Chapter Fourteen

Agent Mission Log Entry:

This younger version of POTUS still hasn’t explained the origin of my codename. I’m not at all comfortable being the only one that doesn’t know. But, I have begun to wonder if it’s even something I want to know.

Several times, it’s been almost as if I could hear POTUS from my time saying with that arrogant little chuckle of his, “I told ya so, Gabbs.” I hate to admit that there is an attraction between us, almost too strong to call it simply ‘an attraction’. It’s almost chemical. I’m doing my damnedest to control it, even being my most bitchy self to him in an effort to push him away. I have to.

Both our lives are on the line.


Gabriella left his room quickly and headed for the kitchen. She could smell the welcome early morning smell of coffee and knew the before-mentioned Janet must be a treasure to her employer. In her time, President Bongiovi couldn’t even tell you his name before he’d had that first cup of coffee.

Once in the kitchen, she quickly poured herself a cup, adding cream and sugar, before taking the cup and going off to do a security check of the penthouse. Janet’s arrival had woken her earlier, but she’d jumped behind the couch she’d been sleeping on with her gun in hand until she was sure that the intruder wasn’t a threat. The older woman had come bustling into the apartment humming some tune only she knew, and carrying a small bag of groceries. Obviously, her employer had asked her to pick up a few things on her way in that morning. When she heard the soft beeping that indicated the woman was inputting the security code, Gabby had dismissed the woman as a threat and gone to hide in Jon’s bedroom.

After a quick perusal of the premises, Gabby was sure all was safe for POTUS to meet the day. While she’d been checking windows and doors, she’d made a momentous decision. She would quit thinking of Jon as Jon. A man. He was her mission. Nothing more.

Seeking another cup of joe, she returned to the kitchen, patting herself on the back for managing to avoid Janet during her search. The older woman had gone first to the kitchen to deposit her bag of groceries; that was when Gabby had made a beeline to Jon’s bedroom. Gabby had been able to make a complete security check while the older woman had been in the laundry room taking clothes out of the washing machine and putting them in the dryer, and then putting another load in the washer. Janet managed to make a lot of noise, not even trying to be quiet because she was safely on the opposite side of the apartment from the master bedroom.

Gabriella stopped short just inside the door of the kitchen. Janet was there taking breakfast ingredients out of the refrigerator, and across the room standing at the counter was a shirtless, barefoot, disheveled, and too damn sexy for his own good, POTUS.

Jon stood leaning against the counter, with one hand braced beside his hip, the other held a steaming cup of coffee, a pair of drawstring pajama pants riding low on his hips. Even in his relaxed position, the muscles on display were quiet impressive. There was a large amount of cocky arrogance to him, even this early in the morning. It was the kind of arrogance that came part and parcel with knowing a woman’s body better than she knew her own, and knowing that more women than not found him quite the most gorgeous thing walking upright.

He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup with a twinkle in those blue orbs. When the cup lowered, the smile she expected stretched those full lips. “Good morning, Gabbs. Janet’s just about to start breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”

She froze in place. Gabbs? Why did this version of POTUS using that pet name for her effect her like this? The bottom had fallen out of her stomach, and the world seemed to tilt slightly. The buzzing in her head was almost so loud that if she didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d had way too much alcohol.

“Oh, where are my manners? Gabriella, this is Janet. Janet, Gabby. She’ll be staying with me for a while.” Jon didn’t offer any explanations for her presence there, and Janet was discrete enough not to ask. The older woman just nodded at Gabby and went about her business as if the two of them weren’t in the room.

“Scrambled,” Gabby managed to mumble.

Jon turned toward the stove where Janet now stood preparing to start cooking. “You heard the woman, Jan.”

That’s when Gabriella noticed the tattoo on his left bicep just inches from his shoulder bone. She’d never seen her boss shirtless before, and somehow never noticed it in the few pictures she’d found in her pre-mission research. A Superman symbol? Holy fuck.

Kryptonite.

