Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
Casey
shook her head, her eyes reflecting the bright LCD computer screen as she
logged on to the Internet. "God, not you, too."
"What
do you mean?"
"Maggie
was just in here asking about him. Don't tell me you're star-struck, too."
Lisanne
shook her head. ''Not at all. But I’ll admit his reputation is
interesting."
Casey
cracked a smile. "Ah, yes, Special Agent-in-Charge Colt Sheridan, a.k.a.
'The Antichrist'." She spun around in her chair, facing Lisanne. "Of
course I've heard of him. It's hard not to. The guy has got a reputation out of
a Robert Ludlum novel."
Lisanne
nodded eagerly. "He's been with Obama back in Chicago, supervising the
security arrangements of the former President. I hear Obama fought like hell to
keep Sheridan with him."
Casey
snorted. "Would you want to relinquish your best agent to the man who beat
you in the Presidential elections?"
''Not
really." Lisanne looked thoughtful. "More than likely, I'd pay the
guy to off my opponent. Maybe.... "
"Don't
even joke about that." The African-American agent was standing in the
doorway, his expression grim as he gazed at Lisanne. Rebuked, she slipped out
of the office, leaving Casey alone with Mr. Humorless.
"She
wasn't serious, Peter," she said, but Peter didn't look convinced so she
changed the subject. "What can I do for you?"
He was
still looking rather severe. He strolled into her office, casually. "Colt
Sheridan is the finest agent in the Service. They don't come any better."
"I
know," Casey nodded her head to placate the man. "Lisanne didn't mean
to implicate that he was an international assassin. Why do you have to be so
damn serious?"
"They
pay me to be serious." He crossed his arms, the material of his expensive
suit straining against his muscular biceps. "And they pay you to be discreet.
You know that talk like Lisanne's is discouraged, to say the least. And the
fact that the President is sitting on the opposite side of that door ....
"
Casey
rolled her eyes and put up a silencing hand. "Enough of the lecture, Agent
Harrios. Is there a reason you've come to my office other than to eavesdrop on
a private conversation?"
"I do
indeed have a reason," he said crisply. "But I'm not finished
lecturing yet. Didn't they teach you anything at the Pentagon about security
and protocol?"
"Of
course," she said impatiently. "I was the personal secretary to the
Secretary of Defense, a position I worked myself into less than six months
after being hired for the pool, might I remind you. I’ve worked for politicians
for the past twelve years before working my way into the White House so if
you're thinking on rebuking me for my lack of responsibility, don't bother. I
believe my employment record and my current position as personal assistant to
the President of the United States speak for themselves."
Peter
stared at her. Then, he broke out into a toothy grin as she succeeded in
loosening his government-tight screws. "Mighty impressed with yourself,
aren't you?"
"Aren't
you
?"
He
laughed. "This room isn't big enough for the three of us- me, you, and
your ego."
She broke
down into snickers. "So tell me and my ego why it is you're in my office
and then you can leave."
He
sobered, eyeing the beautiful young woman with the striking violet eyes. She
had caramel-colored hair, long and shiny with a fringe of bangs, a petite and
shapely frame, and was a truly a fine female specimen
in
his
opinion. Guys all over the West Wing called her a knock-out, and she sincerely
was. If he weren't already married, Peter might have found himself seriously
interested because she was just that smart, funny and beautiful. She was the
whole package.
"Special
Agent in Charge Sheridan is expecting that package,” he said. “If I were you,
I'd deliver it to him immediately."
Casey's
well-shaped eyebrows rose. "You mean the Antichrist? Don't tell me that he
can't simply use his powers of evil to retrieve it." She put her fingers
up to her temples. "Wait- I'm sending him a message. I'm telling the
Antichrist that he will receive his package the very moment he walks into this
office and not a second before. I'm not going out and hunt the man down."
The door
to the President's office opened slightly; a figure lingered just beyond the
door. But Casey didn't see or hear anything; she reached down and picked up the
white envelope. Peter glanced up and saw the face; immediately, he opened his
mouth to speak but Casey's rambling cut him off.
"Wait!"
she slapped the envelope against her forehead. "I’m not done. I'm telling
the Antichrist that he better learn to work peacefully with the President's
admin staff or I'll send him packing." She removed the envelope and fixed
Peter in the eye. "I've heard through the grapevine that Colt Sheridan is
a real jerk to work with. If he isn’t intimidating the crap out of people, then
he’s being an ass. If that guy tries to disrupt my office, he'll be sorry.
There's room for only one overlord in this administration and that's me."
The door
to the President's office opened the rest of the way, silently. The white
envelope in Casey's hand suddenly vanished.
"Thank
you."
The voice
was deep and smooth. Casey sat forward in her chair with a start, whirling
around to the figure now standing in front of her desk. An enormous man in a
crisp dark suit stood there, fingering the envelope, and Casey's first reaction
was to snatch it back.
"Give
me that," she snapped, putting both hands on the envelope and yanking
it
from his
grip. Glittering brown eyes gazed back at her steadily but she wasn't noticing
their appraising manner; she was more focused on her outrage."Who in the
hell are you?"
"Casey,
I'd
like you to meet Special Agent-in-Charge Colt Sheridan." A trim,
auburn-haired man emerged from the oval office. He was average in height, his
handsome face lined with the tension of a strenuous life. President Russell
Talbot fought off a grin as his personal assistant and new Agent in Charge got
acquainted. "Special Agent Sheridan, I'd like you to meet my right-hand,
Casey Cleburne. Don’t let her size fool you; she’s a tiger that I think you
have, unfortunately, by the tail. I call her ‘The General’ and for good
reason. You’d to well to remember that."
