Secret Service Setup. Jessica R. PatchЧитать онлайн книгу.
babysitter; like she’d have an emotional meltdown in public. As if reading her thoughts, Cosette laid a hand on Jody’s. “I’ll be in the camera room, watching people and doing threat assessments.” As a body-language and criminal-behavior expert, if someone was twitchy in the crowd and up to no good, Cosette would spot them.
“Okay, let’s go.” Jody grabbed a pack of mints, tucked them in her pocket and breezed past Wilder, but he caught her arm, the playfulness in his eyes dimming. “Are you ready?” he asked with a softer tone.
What he meant was if she was ready to see Evan. “Yes.”
“Then put your A-game face on.” He released his brotherly grip and she marched outside the agency. The rest of the team, Beckett Marsh and Shepherd Lightman, were waiting by the black Suburban. Dark sunglasses hid their eyes, but she felt their stares. She might simply be paranoid. Maybe it was the tense political climate these days. Things could become dangerous. Fast. Jody’s gut turned.
At the convention center, police were already in place. They strode toward the conference room. Cosette tapped her shoulder. “You left this on the counter.” She handed her the small jar of vapor rub. She never left home without it—not with her genetic condition, hyperosmia, which heightened her olfactory senses. The vapor rub helped push out the overwhelming amount of smells that most people never noticed or couldn’t detect.
Leaving it at home affirmed she was distracted. The expression on Cosette’s face let Jody know she’d thought the same thing.
“I’m fine.” Time to pull it together.
Wilder opened the door and inside sat a half-dozen agents. Evan Novak stood front and center. Jody’s belly corkscrewed. Clean-cut, hazelnut-colored hair. Straight nose. Clear blue, hooded eyes and a smile that said he was old money, spoiled and full of mischief, but that wasn’t true. At least the first two.
Introductions were made, but Jody refrained from shaking Evan’s powerful hand. Besides, he didn’t offer. Wilder gave him a cool stare and then proceeded with the security parameters and details as well as the lineup of events. After about forty-five minutes of discussion, Jody headed to the coffee bar in the conference room.
She smelled Evan approach, his wonderful scent stamped into her memory. Cinnamon and citrus. Rain and hypoallergenic, scent-free laundry detergent—which had a subtle smell. Why would he still use that now that they weren’t together? Habit or as a courtesy for her? Having a highly increased sense of smell was a blessing and a plague. It sometimes brought on migraines and severe nausea. Right now, it helped brace herself for the encounter. She bristled.
“No sneaking up on you, is there?” he asked. “You cut your hair.”
She inhaled deeply and turned.
His eyes roamed over her hair and trailed to her face, as if he was checking to see if it matched his memory of her. “I like it.” He reached out like he was going to touch her freshly cut bob but refrained at the last second. Wise choice. She’d hate to put his behind on the ground for his colleagues to see. “I want to talk to you after the rally, if that’s okay.”
“About what?” She worked to remain calm. As if she didn’t care, as if she wasn’t still in excruciating pain over what he’d done—more like what he hadn’t done. When she’d come out of that hotel room carrying his empty booze bottles to protect him, she never expected journalists to be in the hallway, but security had been breached because Evan had mixed playing hard with working hard and, for the first time since she’d known him, compromised the job.
Her picture had been plastered all over news media sites and TV. Evan was supposed to stand up for her, but in the end he hadn’t. Probably because he’d been angry when she’d threatened to leave him if he ever pulled a stunt like drinking on the job again. But that night he’d crossed a line and knew it. They’d fought and she had charged from the room with the bottles in hand. Jody never should have covered for him, but the simple fact was, she’d loved him. And she’d wanted to help him. Evan hadn’t made mistakes like that before. Threatening to leave him would have kept him in line. Or so she thought. They’d never know now.
He’d let her go down drowning. If she kept mulling it over now, she’d never get the job done today.
“I think you know,” he said, his soft tone hypnotizing her. He’d always had that kind of power. “Can we?”
She swallowed.
“You’re hesitating. That’s a no.” He leaned down to peer into her eyes. “But we need to talk. At some point.”
Ugh. This man still knew her like he knew binary codes. And he knew those well. But he wouldn’t pass for the typical computer-geek stereotype that was represented in TV shows and movies. “Let’s just get through the day.” She bypassed him, her hand shaking.
Wilder stood at the helm. “If you’re not a praying person, you’re welcome to step out, but at CCM we pray before we do a job.” No one left the room. He nodded once and team member Beckett Marsh stepped up. Wilder always called for the prayer, but he’d never once led it. Beckett prayed for their protection, wisdom and safety for all.
The convention center was already filling up, the crowd’s conversation creating a dull roar. The backdrop bled red, white and blue. Chairs flanked the podium, which protruded front and center from the pristine stage. Excitement, concessions, sweat and hundreds of perfumes and colognes hung in the air, sending Jody’s senses into overload. She dabbed vapor rub above her upper lip to help her nose stay focused and tamp down on a possible headache.
A local official introduced Senator Townes.
“Ready, Mr. Wiseman?” she asked her client.
“Of course.”
Evan nodded and they escorted their details up the stairs to the stage. Atlanta PD worked crowd control at the stage floor. Jody adjusted her earpiece and mic as she scanned the seats padded with supporters and protestors, all holding signs that contradicted one another.
Static crackled over the earpiece, then Wilder spoke. “We’ve got a situation outside with protesters. Keep eyes on the wolf and his cub.”
“Roger that,” team member Shepherd Lightman said through the line. He was at the stage floor with law enforcement, observing with hawk-like skill.
Jody inched closer to Mr. Wiseman—the cub—as Evan and the two agents with him went on high alert. The senator continued his passionate speech on the Second Amendment, oblivious that something sinister might be going down outside.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She snatched it. Wilder.
Need you outside. East entrance.
The situation must be escalating. Waiting a beat for her position to be manned, she scanned the crowd, that ominous feeling from earlier raising hairs on her neck. No one came, but Wilder needed her. Shepherd caught her eye. Guess he’d be watching Wiseman from the floor.
She slipped from her post, aware of Evan’s scowl.
Jody weaved through the back halls to the exit doors and outside. Clearly Wilder didn’t want everyone alerted to the problem or he’d have used the mic. She was at the east entrance but only uniformed officers covered the area. It was quiet.
No situation. No problem.
Too quiet.
She bolted for the doors inside, running down the halls and back into the arena just in time to hear the first pop of gunfire.
* * *
Evan Novak sprang into action, diving on top of Senator Townes.
Another shot fired and grazed his shoulder. He winced at the burn and hollered, “Let’s go! Clear out!”
Jody flew up the stage stairs, placing herself in front of him, Mr. Wiseman and the senator, gun in hand like the expert she was, but the fact that she was using her body as their shield spun him into a fit of anxiety—like it had when he’d