enemies of the state (11 page)

Ethan watched through the glass windows on the pool deck, sitting with Inada while Daniels and Collard took a break inside. Their detail had been moved to the main house, and the four of them were sharing two bedrooms across the hall from the president’s suite and just down from the vice president’s rooms. Marines stood post at every entrance and exit of the lodge, and inside at the protected hallways.

When the first evening’s summit crept past midnight, Daniels and Collard switched with Ethan and Inada, taking over the watch for the rest of the night. Ethan slipped inside, his eyes tracing the back of Jack’s head, and headed down the hall toward his and Inada’s shared room. His eyes lingered on Jack’s closed door. Visions played in his head, visions that made his blood run hot and his cock twitch in his suit pants. He wanted; damn, he wanted. Closing his eyes, Ethan turned away, heading into his bedroom.

* * * * *

The summit didn’t resume until lunch the next day. Ethan ran alone in the morning, jogging through the trails in the backwoods of Camp David. He spotted the German and French detail leads jogging together at a break in the trails, each of them arguing with the other in their native language. Ethan turned in the opposite direction, shaking his head.

He spent the day working on the patio deck, watching the summit proceedings through the bay windows. Everyone was more casual on the second day, dressed down in polos and khakis, while the German chancellor and the British prime minister wore knee-length skirts and cardigans. Jack was in jeans and a Cowboys football polo. Ethan had a feeling it would be untucked by the end of the afternoon.

He heard snippets of conversation as aides moved in and out of the lodge. Russia was on everyone’s lips, as was the Islamic Caliphate. General Bradford, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, made a presentation to the group about the support the United States military could offer to their allies. Ethan spied locations identified in Europe for US troops on forward deploy, alongside their European counterparts, and an increase in boots on the ground at Ramstein, Landstuhl, Brunssum, and Aviano. A new naval fleet in the Mediterranean was proposed. Ethan saw potential drop zones for an airdrop into Syria, and even Western Iraq, Anbar Province. Maybe now the world was going to straighten Syria out. Finally.

The summit broke apart before dinner, as each of the participants was going cross-eyed and pinching their noses and rubbing their temples. Aides buzzed around their leaders, falling into convoys of golf carts as they headed back to their guesthouses to freshen up. On the pool deck, stewards were setting up a long banquet table for the guests.

Ethan was unplugging his laptop and stacking his files when Jack wandered outside. He had a crease down the center of his forehead. Exhaustion clung to him. As Ethan predicted, his polo was untucked, loose around his hips.

“Mr. President.”

“My brain hurts.” Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Want to sit in for me? Do me for a spell?”

Ethan’s brain went to all the wrong places, imagining everything he could do to Jack if only given half a chance. Coughing, he focused on rolling his laptop cord in a tight spiral. “I’d lead the world to the apocalypse,” he chuckled. “You definitely don’t want me in the driver’s seat.”

“Nuclear trigger finger?”

He mimed firing in the air. “If it weren’t for that pesky fallout radiation…” It was black humor, but Jack grinned at Ethan, and that was all that mattered. He sobered, gathering his laptop and files into his arms. “Looks like you guys got good work done in there.” Not that it was any of his business.

“Yeah, I think so.” Jack led the way inside, holding the door open for Ethan. It was all kinds of backward, and Ethan prayed that no one would see. Of course, the first person he laid eyes on when he walked into the lodge was Gottschalk, staring at them. But Gottschalk just looked away, smothering a tiny grin.

Maybe he was wrong about the chief of staff.

Ethan shifted in front of Jack as they headed down the hallway to the president’s suite and the Secret Service’s rooms. Jack spoke again once they were alone, past the Marine standing guard. “We’ve got some options for preparing ourselves for all possible scenarios. Scalable responses. We’re planning on trying to work with Russia, too.”

“Work with Russia? Isn’t that like asking a bear not to eat you?”

Jack snorted. “Yes, it really is. But the last thing we want them to do is provide material support to the Syrian Provisional Government while we’re trying to support the rebels against the SPG. We’d have a brand new proxy war, this time in the world’s nuclear powder keg. No one wants that.”

