Actual Stop (27 page)

“Are you going to be okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“You had quite a bit to drink tonight.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not driving, and I only have to babysit this guy for a couple hours until the day tour comes in. He’ll have already been searched by the time I get there. I won’t have to actually interact with him. I’ll just have to watch him and make sure he doesn’t somehow try to kill himself. I won’t even need to take my gun out of its lock box.”

“Okay.” She was studying me intently.

I had no idea what else to say, so I started to collect my clothes. Allison stared at me silently the entire time. I didn’t look directly at her, but I could see her out of the corner of my eye, and her attention never wavered. Each second I remained under her scrutiny, I became more tense.

Finally, when I was completely clothed and out of reasons to avoid looking at her, I turned back to the bed. I wanted to rush over to her and fall back into her arms. I wanted to run from the room as fast I could. I wanted to sit down and hash out all the issues we’d never bothered to resolve. I wanted her to never speak to me again because I was terrified of what she’d say. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted.

“Allison, I—”

“It’s okay.” She seemed guarded, almost cold, totally impenetrable. That made me nervous.

“Are…Are you sure?” I hated to leave things with her like this.

She attempted a smile, but the result was pitiful. “I’m sure. Go.”

I hesitated. Should I kiss her? I’d never had to leave anyone this abruptly in the middle of an unfinished argument. I’d certainly never had to run out on someone I had a history with, someone I might have a future with. I had no idea what she expected.

Allison pulled the sheet tighter around her and nodded in the direction of the door. “Good night, Ryan.”

My heart cracked. “Good night, Allison.”

The cab ride to NYFO was longer than I wanted it to be, not because I wanted to get to the office but because it gave me far too much time to think. Thinking only reminded me how completely at sea I was when it came to the direction of my life.

As the car sped down the nearly deserted FDR, I wondered whether our night of passion was a one-time thing. I sighed heavily and allowed my head to loll back on the seat. Allison and I needed to talk about a lot of issues. When—or if—would we ever do that?

I was still attracted to her, true. Recalling her kiss lit a blazing fire in certain parts of my body. And I obviously still had very deep and powerful feelings for her, but I couldn’t just go back to being what we’d once been. Not again. I was older now, if not necessarily wiser. I didn’t want to be someone’s dirty little secret. Not even hers. Not even for a hundred nights like the one we’d just had. My lungs shriveled and my gut clenched at the thought.

Where did that leave us? Should I reach out to her or give her space and let her determine for herself whether she wanted to speak to me? I definitely didn’t want to open myself up for rejection by initiating the discussion, but would the conversation ever happen if I didn’t start it? My indecisiveness was irritating the hell out of me.

I’d originally thought the task of watching the prisoner would drive thoughts of Allison from my mind, but he’d had his head down on the table when I’d arrived. After I determined he was merely sleeping and not dead, I didn’t have much else to occupy myself. So I stared at him through the one-way mirror from the adjacent interviewing room and tried—and failed—not to let myself get too tied up in knots.

By the time the six-to-two guys finally rolled in, I’d nearly worn a path in the linoleum by pacing and about driven myself insane with all my speculating and worrying. I originally hadn’t looked forward to administering the rest of the PT tests that morning, but at least it would distract me from my own overactive imagination, temporarily.

Always prepared, I had a spare suit stashed in my closet at my desk and an extra set of PT clothes in my locker. After the day guys had relieved me, I took the world’s fastest shower, dressed, and headed to the gym.

I barreled through the door as I wiped droplets of water from my cheeks, which had dripped down from my still-wet hair. My untied shoelaces flapped about my ankles as I walked.

“Ryan,” a deep voice called the second I was in the door.

“What?” I turned toward the sound, and my face blazed as I realized who I was talking to.

Matt Levise, one of the office’s three Assistant-Special-Agents-In-Charge—or ASAICs—strode my way, looking all business. He was dressed in his normal attire—dress slacks and a button-down shirt with a tie—so clearly he wasn’t there to join the PT test. He had a sheaf of papers in his hands and a slightly amused twinkle in his eye. Not much to go on.