Suddenly, she felt so stupid. She had always respected the man. In her job, you weren’t supposed to care whether you agreed with the current President’s political views or decisions; you were just supposed to respect the office and protect the man that held it. But, she had greatly admired and respected him. She knew all about his philanthropic endeavors, and his desire to make changes. He had inherited a lot of problems from the previous administration when he’d taken office, but he’d handled it all with a positive outlook, a can-do attitude, and a steel resolve. He hadn’t quite fixed everything, but he was working on it. She had looked up to him, and he had made her the butt of a joke. What an idiot she’d been to ask him what it meant! Why hadn’t it ever occurred to her before?

“It was just a joke to you? I was just a joke?” she demanded. Right that minute, the assassin could’ve busted in the penthouse and Gabby would’ve let him have Jon.

Turning back to face her, Jon frowned in confusion. What the fuck had he done? “What?”

She stabbed the air with her finger, jerking it in the general direction of his arm. “Kryptonite, huh?” She turned on her heel and stalked from the room.

Jon followed her all the way to the hall, before he finally grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “You’re blaming me for things I haven’t done yet. Again.” His voice was low and tight, low enough for only her to hear.

“You haven’t given me the name yet, but you’ve certainly shared in the joke. Don’t deny it.”

His gaze instantly heated, quickly igniting to blue flames. “There’s two things I never joke about, baby. And fucking’s at the top of the list. My future self gave you that codename for reasons that were far from a joke, I can assure you. He apparently had a soft,” he paused to chuckle dirtily, and pass a hot glance down her body, “I mean...hard spot for you.”

She gasped in outrage, and he pulled her closer to him, molding her curves to fit his hard planes. He swept one hand down her back to cup her bottom and pull her tighter against him. “And that’s something he and I definitely have in common.”

Gabby had no trouble feeling his point. She started to shake her head in denial, but his lips met hers stopping the motion of her head.

His kiss was hot, almost combustible, but definitely volatile . His tongue swept past her lips to duel with hers. He completely overwhelmed her as he tasted every corner of her mouth. One hand was in her hair, and he used the other forearm at the small of her back to keep her pressed tightly against his arousal. Her nipples pebbled, stabbing his bare chest through the thin cotton of her t-shirt, almost making him lose control, but somehow he managed to get a grip on his passion. He pulled back from her slightly, and nipped at her fuller bottom lip, now swollen from his kiss.

Gabby opened her eyes to try and focus on his face above hers. What had she been about to say?

“I never joke about fucking,” was his parting shot, before he turned and walked away.

Chapter Thirteen

Agent Mission Log Entry:


POTUS says that I need to ‘grow a sense of humor’. The irony of that statement is not lost on me. In my time, we often shared a joke or teasing laughter. My sense of humor was/is very similar to his. He tried to warn me that he had mellowed with age. Apparently, he meant more than just his arrogant the-whole-fucking-universe-revolves-around-me mentality. Getting him over himself is going to be a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

I’ll relish knocking him down a peg or ten.


The mound of covers barely moved, but the groan echoed through the bedroom as one strong forearm snaked out from under the comforter to slap at the buzzing alarm clock. The arm disappeared back under the covers once the alarm clock had been duly chastised for interrupting his slumber. Somehow, while barely moving the mound of blankets, he flopped over on his back.

“Fuck me,” he growled, as he tossed the comforter back. His right arm fell across his face, while he struggled to remember why he had to be up so early this morning.

“Good morning, Sir.”

Oh yeah, that’s why. Quickly, he sat up in bed just to frown at her. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

The picture of grace and patience, she sat Indian-style in one corner of the love seat that sat across from his bed. She opened her mouth to answer his question, but he interrupted her. “And don’t hand me the shit about protecting me. You could be on guard duty out in the fucking hall.”

“Well, honestly,” she began, “your housekeeper arrived a few minutes ago, and I snuck in here to avoid her. Wasn’t sure exactly what story you would tell her about who I am. I figured this was the one room I could count on her not coming into.”

Jon fell back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. He really wasn’t ready to deal with her yet this morning. Truth be told, he was still slightly pissed at her putting a target on his chest the night before. Granted, it had been a simple thing to pull it off the button she’d hung it on, wad it up and toss it at the trash can in the corner. He’d missed but that was beside the point, and just one more thing to add to the pile of things against her. Not because he’d missed, but because she’d laughed. She had made her point though, and he had moved away from the window.

