Читать книгу Homefront Defenders - Lisa Phillips - Страница 14

FIVE

Alana stood beside Locke while the president descended from the plane. The entourage—which included the governor of Hawaii, a number of her staff members and local FBI agents—each took their turns shaking hands with the president. He’d been traveling all day, but his suit wasn’t rumpled and his gray hair looked freshly cut. The barber was probably on the plane.

Locke was at attention, like some military sentry guarding his liege lord. Alana didn’t quite know how to pull that off, but she’d probably have to learn it.

As the president made his way down the line, he made small talk with the governor, who nearly tripped over her feet just to keep up with the man’s athletic stride.

Sweat beaded on Alana’s forehead. The temperature had risen as they’d waited for the plane to land and then taxi its way over to them. She glanced around, knowing exactly where each Secret Service agent was located. It was a reflex, assessing the area for danger even though every position was covered.

When she’d least suspected it, that hand had reached up and grabbed for her foot. Her abdomen still stung—she should have brought her painkillers with her, or taken some before they got out of the car. But then Locke would have seen it, and he’d have known she was hurting.

The first lady descended from the plane hand in hand with their twelve-year-old son. The boy was one of Alana’s favorite people. Their paper airplane competition had been running for three months now, but she hadn’t decided if his using paper with embossed lettering on the top that he’d retrieved from his father’s desk gave him an unfair advantage. Her origami paper was lighter, but those gold letters weighted down the rear of his plane.

Locke tapped the side of her arm. Did he think she wasn’t paying attention? Alana didn’t have time to glare at him before the president stopped alongside Locke.

“Director Locke.”

“Sir. Did you have a good trip?”

“Yes, thank you.” It wasn’t just rote conversation. Alana knew what people on TV said about the president, but she saw genuine care in his eyes. He appreciated people—the way some presidents never did—and this president always took a moment to greet them. It made guarding him so much more enjoyable.

Locke said, “If you have time, I’d like a minute. I have some things I’d like to run past you.”

The president nodded. “I’ll have that added to my calendar. Perhaps later?” He glanced at an aide behind him, who made a notation on a tablet with a stylus pen. The president glanced at Alana, his blue eyes smiling with concern. “Are you feeling okay after this morning, Agent Preston?”

He knew about the attack? “Yes, sir. I’m good, thank you for asking.” What had he been told? She didn’t like the idea that he might not think she was up to the task of protecting him when it was just a cut on her stomach and a couple of bruises. Okay, so she’d stopped breathing for a minute, but that was just her body’s way of protecting itself from swallowing more water. She was fine now. Didn’t she look fine?

“Good to hear.” He motioned to Locke. “Stick with the director, he’ll look out for you.” Alana nodded. What else could she do? He thought she needed Locke to look after her.

Locke said, “That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about, sir.”

The governor of Hawaii broke off what she’d been saying to the person beside her and glanced at Locke and Alana, like Why are these people important? Alana resisted the temptation to smirk. That just wouldn’t be professional, and neither would accidentally tripping the woman like she was imagining. Not that Alana had a vindictive streak, she just had a serious problem with anyone who considered others beneath them.

The president nodded in reply to Locke’s statement. “Director Matthews filled me in on everything that happened today on the way here.” He glanced to her, including her in his statement. “I can’t believe some random beach bum would try to hurt you, Agent Preston.”

Alana couldn’t answer. She was stunned, but was it Matthews who’d told the president it was random, or was that the conclusion the president had drawn himself?

Locke said, “Sir—”

“Make that appointment with my aide, James.” The president motioned to the governor to continue on and gave Alana a compassionate smile as he moved away.

The aide paused long enough to say, “Seven thirty tomorrow morning.”

Locke didn’t look happy, but he nodded anyway. She knew he liked his morning routine, whether they were in the White House or Hawaii or anywhere else in the world. She’d seen him with his coffee, reading his Bible. Fact was, he probably just didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, and Alana wasn’t that happy about it, either.

Director William Matthews strode over, wearing sunglasses and the same earpiece with the clear coiled wire they all wore with their suits. The older man’s hair was silver and shined as brightly as his shoes. His tie was red because it was Thursday—Alana had figured that out after the first month.

“Let’s go, Patricia.” William nodded toward the president. The aide turned and scurried along beside him.

Alana glanced around again. Why did it feel like she was being watched? Likely there were multiple sets of eyes on her—Secret Service, local police and residents there to spot the president. Now that he’d moved through the area, they could take a break. The team who traveled with the president were tasked with his protection and kept a short distance from him. Director Matthews brought up the rear with the aide, Patricia.

Alana hung back with Locke, the rest of their team around them. Nothing to do for the rest of the evening but field phone calls and man the office they’d created in a hotel conference room. She sighed. This was the team she was on, and if she wanted to get out of the rookie seat, she had to prove she was a team player. Too bad surfing was usually only a one-person sport.

“Okay?”

