What would Ethan say? If he were in the car, could they have talked about this? Or at least texted, from the backseat to the front seat? He glanced forward, watching the silent forms of Agents Daniels and Collard. They were Ethan’s teammates. His closest coworkers. His friends.
Had they known? No. Ethan had wanted to keep their friendship a secret from everyone. They couldn’t know.
But did they know about Ethan’s feelings for him?
Jack swiped his phone screen and pulled up his text messages. Ethan was still right on top, and the last text they had exchanged from three days ago. Was it only three days? His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
What on earth would he even say?
I’m sorry? I’m not worth your affections? I had a wet dream last night about you, and it’s the first time I’ve come in I can’t remember how long? I don’t know what that means…but I can’t get you out of my mind?
Jack powered down his phone’s screen.
* * * * *
Most of the presidential travel team was exhausted and turned in by the time Jack got back. He spent almost two hours with Gottschalk in his suite, going over the talking points and his speech for the next day and making adjustments now that they were on the defensive. Jack kicked Gottschalk out when he caught his chief of staff smothering his third yawn.
He should be exhausted. He hadn’t slept much the night before, but he was running on some crazed mixture of apprehension and adrenaline. Tomorrow was it. He’d face Puchkov, stop this aggression…or would fail.
Jack paced, long yards back and forth across his suite. It really was a fabulous suite.
It was also lonely. So achingly lonely.
Before he knew what he was doing, Jack was grabbing his Secret Service phone and dialing for the Command Post.
An agent he didn’t recognize by voice picked up. “CP, Agent Torres.”
“Agent Torres, can you please send Agent Reichenbach to my suite?”
“Agent Reichenbach? Uh, yes, sir, Mr. President. Right away.”
“Thank you.” Jack hung up the phone, dropping it into the cradle with a quiet, controlled click.
What on earth was he doing?
* * * * *
Ethan closed his eyes outside Jack’s hotel room door. He’d been summoned, officially summoned, and he was sure it would all come out in the next few minutes. Censure, Jack’s anger, his dismissal. He would have preferred to not have this done on an open net, but maybe this was what he deserved. He would bear his shame, and his mistakes.
Two quick knocks signaled his arrival. The door clicked open beneath his touch.
“It’s open,” Jack called from inside.
Inhaling deeply, Ethan steeled himself one last time before pushing into the room.
Jack stood in the center of the suite, his jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, tie undone, and hair disheveled. His glasses were perched on the top of his head, slightly askew, and his hands were tangled together in front of him, fingers twisting against one another.
He looked perfect. Ethan’s heart ached, wanting with the depths of his soul. But he’d already made that mistake once. He couldn’t do it again. Straightening, Ethan clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “Mr. President,” he grunted.
Jack opened his mouth. Closed it. His fingers twisted.
He held Ethan’s gaze, his fathomless blue eyes staring deep into Ethan. One breath became two, became five.
Ethan licked his lips.
Jack started, turning away. He swayed, leaning against a side table and bracing himself with one hand.
“Mr. President?” Ethan stepped forward but hesitated. “Are you all right?”
“I need to get out of here,” Jack finally said. He turned burning eyes toward Ethan. Urgent desperation burst from deep within. “Please, Ethan. I need to get out. Just for a little bit.”
He blinked slowly. “Out where, sir?”
Jack swallowed. He threw his hand out toward the window and the Little Kings Quarter. “Just out, maybe around the block? Grab a drink somewhere?”
“You can have a drink here, sir—”
“No, it’s not the booze. I’m…I’m suffocating in here, Ethan. I need to get out. Walk around.” Jack pressed his lips together. “Please. Please help me get out, just for a little bit.”
Ethan closed his eyes and exhaled. The suggestion was ridiculous. But did he have the power to turn Jack down, after everything?
“Did you call me because you knew I’d have to help you?” he whispered.
Jack looked away. “I—”
“I’ll do it,” Ethan interrupted. He didn’t want to hear that answer. “I’ll do it, but we do it my way. I’ll get some agents. We’ll run a dot formation. We never leave your side.” Ethan fixed Jack with a hard glare. “Understand, Mr. President?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have anything causal?”
