Flowerbed of State Read Free Page B

released his crushing hold. I stumbled forward a few steps before regaining my balance. Breathing hard, I grabbed my knees and tried to sort out what had just happened. Was it possible I’d overreacted? He hadn’t actually attacked me. He’d only touched my arm. I was the one who’d—
    “Let—let me get this straight,” I huffed, still unable to fully catch my breath. “You’re not trying to kill me?”
    He didn’t seem to be listening. With his shoulders hunched forward, he clamped his straight white teeth tightly together. Hopping on one foot, he cursed his existence and mine. I winced. His bloodshot, unfocused eyes were watering like a faucet because of me. He was blinking wildly, clearly suffering because I’d reacted too quickly and had thoroughly doused him with the potent, red-hot pepper oil.
    Despite his arsenal, he didn’t look that much like a killer, not really. His muscular yet trim physique was much more reminiscent of a heroic Roman warrior. His square jaw spoke of strength. His brows, though creased with intense pain, suggested a man of compassion and, I hoped, forgiveness. Because he wasn’t a killer. His distinctive black uniform identified him as a member of the Counter Assault Team, which was no ordinary branch of the Secret Service, but its most elite military arm.
    “You—you’re Secret Service?” I asked, suddenly hoping I was hallucinating. Assaulting a Secret Service agent was most likely a felony.
    “Yes,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
    Even if it wasn’t a felony, I was sure blinding a Secret Service agent wasn’t something Gordon or Ambrose Jones, the White House’s chief usher, would likely forgive. I rushed to my backpack and quickly found my environmentally friendly, BPA-free water bottle. Moving as fast as possible, I unscrewed the lid and tossed the water into his face.
    He gave a startled yelp when the icy water hit him.
    “Give me that.” He grabbed the water bottle and dumped the remaining water on his mottled forehead and brow. The cold water caused him to shiver like the leaves on the saucer magnolia trees above us. Then he scrubbed his eyes with his coat sleeve. He still looked miserable. The skin around his eyes was puffy and turning an angry shade of red, but he didn’t seem to be blinking as furiously anymore.
    “Thanks.” He dropped the water bottle and grabbed my shoulders. He squinted at me, his eyes unfocused. “Are you okay?” he demanded, his voice unnaturally calm considering the situation.
    I nodded.
    “Answer me. Are you okay?” he repeated. Apparently, he couldn’t yet see well enough to make out my gesture. “Do I need to call EMS?”
    “No,” I croaked, and quickly cleared my throat, which burned as if I’d been shouting at the top of my lungs for hours.
    “Good.” He released me and started to pace. Limp, step, limp, step. Turn. Limp, step, limp, step. He stomped with that awkward gait through the middle of my flowerbed. The helpless tulips and fragrant grape hyacinths were no match for his heavy boots.
    I winced both for my plants and for him. He wouldn’t be limping if I hadn’t kicked him. He wouldn’t be growling with every step if I hadn’t blinded him with my pepper spray. He stumbled a couple of times, proving his eyesight wasn’t even close to being back to normal. But I had enough experience with men’s egos to know to keep my mouth shut. An apology right now would not be appreciated.
    He stopped at the edge of the flowerbed. “Before I radio for backup . . .” he began, before turning his gaze heavenward. Muttering a curse to the heavy clouds above, he dredged his fingers through his wavy black hair. “There’s no way around it. I’m going to have to file a report about this . . . this . . .” he grumbled more to himself than to me.
    In my three short months at the White House, I’d seen the Counter Assault Team, or CAT, as they liked to call themselves, only a few times. They were one of the least visible