It had been easy to avoid her after that, at least until bedtime. Then they’d argued about where she’d sleep. He had shown her to a guest room, and she’d promptly told him that it wouldn’t do at all. She had told him that she’d need to be closer to him to be able to protect him while he slept. He’d asked when she was going to sleep and been told she was a light sleeper and for him not to worry about her.

She had wanted to sleep in the room with him, even suggested the love seat that she now sat on. But, he’d known that having her in the same room with him wouldn’t have been conducive to a good night sleep for him at all. As it was, he’d lain awake for hours thinking about how good she’d looked in that short little dress, and the gun holster on her thigh. He’d learned last night that it was hard to win an argument with her, but he had managed to win that one, finally telling her that he didn’t give a fuck where she slept as long as it wasn’t in the room with him.

Unless she wanted to sleep in the same bed with him and come no where near actual sleep.

At his taunting smirk, and all too knowing look, she’d backed down. And, he’d won. And, took notes.

Right this minute, she wasn’t helping his morning wood at all. With her auburn hair falling in beautiful waves around her shoulders, her just rolled out of bed look, and those damn skin tight leggings showing off the muscles in those lovely thighs. The several-sizes-too-big t-shirt hung off one shoulder proving to him she was braless, even though the shirt was too baggy in the breast area to tell. Had she just rolled out of bed? Where had she ended up sleeping that the housekeeper coming in had woken her?

He decided to ask. “Where’d you end up sleeping last night?”

“On the couch in the game room,” she answered quickly.

That meant she’d slept practically at the end of the hall that led to the bedrooms. Anyone would have had to be able to fly up to the top floor of the building to come through a window, or they would’ve had to go through her to get to him. He still wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“See, told ya that you’d be able to find a place without being in here,” he taunted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“It still would’ve been better if I’d slept in here. Someone could’ve come through your window.”

He frowned at her and shook his head. “Yeah, it’s the Bird Man of Alcatraz that’s after me.”

“Sir, I know you’re not really that stupid. A little rope and some other repelling gear and someone could come down from the roof. Then I’d have to come busting in here to come to the rescue.”

His frown moved from her to the window. Fuck. Why hadn’t he thought of that last night?

The gentleman in him was jumping up and down, stomping his feet at the thought of this lovely woman risking her life to save his, perhaps even taking a bullet to save him. There was a little part of him arrogant enough to accept the fact that he was important enough to have a bodyguard. That part of him was even able to imagine himself as President of the United States someday and therefore have a whole team of people willing to take a bullet for him.

Right now, he just wanted her out of his room.

“Go. Any where. She probably won’t but, if Janet asks, you’re a house guest.” He motioned with his hand as if to shoo her out of the room.

Gabriella hadn’t really thought this plan through. She hadn’t taken in to account the effect this younger version of her boss had on her. He was just plain sexy. And the just-woke-up version of him was even beyond that. Blond hair poking up in every imaginable direction from morning bed head aside, the dark shadow of whiskers dusting his jaw and the muscles of his bare chest were almost too much to take, but the sparkling blue eyes were just sinful. She had been studiously trying to avoid looking at said naked chest other than a brief perusal after he first sat up in the bed, but damn, this man was a feast for every one of a woman’s senses. She was practically drooling, while her mind wondered what he might be wearing under all those covers. If anything.

Getting out of there sounded like a really good idea.

Chapter Twelve

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I must admit that I’m having a very hard time with POTUS’ arrogance and total self-absorbency. His complete and total assurance of more than just the world revolving around him, but the whole damn universe, makes me want to shoot him myself. I’m pretty sure that on any given day of the week that a jury of his peers would find the assassin innocent if he put a bullet in POTUS in front of a witness pool the size of New York City.


Although the future version of POTUS lied to me, tricking me into saving subject-Sambora, and possibly altering my time line, I’m pretty sure that I can keep from pulling that trigger myself. I’m fairly certain that would be an unfavorable mark in my file and affect any future advancement or promotion.


I must admit that in my humble opinion, POTUS couldn’t be more of an ass.