They stopped at the end of the hall, outside Jack’s suite entrance and the door to Ethan’s shared bedroom. Inada was somewhere on the grounds, and Daniels and Collard were probably still sleeping off their overnight shift. They were alone, really alone, again.

Maybe it was the closeness of the hallway or Jack’s casual, relaxed slouch against the wall with a lopsided grin stretching his lips, or maybe it was the scattered forest light shimmering through the windows and sparkling deep within Jack’s gaze. Whatever it was, Ethan was transfixed. His skin suddenly seemed too small, his bones too large. He was floating free, untethered, and at the same time, he was free-falling, screaming toward some dark chasm of the unknown. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, thick and heavy and frozen. He scrambled for something, anything to say.

“Big dinner they’re setting up out there.”
Jesus.
Ethan could really kick himself sometimes. How could he pick up anyone he wanted at a bar, and yet fumble so stupidly in front of Jack time and time again?

“Yeah, they want to impress the visiting heads of state or something. I suggested a good old-fashioned barbeque. Chef voted me down.” Jack hesitated, and Ethan saw wariness creep into his gaze. “Are you…free later? I mean, off duty? I didn’t see you after we shut down last night.”

Ethan swallowed hard, his heart lodged in his throat. “I get off at midnight, Mr. President,” he grunted. “Your talks ran late yesterday.”

“Too late.” Jack rubbed his face, exhaling. “Tonight might go late again. In Turin, these guys liked to jawbone and throw back a few neat ones. If you’re around, can you stage a rescue for me? Maybe we can set up a signal?” Jack trailed off as Ethan laughed.

“What, you’ll flap your arms like an eagle, and I’ll swoop in for the rescue?”

“Something like that, sure.” Jack grinned wide.

Ethan relaxed, the tension uncoiling from the base of his spine. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. President. I’m with you all the way, and I’m sure we can arrange a rescue. Though…” He hesitated. “Isn’t that more your chief of staff’s role?”

Jack shook his head. “Jeff would laugh at me. He leaves me to the political conversations and prefers to stay behind the scenes. He doesn’t even talk to the press. I think he likes when I squirm.” Jack smiled, but it faded into a soft, wistful look. “Jeff knew Leslie and her unit. They served together. I didn't know him, but as soon as I found out they knew each other, I knew I wanted him on board, no matter what.”

Now Ethan felt even worse. His stomach dropped, heavy with guilt. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“I like good people around me. Makes me look good.” Jack winked, and he reached out, clapping Ethan’s elbow briefly. Ethan reacted before he thought, reaching for Jack’s hand and holding him in place. Warmth spread from his touch, blooming across Ethan’s body. His heart beat faster as his fingers tingled. He licked his lips, his eyes darting down to Jack’s pert red pair.

Confusion started to tangle with the warm laughter in Jack’s eyes.

Across the hallway, Daniels and Collards’ door opened. Daniels stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes going wide as his jaw dropped. “Mr. President,” he said quickly, straightening. He was dressed down in his cargos and a Secret Service T-shirt, his towel still around his neck.

Daniels’s eyes dropped to Jack’s and Ethan’s hands, tangled together on Ethan’s elbow. “Agent Reichenbach.” He looked up, staring at Ethan.

Jack spoke first, pulling away from Ethan and shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “I’ll quit bothering you, Agent Reichenbach. Remember our deal? You need to save me. It’s your American duty.”

“On my honor, sir.” Ethan smiled as Jack nodded to Daniels and walked away, heading back down the hallway, where a Marine stood guard.

Ethan watched him go, avoiding looking at Daniels. Finally, he turned to his friend.

Daniels was leaning against his doorjamb, just staring at him, lips pursed.

“What?” Ethan grunted.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

* * * * *

Dinner ran long, in the European style, descending into conversation over bottles of wine on the pool deck as the stewards cleared the table. Ethan hung back with Inada, Daniels, and Collard, eating leftovers in the kitchen with the other members of the international detail while the dinner party carried on outside.

Shortly before eleven, the heads of state stretched from the table and spread out around the pool deck. The German chancellor and the British prime minister both folded themselves down into the pool chaise lounges with refilled wine glasses and stared up at the sky. The French president sat alone, smoking a cigar with his feet dangling in the water. The detail agents—Secret Service and foreign nationals—had moved outside, standing scattered around the patio and pool deck and watching their protectees.