“Oh, good morning, sir,” I said quickly. Matt—despite how I might address him or refer to him in conversation, I was still having trouble thinking of him as ASAIC Levise—was two levels above me in the NYFO chain of command, which meant only one other person was between him and the SAIC. It was always a good idea to show a certain amount of deference to a man of his pay grade. Well, unless that man was an ass. Then all bets were off.

Matt gave me a stern look. “Sir? Seriously, Ryan. How many times do we have to go over this?”

I shrugged and smiled up at him. “At least once more, as always. Sir.” He made a face at me, which I ignored. Instead, I inclined my head toward the papers in his hand. “Those for me?”

He nodded but didn’t hand them over. He cut a quick glance toward where the guys and girls I’d be testing were milling about and chatting idly and then motioned for me to walk with him out into the hall.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” I called to them. “If you need to hit the head, now’s the time. You have two minutes.”

Once the door snicked shut behind me, and we were alone in the hallway, Matt fixed me with a steadily appraising look. It was difficult for me to determine what he was looking for or what he found. His demeanor was what people expected of a Secret Service agent, and his countenance gave away nothing. For lack of anything better to do, I held my hand out, wordlessly asking for the stack of PT score sheets. After he’d handed them over, I began to flip through them, counting silently in my head. A lot more folks needed to squeeze this in than just the guys in my squad.

After staring at me, Matt spoke, his tone even and measured. “How are you feeling today?”

I glanced at him from underneath my eyebrows without lifting my head. “I’m fine.” Was he asking because I actually looked as exhausted as I felt or because he’d heard I’d been out with the guys the night before. Either was possible, and both were mildly irksome.

“Fine enough to actually take the PT test while you’re administering it?”

I frowned. I hadn’t been expecting that question. I also wasn’t even remotely in the mood. “I already took my test for the quarter.”

“I know you did.” Matt hesitated and glanced away, but it didn’t appear as though his eyes were actually seeing what they were looking at. It did, however, seem as if he was weighing something in his mind. It took a few moments, but eventually he must’ve made a decision. He tapped the top paper in my hands with the tips of two fingers.

I glanced down and noted the name typed neatly at the top of the standardized Secret Service PT form. Eric Banks. The name didn’t ring a bell. I looked back up at Matt and met his steady gaze.

“He’s new,” Matt informed me as if reading my mind. “He’s been out of training for maybe four months. He’s in Counterfeit.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been hearing some pretty disturbing things about him. He’s cocky. He’s arrogant. Apparently he walks around here like he’s God’s gift to the world.”

The muscles in my face twitched as I attempted to rein in a smirk. “Well, all of us are just a shade too cocky for our own good, don’t you think? We sort of have to be. I drove you crazy when I first started, remember?”

“You were a smart-ass, true enough. Still are, from what I can see. But I’d never describe you as cocky.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Matt flashed me a tight-lipped smile. “This kid is different,” he insisted. “I’ve been watching him the past couple weeks. Shows up late. Leaves early. Argues with or questions every single order he’s given. Has an opinion on everything. His way is always better. Never mind that he’s only been on the job a hot five minutes. He has an answer for everything and won’t listen to anybody. In short, he’s a real pain in the ass.”

And he was about to become Rico’s problem. Wonderful. “It’s a wonder no one’s thrown him a blanket party.”

“Believe me, some of the guys are about ready to. He needs the wind taken out of his sails a little bit.”

I’d known Matt for several years now. He’d been the AT of the Human Resources and Training Squad when I’d first started, which meant we’d spent a fair amount of time together at the outset. He was the exact opposite of my current boss, Mark. He was kind and fair and patient, so I knew if he was saying all of this about this kid, it was true.

“Did you talk to the scheduling guys? They’re excellent at this sort of thing.”

“I did. And they’ve been working on it. Midnight vehicle-security assignments, stairwell post standing, and duty-desk shifts abound for this guy. So far, he isn’t getting it.”

“I see. So, where do I come in?”

“Turn his paper over.”