Colt
simply nodded, his gaze riveted to Casey. She stared back at the man with the
dark-blond hair, stylishly cut. He was enormous, well over six feet tall, with
shoulders as wide as the door frame. His handsome face looked as if it was
carved from stone; square, angled, and unmoving. But the eyes that stared back
at her were a deep, rich brown, liquid yet hard at the same time.
It
didn't
make sense, this softness and solidity she was sensing from him. But maybe he
was thinking the same thing about her, because he was appraising her the same
way she was appraising him. Someone had to break first. Finally, almost
sheepishly, Casey extended her hand.
"Pleasure,"
she said. “Welcome to the team.”
His
handshake was very firm, very warm. He had an enormous hand. He probably held
on to her a moment longer than necessary, prompting Casey to yank her hand away
because the warmth of his grip was unnerving.
"Thank
you," he rumbled. Then he tipped his head in the direction of the white
envelope, still clutched in her other hand. "Sorry I took it from you
without permission. Can I have my envelope, please?"
Casey
looked at the big white package as if he had forgotten about it. Then she
thrust it at him, almost hitting him in the jaw in her haste. He took a step
back to avoid being smacked and collected the envelope as the President moved
in between them, hands shoved casually into his pockets.
“To be
honest, this is a better meeting than I had expected,” Russ’s dark eyes were
glimmering with humor. “The last time a Sheridan and a Cleburne met, it was
explosive to say the least.”
Casey and
Special Agent Sheridan were still locking gazes, still appraising, tearing
their respective focuses off of each other to look at the President. Colt
understood what the man was saying before Casey did; she was still struggling
with her mortification.
“That’s
true, sir,” Colt replied.
Casey was
a little slower to come around. She cocked her head as she looked at him. “Sir?”
Talbot
grinned as he tilted his head in Colt’s direction. “Meet Philip Henry Sheridan
the Fifth,” he said. “His great-great-great granddaddy was Phil Sheridan, the
great Civil War general for the United States of America, just like yours was
General Patrick Cleburne, commander of the Army of Tennessee for the
Confederate States of America. See where I’m going with this?”
Casey
understood, then. With an expression of surprise, she turned to Colt as if now
studying him through new eyes. Colt was doing the same thing, looking like he
was fighting off a serious grin as their gazes locked. The granite-square jaw
was twitching.
“Cleburne
was probably the most under-rated general in the Civil War,” he commented, his
gaze lingering on her. “I wasn’t aware he had any descendents. As I recall, he
never married.”
Casey was
quickly forgetting her embarrassment. “You know about him?”
Sheridan
shrugged. “I grew up in a family that was all about history, for obvious
reasons,” he said. “I know a lot about the Civil War in general. I sort of had
to.”
Casey
warmed to something they both had in common. She was eager to get beyond the
situation of the big white envelope.
“I totally
understand,” she replied honestly. “My mother was the same way. I knew about
the history of the Confederacy before I knew American History in general. And,
no, Patrick never married. He died before he could marry his fiancée, but years
earlier he’d had a son with a freed slave woman in Arkansas. My family
descends from that line.”
Colt
nodded in understanding. “Impressive.”
Casey
grinned. “Maybe so, but I’d say Phil Sheridan the Fifth is more notable. Our
great-great-great grandfathers met a few time on the field of battle.”
Stone-faced
Colt finally cracked a smile, and what a smile it was; brilliant white,
straight teeth and big dimples in both cheeks.
“A few,”
he agreed with the obvious. “Last time, I think Cleburne was pretty much a
hero. It was at the Battle of Missionary Ridge, if I remember correctly. I’d
have to read up on it to be sure.”
Casey
nodded. “You’re right, it was. It was right before the Battle of Franklin
where Patrick was killed.”
Talbot
interjected before he was forgotten completely. As much as he loved to listen
to American history, living American history where it pertained to the
descendants of two great Civil War generals, there were more pressing matters
on the docket for the day. This conversation was going to have to wait.
“We’re not
going to have any North and South battles in this office, are we?” he wanted to
know. “I don’t want to come in here one morning and find the Confederate flag
flying high and Sheridan hog-tied in a closet.”
Both Casey
and Colt shook their heads. “No worries, sir,” Casey laughed softly. “Besides,
I think he’s a little big to hog-tie. He might give me a fight if I tried.”
Colt
grinned, simply nodding his head in a gentlemanly gesture. He was more the
strong, silent type, never to be wrapped up in chatty conversation. It wasn’t
in his nature and it wasn’t part of his job. A deeply introspective and
intelligent man, he realized he wouldn’t have been at all displeased with a
lengthy conversation with Casey Cleburne. Something about that exquisite face
and violet eyes made him wanted to open right up.
With a
lingering glance at Casey, he followed the President back into the oval office.
As the smile faded from her lips, Casey stared at the closed door for several
long moments before turning to Peter. Her mortification was back.
"Oh,
my God,” she slapped her forehead. "Why didn’t you tell me he was standing
there? I looked like such an idiot!"
Peter was
smirking. "Hell, you were on a roll. You really laid the law out for
him."
She took
her seat sullenly. "Shut up, Peter."
He started
to laugh. "Oh, yeah, you told him
.
You let him know who’s the boss
around here."
She turned
her back on him. "I've got work to do. Get out of here and quit bothering
me."
Peter was
still laughing as he walked to the door. "You know how to make a good
first impression, don't you? I suspect Special Agent Sheridan will be eating
out of your hand now."
She began
to type, ignoring him. When the he left the office, she paused, feeling sick to
her stomach; not exactly a good beginning with someone she would be working
closely with. The guy even had a desk across from her and they’d be staring at
each other day in and day out like a couple of boxers waiting for the first one
to throw a punch.