Between Love and Honor (Men of the Secret Service #3) - Tracy Solheim Page 0,2
grin tugged at the corners of Adam’s mouth.
Clearly, he no longer considered his fiancée to be the She-Devil incarnate. A staunch defender of animal rights and hater of all things gun related, Dr. Josslyn Benoit should be an unlikely match for the stoic sniper. Except she wasn’t. As much as Ben hated to admit it, the passionate zoologist was, in fact, the perfect match for his friend.
And another one bites the dust. Their third roommate, Griffin Keller, had married the First Lady’s goddaughter a few months back. Once upon a time, the three men had sworn a solemn oath to never succumb to the white picket fence in the ’burbs with a wife and two point five kids. Somehow, Ben had become the last man standing.
“They’re waiting for you in the Woodshed,” Adam said, interrupting Ben’s thoughts.
Grabbing the laptop case at his feet, he followed Adam out the door. They strolled down the long hallway to the White House Situation Room, known among senior staff as the Woodshed.
“I’m guessing that whatever got you out of your T-shirt and into the James Bond getup tonight is above my pay grade,” Adam remarked quietly.
“More like above your bandwidth,” he teased. “This is going to come as a shock, but they want me for my mind.” He hefted the laptop case in his hand. “And the beautiful things it creates.”
“Try not to bore them with numbers, dude,” Adam teased.
His friendship with Adam—and Griffin—dated back to their first summer as plebes at West Point over a dozen years ago. They’d all three found their way to the Secret Service after their tours of duty in the army and even shared a townhouse on Capitol Hill. But as close as the three men were, there was an entire segment of Ben’s life that he couldn’t share with anyone else. While he assumed his friends suspected there was more to Ben’s job than managing the Secret Service’s crime lab, it was better for everyone involved that his alter ego be kept exactly where Ben did much of his work, in the dark.
At the end of the hallway, two Marine guards stood at attention on either side of the entry door to the inner sanctum of the White House security. Secret Service Director Worcester was wearing out a hole in the carpet waiting for them. He waved them into the reception area.
“Glad you had evening clothes at the ready, Agent Segar,” the director said. “Tonight is crazy enough without having to find you a monkey suit. Nothing seems to be going as it should. Including the damn weather.”
Ben shared a look with Adam, hoping the director didn’t notice how he’d taped up the cuffs of Adam’s tuxedo to accommodate his shorter arms. Since he spent his days tucked away in his lab across town and not on a protective detail, there was no need for Ben to actually own a tux. Luckily, he and Adam were both six-foot-one with a similar muscular frame. Except for their arms. Griffin and Ben teased Adam ruthlessly about his gorilla arms.
Adam slapped Ben on the back before turning to leave. “Enjoy the party, Inspector Gadget.”
Ben leveled a withering look at his friend.
Adam shrugged. “Hey, you gotta admit the name fits you.”
“Keep the Crown safe tonight, Agent Lockett,” the director ordered, referring to the White House by its Secret Service code name.
“Always job number one.” Adam saluted them before disappearing.
“The guests will be arriving shortly.” The director indicated Ben should precede him down the few steps leading to the briefing room.
Ben hesitated briefly. When he woke up that morning, the only stressful thing on his agenda was making sure his thirty-five-foot sailboat was secure ahead of the line of nasty summer storms predicted to pass through the nation’s capital this evening. But then his dark web alias had received a very troubling message. One that required a speedy intervention.
“Make way for the president,” Director Worcester murmured sharply, prodding Ben into action.
As the men and women assembled at the table rose to their feet, Ben hurried to one of the two empty chairs lining the walls directly behind his boss, the Secretary of Homeland Security. She nodded toward Ben confidently as the president seated himself at the head of the table. The others followed suit amid a chorus of, “Good evening, Mr. President.”
President Conrad Manning acknowledged them with a weary sigh. “Diplomacy is difficult enough without having to battle severe weather and a known terrorist hacker trying to crash dinner.” He unbuttoned his