I did and discovered a small sticky note with some numbers jotted on it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were the scores recorded from his last PT test, which I presumed had been administered while he was still in Beltsville. “Impressive.”

“Yeah,” Matt said dryly. “He thinks so, too. Apparently, he was quite the recruit in training. Won both the PT and the shooting award for the class.”

“Good for him. Does he know that doesn’t mean shit in the field?”

“He appears to be having considerable trouble grasping that concept.”

“And you want me to assist him in that arena,” I said, finally catching on.

“If you’re up for it.”

“Is that an order?” I was in an awkward position here. I definitely didn’t want to go against Matt’s wishes, but I was having a hard time getting excited about competing with a fellow agent, even a cocky new one practically begging to have his bell rung. It simply wasn’t my style.

“Think of it as a friendly request.”

Damn. I’d been hoping he’d let me off the hook by taking the decision completely out of my hands and making it a directive. No such luck. I glanced back at the kid’s scores so I could consider the matter.

“The pull-ups are going to be tough,” I said after a moment. “I might be able to swing the push-ups. Maybe. If I can break protocol and have one of the guys count for me.”

Matt gave me a quizzical look.

“Bigger hands,” I explained. “I won’t have to go down quite as far to make contact and have the rep count.”

Mentally, I ran through the faces of the guys I’d seen during my extremely brief stop in the gym, trying to decide who’d best be able to aid me. I needed one with big hands, who wouldn’t get all immature about the fact that I’d basically be rubbing my breasts against him with every push-up. That was why we generally had the women count for one another and left the men out of the equation. It was easier to avoid sexual-harassment lawsuits—and maintain plausible deniability—that way.

An emotion not unlike triumph flickered in Matt’s dark eyes. He knew he had me. “It’s the run I really need you to hammer him on. Apparently the guy thinks he’s some sort of Olympic-caliber marathoner. If you can even come close to matching him in any of the upper-body strength tests, that’s just gravy. And I know you’ve got the sit-ups locked.”

I consulted the score sheet again. That last statement about the sit-ups appeared to be true enough. But I said, “I hate running.”

“Really? But you’re so good at it.”

“Only because I want it to be over as quickly as possible.”

Actually, that was only partly true. My sister had run track all through high school and college and insisted on dragging me along when she’d trained. I only ran half as much as I did to this day because she and I tried to meet once a week to run together, if our schedules permitted it, and no way in hell would my pride let me lag behind. I was greatly looking forward to the day when Rory lost interest in running altogether so I could regress to training only as hard as I needed to so I could pass my PT test.

“So, you’ll do it?”

I sighed softly. “Yes, sir.”

Matt smiled at me and turned to go, but he’d barely gone two steps before he stopped. “Ryan?”

“Yeah?” My free hand was poised on the door to the gym.

“You might want to do the run outside today. Perhaps on the bridge.”

“Why? You think he won’t be used to the incline at the beginning, and it will give me an edge?”

“No. You can smoke him without that. But it will be useful for you to have an excuse to wear a turtleneck or a scarf or something.”

“Why would I need to wear a scarf?”

“To cover that hickey on your neck.”

“What?”

Surely he wasn’t teasing me. I’d been in such a rush earlier I hadn’t even glanced at myself in a mirror, so maybe he was just fishing, hoping I’d give something away.

Matt’s smile widened into a full-fledged grin, and that mischievous twinkle was back in his eye again. The tips of my ears burned, and I instinctively sought out the nearest escape.

“I guess that means you and Allison finally worked things out. It’s about damn time.”

My blood suddenly ran as cold as though someone had injected ice water directly into my heart. I tried hard to cover and keep my face completely neutral, but I wasn’t quick enough, if Matt’s low chuckle was any indication. Shit! What the hell would make him say that? I knew he and Allison were sort of chummy, but I didn’t think she’d actually talk to him about me, no matter how close they were. And what did he mean about us finally working things out? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“Allison who?” I said.

Matt made a low noise in the back of his throat. “Really, Ryan? That’s what you’re going with?”