Gottschalk sat with Generals Madigan and Bradshaw, Vice Chairman and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, sharing a bottle of whiskey. For once, Gottschalk looked relaxed—his tie loose, his shirt unbuttoned, and a tired smile on his face. It was good to see, and Ethan nodded as he met the chief of staff’s gaze across the deck. Gottschalk raised his glass and invited Ethan to join them with a smile and a nod toward the table. Ethan declined, shaking his head, but part of him wanted to go over there and take a seat and forget about the gnawing worry chewing up the back of his brain.

A worry named Jack. Ethan spotted him standing on the patio above the pool deck, looking down at the tableau. Ethan moved in from behind, sliding alongside him soundlessly. “Are you in need of a rescue, Mr. President?”

“Thank God, you’re here.” Jack nudged Ethan with his elbow. “I really didn’t want to go sit with the French president for another two hours. Quick, motion like you need me inside, and I’ll follow you in.”

Smothering a grin, Ethan slapped his official don’t-fuck-with-me face on and nodded to Jack, gesturing toward the lodge. He escorted him in a moment later, shutting the door behind them both with a resounding snick.

They weren’t alone, though, not yet. A Marine stood guard, and the chef and a few stewards were still puttering in the kitchen. Jack held his finger to his lips and nodded toward his suite. Ethan nodded and followed when Jack set off.

He hesitated as Jack pushed open the door to the president’s suite. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing any of this.

Jack held the door open for him with a smile, beckoning him inside.

Ethan followed, and he just knew he had that scrunched up grimace on his face, the one Collard said made him look constipated. Great. Just what he wanted to look like in front of Jack.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I am ready to go back to Washington.” Jack headed across the sitting room of the suite, bypassing tables covered in reports and papers, and headed for the mini-fridge tucked under the sideboard. “Ethan, can I open you a beer? I owe you a serious thanks for everything you’ve done for me. Sit with me. Let’s hang out.”

He couldn’t breathe. Air wouldn’t fill his lungs, wouldn’t drag in through his clenched throat. His duty, his professionalism, and his career all screamed at him, shrieking to turn away, to say no. His heart, squeezed painfully tight as it was, yearned, wanting, just for a moment, to be a different man. To be a man who could accept Jack’s offer of a drink, even if it was only a friendly overture. To be a man who could accept Jack’s friendship openly and honestly for what it was, and not try to twist it around, see things that weren’t there, read meaning into Jack’s actions that he wished for but weren’t truly present. As much as he wanted this invite to be a sign of something more, in reality, it wasn’t.

That ached, deep inside. The one man he’d gone and fallen for, and he was so many different kinds of off limits. The first, and most important, of course, being that Jack was straight. And, he was treading on the edge, the very edge, of being fired. He was going to lose everything in this if he kept going. He would lose Jack, whatever friendship they had, and his job, his career.

He shouldn’t be here at all.

“Mr. President,” Ethan started.

“Jack,” he interrupted him gently.

“Mr. President,” Ethan repeated. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He masked his sorrow with hardness in his voice. “I’m your detail lead, sir.”

Jack huffed, his hands rising to his hips. “Well, when can I have a drink with you? Not until I’m out of office?”

Ethan stayed silent. “Never” hung in the air, unspoken.

It was like a switch had been flipped. One moment, Jack was watching him carefully, asking him for something Ethan just couldn’t give. In the next, after Ethan had declined, Jack straightened, squared his shoulders, and nodded, once. “Roger that, Agent Reichenbach. I apologize if I’ve put you in an uncomfortable professional situation. It won’t happen again.” He nodded to the door. “Have a good night.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped open, but Jack didn’t see. Jack disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and left Ethan completely alone. Tipping his head back, Ethan cursed under his breath as his hands clenched into fists.

One step forward, ten thousand gigantic leaps backward.

* * * * *

Ethan was as good as a ghost the next day. Jack paid no extra attention to him, paid him no more mind than he paid to any other agent on his detail. He was polite, yet distant, saying “thank you” whenever Ethan held open a door for him, but that was it. Gone were the smiles, the quick looks, and the inside jokes. It was as if they had never been friends.