The soft click of the door closing had echoed through the silent room, snapping Jon from his daze. Had she truly asked him not ‘to get dead’? Yeah, asshole, she did.

Somehow, he managed to make it over to the bar and pick up his glass of wine, but standing there sipping from the glass and looking back over to where he’d been standing he wasn’t sure how he’d even crossed the room. It made him make a conscious effort to pay attention to each step as he walked across the large room, watching his feet make every step on the hardwood floor until he was at the large picture window staring out at the skyline of the city.

Wow. The President of the United States? Really?

In the same amount of time it had taken him to get to where he was now in his career, he would be the leader of the free world. That was almost more than he could comprehend. There were so many questions. Why had he changed his mind and decided to go into politics? Was he a good president? What other offices had he held on his way up the political ladder? Who was in his cabinet?

How had he done it all without his wingman?

It seemed like Rich had always been there. He had been there for the long climb to fame. He’d been more of a partner to him in his life than Dorothea. He shook his head; that had been one of Dot’s biggest complaints. That he shared more of his life with Rich and the other guys than he did with her. When she’d said that, he laughed, but it was the truth. What he had with the guys was basically a sexless marriage.

All of those thoughts led his mind down yet another path. Gabriella’s angry accusation that he’d ruined her future by tricking her into ‘saving’ Richie made him wonder if he would even still become President. And as always, that thought led to another. The guys always teased him about how many paths his mind would go down because of one errant thought or suggestion. This time his mind went to Gabriella.

There wasn’t any doubt about his attraction to her, but he knew he needed to keep a tight rein on his libido. Who knew how deep it could get if he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants? After all, sex had complicated just about every minute detail in his life. He really couldn’t afford to let it complicate this one. His life was on the line here.

It was as if his thoughts conjured up the woman in question. He was still standing there sipping his wine and contemplating life’s mysteries, when her voice shattered the silence.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

An unruly head of blond hair jerked around to face her so that flashing blue eyes could freeze her on the spot. “I was enjoying a glass of great wine, the view and the silence.”

She should have noticed the finger combed blond locks and realized he’d tunneled fingers through it continuously, probably in frustration or confusion. She’d seen him do it many times before with shining silver strands. But all Gabriella noticed was that he was making a target of himself. “Move away from the window.” The command was said softly but with conviction.

“No,” he answered. “It’s hard to enjoy the view if you’re ‘away’ from the window.” He turned back toward the glass.

Gabriella fumed. She spun on her heel and marched over to the counter where she’d seen a large legal notepad and Sharpie marker earlier. He ignored her as she scribbled something on the pad. She ripped the top sheet off the notepad, then flung it back on the counter. When she marched back across the room, she grabbed him and spun him to face her, only avoiding sloshing the wine because the glass was almost empty. She used one long fingernail to poke a small hole in the top of the paper, then hung it on one of the still buttoned buttons on his shirt.

She patted the page lightly. “Well, then, if you’re going to help the assassin, I can too.”

Jon looked away from her smirk to glance down at the piece of paper she’d fastened to his shirt, as she turned him back toward the window. “A target? You put a target on my chest?”

“Yeah, let’s just hope he’s a decent shot.”

Chapter Eleven

She dropped the hem of her dress, and it floated back into place caressing the tops of her thighs. “I’m sure I could grow one before you can get rid of that arrogance.” There was no humor in her voice, no trace of amusement in her eyes.

Blue eyes twinkled, even crinkling at the corners. “But, you are gonna work on it, right?”

“I never said that.” One auburn eyebrow rose tugging with it the left corner of her full lips.

“Great! I love winning,” he crowed, his voice full of smug male arrogance.

“Knowing what you’re like 26 years from now? Na, I’ve got time.”

“Ah,” Jon nodded slightly in acknowledgment of her wit. “Zinger. Straight, perfect spiral, hard in the chest.” He put his hand over his heart as if rubbing it from the sting of her words.

“I see you’ve always made football references.”

“Always.” He nodded to emphasize his statement.

He lost her attention then, her eyes quickly scanning the room. Clearly, she’d dismissed him.

“Look. In a perfect situation, I’d have back-up that could stay with you while I go out for a few minutes. But, this is far from a perfect situation.” She walked toward the entryway.

