Power Switch (Power Play #3) - Kennedy L. Mitchell Page 0,55

I've lived when he wanted me dead.

I'm not a kitty with nine lives. This is the real world, and at some point, the hazards around me will succeed in removing me from office. Dead or alive. An unsettling thought, sure, but at least I have the men in this SUV and the ones in front of us and behind. Their presence is what helps me sleep at night.

Well, that and the sleeping pill the doctor prescribed. That shit is legit. Not that it’s helping with the stress while I'm awake, but the much-needed sleep makes everything during the day more manageable. Between the normal sleeping patterns and basically being force-fed several times a day, I'm living a healthier life since the poisoning.

Go me.

“How much longer?” I ask, fighting with the thick material of the seat belt tightly secured across my lap. Freaking T. I swear, if he could put me in a five-point harness like a five-year-old he would.

“Ten minutes,” Champ says from the front seat.

“Nervous?”

Elbow on the window’s edge, I rest my head in my hand and turn in the leather seat to face Sam. Today, he's ditched the normal suit attire he's always wearing, instead going for a more casual look with trendy jeans that hug his thick thighs nicely and taper at the cuff. The black sweater is tight along his defined chest, showing off the curves of the pecs I know he's hiding under the thick clothing. The sleeves are shoved up his forearms, allowing a hint of his colorful artwork to peek out near his elbows.

It's a good look for him.

When I finally meet his intense gaze, a small knowing smirk is tugging at his lips. Damn, he's handsome. His dark hair, tan skin, and piercing green eyes perfectly encompass the brooding look he's no doubt going for. I'm sure all the women fall at his feet, offering themselves for just a date with him.

“Why don't you have a girlfriend?” I ask instead of answering his question. This one is more pressing. “How long ago was your divorce?”

I swear a hint of blush flushes his cheeks before he turns to focus out the windshield.

“Seven years ago. And as to why I don’t date, work mostly. It's hard to treat a woman right when you're working eighty-plus hours a week.”

“Did you always know you wanted to go into the justice department?”

He nods as his Adam’s apple works, sliding up and down his throat. “I always wanted to make a difference.”

“Oh?” I lean forward, pressing my elbow onto the center console. “Why's that?”

Sam flicks a quick look my way before leaning back into the leather seat. He slides his hand down the thighs I was just admiring, widening his stance on the floorboard and shifting in the seat.

“My parents.”

I wait for more. And wait. And wait.

“Good story,” I say with an incredulous snort.

With a shake of his head, he begins to systematically pop the knuckles on his left hand, then right.

“We were wealthy growing up, but then it was all taken away. Bad investments with a guy running a Ponzi scheme. One day we had it all; the next we were nothing. Our friends turned their backs on us, we lost the house, the staff, everything. I was fine with it, wasn't that big of a deal. I was about to graduate high school, already had college locked up with scholarships.”

“Academic or sports?” I cut in.

The corners of his lips twitch up. “Both.”

“Which sport? You seem like you'd play….” Finger to my lips, I tap against the soft surface as I give him a pointed full-body scan. “Chess.”

The men in the car chuckle while Sam's lips split in a full smile.

“Rowing.”

“Oh. Didn't even know that was a sport.”

“Really? That's surprising.” He narrows his brows, causing a deep line to form between them.

“And why's that?”

He shoots a concerned look up front, his eyes meeting T's in the rearview mirror for half a second.

“I just assumed… since you and Benson were whatever you were….”

“What about Trey?”

“He rows. I didn't know who he was until I met him that first time, but I started to notice him at the club.”

“The club?” I whisper.

“The Potomac Boat Blub. We've crossed paths a few times since then.”

“Oh, right. That club,” I say with a nervous laugh. Embarrassment at not knowing this side of Trey’s life creeps up my neck, heating my cheeks. Sliding along the leather, I adjust in the seat to lean my forehead against the cool, dark-tinted window. “We digress. Your