Between Love and Honor (Men of the Secret Service #3) - Tracy Solheim Page 0,33

Homeland.

*

Trust me.

Ben’s words ricocheted around inside Quinn’s head all morning. Trust wasn’t exactly in her wheelhouse. Mainly because, in her profession, trusting someone often came with the possibility she might end up dead. But given her current situation, she had no choice. Until she figured out a way to slip out from beneath the watchful eyes of Ben’s friends, she was forced to trust him with her life.

Too bad it was his life she was more worried about. As long as Ronoff believed he had the micro card, Ben was in danger. He’d obviously left the safety of the White House, but where had he gone? She said a silent prayer he’d taken his sniper friend with him.

“Did Ben say when he’d be back?” she asked for what had to be the third time already.

Josslyn looked up from the stack of wedding response cards she was sorting with the First Lady’s secretary. They were seated at a table on the Truman Balcony overlooking the south lawn of the White House. The late morning breeze carried with it the muffled sounds of traffic and tourists.

“He didn’t.” Her indulgent smile was beginning to look strained.

No doubt Ben’s friends were a little apprehensive about welcoming into their midst a woman who Russian thugs had left for dead. Not that she could blame them. Given the chilly reception from the other woman in the room—Marin, the wife of another agent—she suspected he had shared with his friends the salient details of their past.

Still, she was grateful for the clothing Josslyn had loaned her. She was pretty sure the woman had done so at Ben’s request. But at least she didn’t have to hide in one of the bedrooms with a towel as her only covering. Once again, she found herself wondering what it would be like to have close friends who would do anything for her. Ben was a lucky guy. The sooner she diverted the danger away from him—and his friends—the better.

But how? Her tech gear and the other equipment she needed were three miles away in a storage cabinet within the British Embassy. Not only that, but she needed to get word to her handler that her identity had been compromised. She sighed as she walked over to the railing of the balcony. The little terrier followed her, letting out a woeful whimper in an effort to get attention. She bent down and scratched him between the ears, trying in vain to come up with a solution.

“Perhaps I could borrow your phone,” she asked Josslyn. “That way I can start reaching out to my colleagues to see who might be available to shoot your wedding.”

Agent Groesch didn’t bother being discreet as she shook her head no. Marin snorted her own disapproval. Josslyn looked uncomfortable as she wiped her hands along her jeans.

“Personal cell phones are not allowed inside the White House,” she explained. “Claire can help us make those calls later.”

The secretary nodded.

“Why don’t we go downstairs and meet with the florist,” Josslyn suggested. “I can’t wait to see what Marilyn has dreamed up for the centerpieces.” She jumped up from the sofa and the other ladies rose like lemmings to follow her.

Quinn wanted to scream. The very idea of spending the rest of the morning debating the merits of tea roses, nosegay, and peonies was making her head pound. She was a woman of action. And right now, she needed to find a tiny piece of plastic containing very sensitive information.

Except she’d promised Ben she’d stay until he got back. And she hadn’t done a very good job of keeping her promises to him thus far. The last thing she wanted to do was let him down again. Pasting on a false smile, she followed the other women out of the Yellow Oval.

They strolled across the Center Hall, exiting through a pair of double pocket doors mounted beneath a stunning fan-light window. The thick carpeting on the stairs muffled their steps as they made their way down to the lower floors of the White House. Owing to the fact it was the weekend, the mansion was quiet, almost reverent, as if the walls were aware of the historical distinction they held as the centerpiece of a nation’s identity.

Quinn’s visit to the White House was so brief the other evening, she didn’t get the chance to glimpse any of the rooms or artwork. When they reached the first floor, she slowed her steps so she could sneak a peek into the Green