Walsh and I looked at each other.
“We aren’t actually going to kill him, just make it look like we did.” Spencer turned thoughtful. “It’s the perfect excuse to get him out of harm’s way anyway. We can send him into hiding.”
“Do you know the kind of mass hysteria that will invite? The other countries who hate us will see it as a golden opportunity to strike,” Walsh said, grim.
I felt all the hope leave my body. He was right. It couldn’t work.
“Not if we played it right.”
“What’s the plan, Waller?” Walsh said. “Spit it out already! I haven’t got all damn night.”
“Put her back in the kitchen.”
“This isn’t about cookies,” Walsh snapped.
“Let her get back to her daily routine at work. We kept this quiet at the White House. No one knew but a very limited few that she was at the center of a threat to the president. So she goes back to work. Business as usual. Whoever is on the inside will see it. They will be appeased. They will think she’s going to do it.”
“Keep talking,” Walsh said, clearly liking Spencer’s line of thought.
“And then she does it,” Spencer said, like it was just that easy. “The president pretends to pass out. We cart him off into safety and let the news spread like wildfire through the White House that he’s dead.”
“What about the press?” I asked.
“We keep it contained in the White House for a couple days. Gag order the entire staff. Tell them we aren’t announcing until we can get a statement, get the vice president briefed, yadda, yadda… You know, political stuff.”
“It’s a small window,” Walsh muttered.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
“Yeah. It is. We won’t be able to keep it quiet for long. But we already know the people behind this are anxious. They gave her a deadline. As soon as they think he’s dead, they’re going to do something to give themselves away.”
“And then we’ll get them,” Walsh said, nodding his head.
Spencer looked smug. “And the president comes out of hiding and gets back to work.”
“We’ll go with it. Meeting in my office first thing tomorrow.”
“Are we seriously doing this?” I asked, their rapid-fire plan and decision making was giving me a headache.
Or maybe it was the drugs I inhaled.
Walsh pinned me with a look. “Back to work in the morning. Back to cooking.”
“Oh, you suddenly decided I’m not guilty?” I couldn’t help the bitterness in my voice.
“I suddenly decided to give you a chance to prove you aren’t,” Walsh countered and walked toward the door.
I was glad to see him go.
Of course, the minute I thought that, he turned back around.
“You know it’s not going to be so cut and dry,” he said directly to Spencer.
He nodded tightly.
What did that mean? Why did the room suddenly feel ten degrees colder?
“Better enjoy tonight,” Walsh said as he left the room and went down the stairs. “It’s going to be a while before you get another one.”
The sound of the front door latching echoed through the house.
“Spence,” I whispered.
He was at my side in two seconds flat. Cool air brushed over my bare legs when he ripped the covers away and slid beneath them. The worn texture of his jeans rubbed against my legs, and I pushed myself against him, wishing I could get even closer.
“What a fucking mess,” he muttered, stroking my hair. His harsh words were a direct contrast to the way he was behaving toward me.
I grabbed onto his forearms and held on, like I was on a rollercoaster and he was the safety bar.
“When I turned around and saw you weren’t there,” he whispered, “it was the worst feeling I’ve ever had.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What’re you sorry for?” he rasped. “You didn’t do anything, darlin’.”
“You said to stay with you. I didn’t listen.”
“You’re here with me now,” he said, pulling back to look at me.
I didn’t let go of him; my hands stayed firmly around his arms.
“I’m gonna stay this time.” I promised. I hoped he understood the veiled meaning behind my words.
I’m yours.
Don’t hurt me.
I think I’m falling for you.
He closed his eyes like the words were painful. When he reopened them, I noted the amber flame deep in their depths. “I’m gonna keep you.” Spence accentuated the softly spoken words by tucking my hair behind my ear.
Those words affected me more deeply than if he’d said I love you.
I smiled because there was no way I could keep the giddy joy he just gave me inside.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
“Even with bruises, tangled hair, and bloodshot eyes?”
“Especially.”
“I like a guy who’s easy to impress.” I smiled.
He chuckled and the sound was like a heating pad to all my aches and pains.
“Spence,” I whispered again.
“Elle,” he whispered back.
“Remind me,” I prompted.
“Remind you of what?”
“Of what it’s like to feel something other than scared to death. Of something other than physical pain.”
“Baby, I’m sorry you hurt.” He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip.
I leaned forward and kissed him. His lips parted and I slipped my tongue inside as he pulled me down so my entire body was on top of his. His hands slipped beneath the hem of his shirt I still wore and his fingers traced the line of my spine.
I nipped at his lower lip and sucked his tongue into my mouth. He gave me total control, lying back and letting me set the pace of the kiss. But it was hard to take control when I felt so out of control.
I wanted him to take over. I wanted to follow his lead, not because I was weak, but because every good warrior used a shield.
Spencer was my shield.
He seemed to sense my inner floundering and abruptly rolled, pinning me beneath him and covering me with his muscular frame. Before he kissed me, he drew back. “This okay?”
“Perfect.”
He kissed me with a smile on his lips. I swallowed the feeling whole, wanting all the happiness I could taste. The hard ridge straining against his jeans pushed against me insistently, and I moaned.
How is it that I wanted him again already? I felt like he was touching me for the first time all over again. I loved the way he seemed to wrap around me, how when I was with him, all my fears and anxiety melted away