He watched her graceful strides, the gentle sway of her hips. When she bent over to retrieve her shoes, his body’s natural reaction to hers was no big surprise. However, her next words were like a bucket of ice water in the face.

“While I’m gone,” she said as she turned back to face him and slip on her shoes. “Try not to get dead, k?”


With the quiet hum of the elevator accompanying her to the lobby of his building, the deer-in-the-headlights look on Jon’s face as she’d closed his front door kept a smile on her face. In her time, it was rare that she got one over on him, but when she did it was definitely something worth savoring.

The soft ding as the elevator doors slid open snapped her back to attention. With instincts honed over years of training, she quickly and cautiously scanned the room. It was more than second nature to her. It was survival of the fittest.

She noticed every little detail as she made her way to the vacant loft across the street, where she’d set up a temporary ‘safe house’ to be able to keep tabs on her charge until she’d been able to make contact. It’s where she’d stashed the few pieces of clothing she’d accumulated since arriving in 2003 and the cache of weapons she’d amassed as well. The few things she’d brought with her from the future were in the small purse that matched her evening gown. Two of those things she couldn’t afford to let out of her sight, the other she kept close for sentimental reasons.

When she reached the door of the loft, she carefully checked the booby traps she’d put in place to let her know if someone had entered it since she’d left. She slipped into the room and leaned back against the door.

He’d tried to warn her. He’d told her that he’d mellowed with age, that this younger self was almost a different person. She’d scoffed at him.

She could almost hear the “I told ya so, Gabbs.”

Before she’d left to attend the dinner with Mr. Gore, she’d made sure everything was safely stowed away in her go bag, except the change of clothes she’d left out. Quickly, she changed into the jeans and heather gray t-shirt. Once she was fully clothed, she slipped her gun into the waist band of her jeans so that it rested comfortably in the small of her back and pulled the shirt down over it. Then, she put her spare weapon in a holster around her right ankle, before pulling on sneakers.

While she was stuffing the dress and heels into her bag, the black composition notebook she had picked up two days ago fell out. She had always hated having to keep a mission log because it wasn’t something she needed to do to be able to write up her EOM (end of mission) report that would be sent to her superiors, but it was regulation, so she’d complied. This time she hadn’t intended to keep a log, since there weren’t any superiors that even needed a report. But, habit was habit. Maybe, she’d do it after all, as a sort of historical record of what she was doing so that some future agency could point out all the ways she screwed up. A wry smile lifted the corners of her lips as she shoved the notebook back into her bag.

The last thing she did after emptying the little purse and stowing the items in her bag, was slip the necklace over her head. The chunk of titanium found it’s usual resting place between her breasts. Immediately, the memory played like a movie in her head.

It had been her first day back on duty since the shooting. She’d taken a bullet in the line of duty, a bullet meant for him. He’d called her into the Oval Office to personally thank her for her service. It had only been later, once they were completely alone, and with no chance of prying eyes that he’d given her the gift. At first, she’d reminded him that she couldn’t accept it, and explained protocol that he was already familiar with. But, he’d managed to convince her to take it.

She’d asked how he’d gotten his hands on the piece of metal the surgeon had dug out of her chest, just millimeters from her left lung. “I’ve got my ways,” he told her with a sheepish grin.

It was really just a simple little gift, just the piece of titanium with her name and the date engraved on it, hanging from a long platinum chain that allowed it to rest close to the scar where it had went into her body, that she couldn’t see any harm in accepting it.

Her fingers had rubbed back and forth over the letters carved into the slug as he’d smiled and pointed out, “It’s so you’ll always have the bullet with your name on it. Now, this can’t ever happen again.”

“It was really a bullet with YOUR name on it,” she’d pointed out.

“I know that, and you know that,” he told her, smiling, “but, if I’d put my name on it, we couldn’t have kept it our little secret now could we?”

Knowing him like she did, she had been able to see the guilt in his eyes. He’d always had a problem with the thought that someone might have to take a bullet for him. They both were fully aware that whether the bullet was meant for him or not, it had hit her and been just millimeters away from ending her life. So, regardless how she joked about it now, it had indeed been a bullet with her name on it.

