit more.
“Is Agent Reichenbach here?”
Ethan froze.
“Yes, sir. Would you like me to get him for you?”
“No!” Jack practically snapped at Welby.
Ethan’s blood turned to ice. His heart stopped.
“No,” Jack continued. “I just wanted to check. No need to bother him.”
“Yes, sir.” Welby excused himself again, and Ethan heard the door open and close before he ripped his earpiece out and leaned forward, desperately trying not to lose it entirely in front of everyone.
Jack hated him.
* * * * *
Vladislav Hall in Prague Castle was everything a gothic medieval banquet hall should be.
Jack gazed in awe at the vaulted ceilings and the exposed wood beams honeycombing the cathedral-like space. Gold-toned paint covered the stone-hewn walls and the ceiling. Five triple-level hand-hewn bronze chandeliers hung on chains, illuminating the cavernous hall. Light glittered in the warbled panes of the arched windows along the far wall. The windows were the oldest surviving pieces of Renaissance architecture in the world, outside of Italy.
NATO’s leadership moved in the hall, soft chatter and the tinkling of crystal echoing with the sounds of delicate forks and bone china. Sausage, duck, and rabbit sizzled on tabletop spits, surrounded by artfully arranged hors d’oeuvres and stacks of folded silk napkins. Waiters moved among the presidents, prime ministers, and chancellors, carrying trays of wine, beer, and champagne.
“Here goes nothing,” Jack murmured. On his right and his left, Agents Collard and Daniels flanked his every move. Secretary Elizabeth Wall was behind him, with her own Secret Service detail, and behind the both of them, Gottschalk and his team brought up the rear.
He was announced to the hall, and most of the heads of state applauded.
Noticeably silent was the Russian president, slowly eating a skewer of seared rabbit. He stared at Jack, smiling slowly. It wasn’t a friendly smile.
Jack headed right for him. “President Puchkov,” he said, extending his hand. “I am so glad you were able to make it.”
The Russian president, Sergey Puchkov, stared at his outstretched hand.
The sounds of chatter in the hall faded.
“Mr. President,” Puchkov rumbled. Tall and lanky, the Russian president overshadowed Jack’s almost-six-foot height. His long arm reached out, one cold hand clasping Jack’s. “I did not think you would make it.”
“It takes more than your troops going for a walk to keep me from coming.” Jack pumped Puchkov’s hand once more before letting go. “America’s commitment to our NATO allies is absolute.”
Puchkov grinned. He set his rabbit skewer on a passing waiter’s tray and grabbed two flutes of champagne. “A toast, Mr. President.” He passed one of the glasses to Jack. “To military maneuvers!” Puchkov sipped his champagne, his snide, laughing eyes watching Jack like a hawk. “You feign surprise?”
Jack blinked. He didn’t take a drink. “What am I supposed to be drinking to?”
“Your military has also taken a bit of a walk, Mr. President. A division, I believe, mobilizing to your Hoenfels Training Center, yes?”
Fury unfurled within Jack, one slow tendril at a time. He hadn’t ordered that. He’d explicitly ordered not to move those troops. Not that he could reveal that to Puchkov. “I’m sure you understand.”
Puchkov chuckled under his breath. He finished his champagne. “We will have so much to discuss here, Mr. President. The world hangs in the balance, no? I am looking forward to it.” A quick nod, and then the Russian president walked away.
“Mother fucker,” Jack hissed under his breath. He was trembling, practically seeing red.
“Mr. President?” Collard was at his elbow instantly.
It should be Ethan.
“We’re leaving,” Jack grunted. “Let’s go.”
* * * * *
Hollering at the secretary of defense in the backseat of his SUV wasn’t how Jack wanted his first evening in Prague to end. Lewis said he didn’t know what had happened but took responsibility for the troop movement nonetheless.
“This isn’t the message I wanted to send to the Russians, Lewis!” Jack shouted through the phone. “I wanted to start this summit from a spirit of cooperation!”
“I understand, Mr. President. I didn’t issue these orders. But I take full responsibly for this mistake, and I will find out how this happened, sir.”
“Do that. And put our European forces on lockdown. I need to cool this situation down, immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack sighed. “Help me, Lewis. I don’t need to fight the Russians and my own people. We need to get through this together. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Please let me know when you have information for me on what happened here.” Jack hung up after Lewis agreed. He pitched forward, resting his phone against his forehead.