His question jerked her from her thoughts. Alana pasted on a smile. “Fine.” The sweat hadn’t let up. Her palms were sticky. What was wrong with her? She glanced around again. Staring. Locke’s attention was on her, but there was something else.

“You’re not fine.”

Alana kept her gaze moving. “Someone...”

“You feel it, too. I thought it was just the president’s arrival, but maybe it’s something else.” He shifted closer to her. “Your instincts may very well be spot-on. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Like I’m being watched.” She shook her head. “I mean, we are being watched.”

“You said I, and that’s fine. It might be important. Someone targeted you this morning. Tried to kill you. Your instinct is telling you it’s you that’s in danger, not us in general as Secret Service agents. That instinct isn’t a bad thing.”

She heard the edge in his voice, but he didn’t look at her. Logically she knew he cared. Probably because if she was killed it would be a pain to fill out all those incident reports and then find someone to replace her. Fine, he’d probably cry at her funeral. Or at least get a little teary. Afterward he’d go back to work, though. That was Locke.

“Alana? Someone tried to kill you, remember?”

“You think I forgot?” Alana turned. Too late she realized she’d twisted her torso without moving her hips and shoulders at the same time. Pain sliced through her middle, and she groaned.

“Easy,” Locke said.

Alana hung her head, hands on her abdomen as she sucked in the fresh air of home. They needed to follow up with the cops, find out how her sister could be linked to the sniper and why a yakuza soldier had tried to kill her this morning. She had a whole lot of questions, and while getting answers wouldn’t make her stomach stop hurting, it would help them get to the bottom of this.

“She okay?” one of the team asked.

Locke set his hand on Alana’s shoulder. “She will be.” He gave it a squeeze. “Let’s go, Preston.”

Time to suck it up. Alana straightened. “I’m good.” Her stomach flipped over. She took a step, and her knees buckled.

Locke grabbed her elbow. “Let’s get you to the car, and then we’ll get some food in you.”

Alana nodded. “I know a place. It’s not far from here.”

* * *

“It’s right here.”

“The restaurant?” Locke slowed the car to a crawl past the fourplex in a complex of buildings that were all exactly the same. Still, these looked like they were on the higher end of the rental spectrum. The cars outside were nicer, but that was hardly a gauge of upward mobility. So many low-rent, low-income neighborhoods had parking lots full of brand-new cars.

He pulled up to the curb and put the SUV in Park.

“That’s my sister’s place.” Alana motioned to one of the units, all lit by street lights. “Upstairs, left side. Lights are out, so she probably isn’t home. The car that’s registered to her isn’t here.”

“Any reason why you couldn’t just tell me we were going to stop by your sister’s on the way to eat?” He wanted to say more, but the woman was seriously flagging. She’d deflated onto the seat, and though she’d thought he wasn’t watching, he’d seen her take painkillers. Why did she feel the need to hide it?

Alana’s attention didn’t leave her sister’s apartment. Locke said, “Do you want to go knock on the door?”

She bristled. “No, I’m sure she’s not there.”

“Did you try to call her again?”

“Sure. A couple of times.” Alana’s face gave nothing away.

“I know you’re not close.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I could go knock on the door, if you want.”

“No!” She didn’t even hesitate.

“Okay.” Locke studied her. Maybe this was all because she’d had a long, rough day. They both needed rest—but they needed food first. “So is there a restaurant?”

Alana told him where it was. Locke entered it on the GPS, which came up with the name. Not a chain restaurant—this seemed more like a hole-in-the-wall diner. “Is this place good?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Of course it’s good, and the coffee is thick enough it’ll put hairs on your chest.”

There was no way he was going to let that throwaway comment go by. “Because I...”

A tiny smile played at her lips. “It’s a dumb expression, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He drove to the restaurant, aware of her attention on him in his peripheral vision. When they pulled into a space outside, he said, “Okay, do I have mustard on my face or what?”

“Sorry.” She shifted in her seat. “You just seem...I don’t know, relaxed?”

“As opposed to uptight?”

“Locke—”

“It’s fine. I know what everyone says about me.” Uptight was the least of it, so he didn’t blame her for being weirded out. He had let his guard down since they left the airport. The harder part of their trip was over, but something had changed between them today.

“I shouldn’t have made it obvious.”

Locke shook his head. “It’s okay, Alana.” Her face softened at his use of her name. “It’s been a long day, and no one can keep their guard up forever.” Though he could see her still hanging on for dear life to her solid plan of proving herself, sooner or later she was going to have to admit that getting attacked that morning had rocked her.

He’d thought she would do it at the airport, when she’d nearly collapsed. But she’d soldiered on. Locke admired her tenacity. Alana was determined to get everyone to see her as a capable Secret Service agent. But she also needed to know when to accept help. She wasn’t a one-woman task force—they had to be able to rely on each other, and not just as a backup plan.

But this wasn’t about work. Today had changed them. He’d pulled her out of the ocean bleeding and not breathing. Locke had chased her attacker from the scene and then from Beatrice’s house after he’d successfully murdered the old lady.