Chapter Ten

Her head jerked up as if pulled by an invisible string. Sparks flashed in her green eyes as they met his. “What?”

One blond eyebrow rose in a perfect arc. His jaw tightened to the breaking point. “I know you don’t need a definition of the words, and I know I didn’t stutter. Get the fuck out of my house.” Somehow, he managed to sound menacing, commanding, and dangerous - all without even raising his voice.

She could do menacing too. “And if I refuse?”

“Gun, or not, I’ll have you thrown out.” His lips stretched into a smile that didn’t quite reach his baby blues. “After all, you’re a crazy lunatic that claims to come from the future.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on her.

Even through a clenched jaw, her voice sounded almost friendly, in a way too overdone Southern syrupy kind of way. “Let’s be clear then - Are you refusing protection, Sir?”

He froze for the briefest of seconds while his mind spun in a faster than light speed whirl. If she was willing to admit it to herself, she’d be fascinated watching that brilliant mind working behind beautiful blue eyes and a face that could make an angel cry. The thoughts circling round and round in Jon’s mind weren’t purely self-motivated. What if this supposed assassin made an attempt on his life and got someone else instead? What if that attempt led to Jon being barred from the political socializing he’d been doing lately?

But, she would’ve let Richie die.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Ok,” she nodded, and for the length of a heartbeat, Jon had thought she was giving up way too easy. “But, you should realize that with my credentials I can and will keep you from attending any functions that might endanger any other political powerhouse. Mr. Gore, for instance.”

“Are you threatening me?” The ‘Jovi Stink Eye’ should’ve sent her running in real fear of her life as if in flight from a bad horror film killer, but being the gun-toting, specially trained agent that she was, she stood her ground.

Gabriella smiled slightly at the emphasis on the word ‘me’. As if she could threaten anyone else on the planet. Except HIM. Oh, the affront. “I’m glad you were paying attention.” And then as if in afterthought, she added, “Sir.”

He had to admit she had some big ass balls! “Threats won’t get you any where with me.”

“Let’s call it what it is, shall we? Blackmail. Sir.”

She didn’t seem the least bit contrite to him, and it was beginning to really piss him off. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” he began, once again glaring at her. “For the next - What? - twenty years you’re gonna be like a fucking thorn in my side? I mean - fuck. How the hell do I get rid of you?”

“You don’t.” She was patience personified. “But, I can assure you, Sir. It won’t take twenty years. I have no intention of putting up with your arrogant bullshit that damn long.” He sucked in a huge breath at that, but before he could say whatever he’d been going to say, she went on. “I’ll find the assassin long before then.”

“Really?” he didn’t sound too convinced. “The question of your competency remains to be answered.”

She froze. The only movement being the heavy rise and fall of her lovely breasts as she huffed and puffed in anger. Her eyes were narrowed, lips pursed in a tight little bow, jaw clenched. Green sparks flashed in her eyes. For the briefest of seconds, he wondered if she was going to shoot him.

Good God, she was beautiful.

The room itself seemed to hold it’s breath waiting for one of them to move. Tension hung thick and heavy in the room, making the hair on his arms stand up as if in the stillness right before the first crack of lightening in a summer storm.

Then all hell broke loose.

Forcefully, she pushed him back against the counter. “You ungrateful fuck! Dish out all the arrogant bullshit you want, but don’t you dare imply that I can’t do my job! I worked too fucking hard to get where I am. To get to protect a sitting president is a great honor. I was just the unlucky bitch that got YOU. I’m beginning to think I got the raw end of this deal.” She punctuated every one of her sentences with a finger poke to the chest as she glared up into his startled face.

He opened his mouth. Perhaps he’d been about to apologize, but she didn’t give him the chance. “If you ever - and I do mean EVER - question my competency again, I’ll save the assassin a bullet. I’ll shoot ya myself.”

Cockily, he asked, “And would ya be able to hit me?”

She began to pull her dress up again, reaching for her gun. He put his hands up in front of him in surrender. “I was only joking. Fuck. You’re gonna have to grow a sense of humor, Kryptonite.”