Jack rummaged in his suitcase, flipping through sweat pants and shorts before pulling out a pair of jeans and pullover sweatshirt with a hood. Ethan spotted a clump of black fabric sticking out of the corner of Jack’s suitcase.
“Put those on. I’ll be back with a few more items for your disguise.” He headed out. “I’ll be back with the agents in ten minutes, Mr. President.”
“Ethan—”
Ethan stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Thanks,” Jack finally said, under his breath.
He left the suite without a word, not looking back.
In the hallway, Ethan pulled up his radio, speaking into the mic clipped to the inside of his suit jacket sleeve. “I need a full detail dressed in plain clothes for close surveillance and agents Collard and Daniels dressed down in civvies and armed in the Command Post in five minutes.” Screw the dot formation. He’d never leave Jack unprotected. Even if Jack hated the thought, he was getting a full detail. “Vigilant is going on a walk.”
Chapter Nine
Russia States any US Military Mobilization in Europe will be “an Act of War.”
Russian President Sergey Puchkov this morning announced that any American troop mobilization inside of Europe would be taken as an act of war. President Puchkov spoke before traveling to Prague, where he is to meet with the President of the United States in order to discuss the security situation in Europe and the continued threat of the Islamic Caliphate. The United States has not yet responded to the Russian president’s statement.
* * * * *
The Little Kings Quarter boasted a bevy of bars and restaurants, most of them open to the wee hours of the morning. Ethan, Daniels, and Collard escorted Jack out of the Hotel Aria through the back entrance and then snaked him down around the walls and onto the main street. The rest of the detail was out of Jack’s sight, already in place on the sidewalks, in their SUVs, and walking the route ahead of Jack.
Jack tugged the beanie Ethan had given him further down his head. He’d traded his suit for a hoodie, and with the beanie, he looked every bit the part of a European barfly. Ethan, Daniels, and Collard rounded out the façade with their casual pants and long-sleeved sweaters.
The night was cool, cooler than in Washington, and the air was crisp and clean. Ancient battlements and stone walls rose about them, along with castle spires and medieval towers. Prague Castle loomed above the Little Kings Quarter, glowing at night and seemingly floating above them. Cobbled streets twisted and turned beneath their feet, ancient walkways through the timeless city.
Looking sideways, Ethan saw Jack smile and his shoulders uncoil as they headed up the street. His own heart unclenched just the slightest. If Jack needed this, he’d be there for him.
Ethan had stationed agents in every one of the bars along their route and had three teams shadowing their movements. When Jack suggested, on his whim, to duck into the third bar on the right, Ethan played along, pretending that it was an off-the-cuff decision, and that he didn’t have the place already secured. He’d ordered his, Daniels, and Collard’s mics left open. Everyone on the detail, and all of the teams shadowing them and stationed in bars, would be able to hear every word.
“The
U Maleho Glena
?” Ethan spoke the name of the bar aloud, alerting the agents inside. “Sure, Mr. President.” Still walking with Jack between him and Daniels, with Collard bringing up the rear, Ethan made sure to give the bar a once-over, counting windows and doors and back exits as he headed up the steps. He entered first, stepping through the threshold and holding out his hand, stalling Jack as he did a quick check of the inside. Four agents sat in the bar, strategically placed, and they each met his gaze casually before looking away. More signaled that they were on the way. Ethan spotted another four agents set up across the street, leaning against the antique gaslight and pretending to pal around.
The bar was actually a jazz club, crowded but not overpacked. Dreadlocked musicians wailed on saxophones and drummed out a slow, swaying beat, and a voluptuous brunette wrapped in red silk belted out a tragic song. Ethan couldn’t understand the words, but the sound of her voice stole into Ethan’s soul, cupping the fractures of his broken heart. He wanted to stay and listen forever. He wanted to run away and never return.
Instead, Ethan led Jack to an empty space at the bar. He stood between Jack and the rest of the bar as Daniels took up the other side, between Jack and the wall. Rough stone lined the club, ringing the dark space. The dark walnut bar top gleamed, and behind the bartenders, lit glass shelves showcased the liquor selections. Ethan eyed the wares. This was a high-class place.
Jack leaned back against the bar and watched the jazz band, tapping his toe in time with the beat. Ethan had stolen a pair of Converse from one of the tech agents in the Command Post, and Jack was currently sporting a pair of high-top Chucks with frayed laces. It fit, in a nerdy way, and Ethan had tried hard not to smile when Jack looked at him for approval.
