Between Love and Honor (Men of the Secret Service #3) - Tracy Solheim Page 0,39
“Let us drive you.”
He looked between his two so-called friends who still thought they were protecting him from himself.
“It’s not what you think,” Adam said as if reading his mind. “We want to help. Quinn is important to you and that makes her important to us.”
Quinn was important to him. Not in the way his friends thought, however. Not anymore. She was a means of getting intel on Ronoff and perhaps finding the link to the Phoenix. That was all. Let everyone else believe what they wanted.
“You’re the only little brother I’ve got,” Griffin said with his dimpled grin. “And you’ve always been there when we needed you. Let us return the favor.”
Adam shook his head. “He’s always lording it over you that he’s a few months older.”
Ben’s tension eased a bit. They were both morons, but he appreciated their efforts. Still, this was his case. And he couldn’t risk involving his friends any longer. He held his hand out palm up.
“Keys.”
Griffin hesitated only briefly before pulling his keys from the pocket of his jeans and dropping them in Ben’s hand. “You sure you don’t need backup?”
“Nah.” Ben glanced back at Christine. “You guys have done enough. Thanks. I’ve got this now.”
Adam and Griff exchanged a look, but they backed down without an argument.
“Okay, but remember we’re just a phone call away in case you need some fire power,” Adam said. “There’s nothing I like more than putting the bad guys in their place.”
Ben didn’t bother telling them he put bad guys in their place daily because neither one of them would understand his other line of work. They took the stairs headed to the first floor where they could exit the West Wing. Marin stood waiting on the landing of the second floor holding several plastic containers. She cleared her throat.
“You haven’t eaten much today.” She handed the containers to Quinn. “It’s just some cake and scones, but I’ve always found baked goods to be decent sustenance.”
Touched by Marin’s peace offering, he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “Those aren’t laced with anything, are they?”
Marin smacked him on the arm. “Please accept my apology,” she said to Quinn, her words making his heart swell. “I was rude before and I have absolutely no excuse. I hope we meet again so I can make it up to you.”
Quinn wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression. “I’d like that,” she stammered.
Too bad she traced her tongue over her lip after she said it.
*
“Where are we going?” Quinn asked when they pulled out of the White House parking lot.
“Somewhere we can finally have that talk you were so eager to have yesterday.”
Funny, she wasn’t so keen to have that talk any longer. Ben navigated the little SUV through the line of cars slowly cruising past the White House, passenger arms stretched out the windows so the occupants could take photos with their cell phones. She unabashedly studied his profile. He’d donned his sunglasses again making it hard to discern his expression. But if the tightness of his jaw was any indication, he was in full take-no-prisoners mode.
“I’d like to go back to Watertown to retrieve my camera and the rest of my things.”
That was not exactly the truth. Everything in her possession was a cover and replaceable with the exception of her lockpicks. Those were the second pair of picks she’d lost this year. Her supply officer wouldn’t be happy at having to procure those again. She wouldn’t mind having the images of Watertown she’d photographed yesterday, however. Although, it was probably for the best they were lost to her. She didn’t need any more painful reminders of the life she might have lived had her mother’s career not taken her away from Ben.
“Rich is keeping it all safe for you at the sheriff’s office.”
He didn’t elaborate further, continuing to stare straight ahead as he drove down Pennsylvania Avenue in the direction of the Capitol building. When they turned right on Third Street just past the Smithsonian Museums, Quinn’s heart began to speed up. If the information she’d been given about him was correct, they were headed toward his row house on Capitol Hill. Could he have somehow made a pit-stop at his place the other day, stashing his tuxedo there? Her informant was insistent Ben was wearing it when he boarded the Seas the Day. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have stopped by his home to empty out his pockets. Or sent the darn thing back with someone.