The bartender arrived, and Ethan ordered for Jack. He didn’t think twice about it, asking for a local beer that was dark and rich, more of a lager than a pilsner, roasted and heavy and not too hoppy. He’d drunk with him enough to know his taste in beer.
Daniels, apparently, thought it was strange. He stared at Ethan as the bartender moved off, mouthing “what the fuck?” to him with a frown.
Ethan ignored him.
No drinks for him, or for Daniels or Collard. Or the rest of the agents on the team. They had better all be nursing water or soda.
When Jack’s beer arrived, Ethan turned and leaned up against Jack’s side. He passed it off wordlessly, trying to be quick, but Jack turned and beamed at him, warm, friendly, and full. It stole Ethan’s breath, and he clenched his jaw and gnashed his teeth, trying to stop a sudden sob from tearing free of his soul. The sultry brunette crooned a lingering last note, seemingly just for Ethan’s tortured heart alone.
He turned away from Jack and leaned against the bar.
Daniels stared at him. Ethan could feel Collard’s eyes boring into his back. Fuck. He was so fucked.
“
Omluvte
…” Behind Ethan, a petite blonde woman was trying to reach the bar. She spoke again, in Czech, and squeezed between Jack and Ethan. “
Omluvte, promiňte.
”
Frowning, Ethan tried to push her out. “Hey. Please, back away.”
“Oh, excuse me,” she said, switching to accented English. Jack moved aside, giving her more room at the bar.
Ethan glared at him over the woman’s head. Dammit, they weren’t supposed to let anyone near him.
“Excuse me,” she said again, smiling apologetically at Ethan and Jack. “I just need to order.”
“No problem!” Jack grinned and turned with her, facing the bar. “What are you drinking?”
Oh God. No, for fuck’s sake, no
. Ethan’s glare turned murderous, and Daniels and Collard both stood tall and at the ready. They looked to Ethan, waiting for direction.
Ethan waited, too. Jack wasn’t going to flirt with this woman…was he?
She giggled again. She was tipsy, just shy of being drunk. “I drink whiskey,” she said, looking Jack up and down, slowly. “American whiskey.”
“American whiskey?” Jack laughed.
“It’s strong, and cheap. Like Americans.” She winked up at Jack as one hand poked him in the chest. “You are American.”
“Maybe.”
“You look familiar…” Now she was peering at Jack, trying to read his face.
“All right, that’s enough.” Ethan stepped around and pushed his way between Jack and her. Jack stepped back, almost colliding into Daniels, but made room for Ethan’s sudden entrance.
She stared at Ethan, wide-eyed, before her expression soured. “Excuse me,” she snapped. “You are very rude.”
Suddenly, Jack was back, leaning against Ethan’s side and taking a pull from his bottle of beer. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, in his best cowboy twang. “This is my boyfriend, and he doesn’t like to share.”
All the air seemed to suck out of the universe. Ethan’s head swam, colors blurring and blending, and dimly he registered the sound of glass dropping and breaking. The woman’s shocked face morphed, turning to happy laughter, and she apologized over and over as she waited for her drink. Jack waved her off, still glued to Ethan’s side. The warmth of his body turned searing, and Ethan jerked away, trying to escape.
Jack stumbled. Collard grabbed him, steadying him.
Everyone stared at Ethan.
Collard and Daniels had murder in their eyes, raw fury mixed with naked shock.
Jack’s gaze hurt the most. Confusion warred with fear, an anxious, deep, fear buried in the depths of his fractured blue eyes.
Fear of him. God, fear of him.
Ethan turned his head and pulled up his sweater sleeve, speaking into the mic. “Quarterback is rotating out. I need an agent inside at the bar, now.” Fury raged within him, roaring through his veins. He couldn’t see right, couldn’t hear right. There was broken glass beneath his feet—Daniels’s water glass—and he kept stepping on the ice cubes. Grunting, Ethan kicked the glass and the ice against the wall, shattering the last big chunks of glass into dust.
Frowning, Jack’s mouth dropped open. “What? There are others here?”
One of the agents in the corner stood and headed their way as another two from across the street started up the bar’s steps outside.