Chapter Nine

Quickly, she took a step back. Out of his reach. With a nonchalant shrug and a smirk lifting the left corner of her mouth, she told him, “I’m not much on sharing, Sir.”

The almost smile and the teasing tone in her voice would’ve left anyone else with the impression that she was just joking, but Jon was really good at reading people. The information he sought was in her eyes. They were cold with clouds hiding the soul behind them. He decided a little joking and some teasing might get him a few crumbs of information.

He called up the little boy grin that made the fans putty in his hands. “Are we close in the future? Friends, I mean?” He took off his suit jacket and casually tossed it over the back of a nearby chair and immediately began to loosen his tie.

She smiled at him then. A real smile. It lit up her whole face and twin dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Yeah. Closer than we should be.”

The answer surprised him. Surely she didn’t mean...

“How close?”

That almost sounded like jealousy in his voice as his tie joined his jacket. Shaking her head, she gave him the slightest disapproving grin. Boys would be boys. “Not as close as you’re thinking.”

He didn’t even try to look contrite. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Negligently, he shrugged one shoulder then turned to head back toward the bar. He really needed that drink now.

Something about his silence made her want to explain. “But you began our working relationship by teasing me about something and it’s just been that way ever since. We’re friends. You even caused a big fuss and security nightmare just to attend my dog’s ‘funeral’ last month.” She paused, dropping her head and shaking it slightly. “Well, it was last month to me.”

“You had a funeral for your dog?” There was genuine surprise in his voice as he came back around the bar with two full glasses of wine.

“Don’t be so shocked. You told me you had one for Copper,” she defended.

Jon didn’t even blink at the use of his dog’s name. Any fan knew Copper’s name. It was the laughter in her voice as she pointed a finger at him in accusation while she defended herself that told him volumes. She hadn’t lied about their relationship in the future. She was comfortable enough with him to tease and trade barbs. However, it was bothering him that she talked about things that were important to him in the past tense.

He had crossed the room, stopping when he reached her. Silently, he offered her one of the wine glasses. “I wish you’d quit referring to people and things that are important to me in the past tense.”

She shook her head at the offer of wine. “I’m on duty. Past tense, present tense, it’s all a blur to me right now, Sir. Sorry. Could you be more specific?”

Casually, he walked over to a counter that ran between the big open air kitchen and the family/game room they were in, sitting her wine glass down. “Copper,” he started counting off her offenses on the fingers of one hand while he braced the other elbow on the counter, “Arnold. But, most importantly, Richie. He’s still alive.” He paused until her light green eyes met his. “And, I guess now is as good a time as any to say ‘thank you’ for that.”

She frowned at him, really hoping he didn’t mean what she thought he meant. Her voice was cold and flat when she said, “Excuse me?”

He noticed the deferential ‘sir’ was missing from that question. “The email you sent today, I’m sure it saved his life. That plane he was supposed to be on crashed; he could’ve been killed.”

Her whole body stiffened and a muscle began to tick in her cheek as her jaw clenched. The green in her eyes lightened to a pale, icy gray just before she grabbed him by the shirt and shook him. Hard. “You lyin’ son-of-a-bitch!” She shook him again to emphasize her point. “You sat there, looked me in the eye, hell, you even smiled at me while you fuckin’ lied through your teeth!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he ordered softly, sitting his own wine glass down beside hers on the counter. His shirt was still clutched tightly in her small but strong hands. Gently, he wrapped his hands around the seemingly delicate bones of her wrists. She was stronger than she looked, and she was not quite ready to relinquish her hold on his shirt, but he forced the issue. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

He sounded quite indignant. Maybe it was that righteous indignation that made her realize what she was doing. She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. “You lied to me. It was explained to you that saving your friend could change history, alter the time line. You agreed, then turned around and gave me information under the guise of helping me gain your trust here. Information that just altered my future. The future I came here to protect!”

Jon pointed one long slightly crooked finger at her. His own glare was so icy it chilled her to the marrow. “First, let me remind you that I haven’t lied to you...Yet. And secondly, I would never have agreed to just let Richie die. He’s my brother, not by blood - by choice! I can assure you that I would gladly trade my life for his if it was demanded of me, and I know that he’d do the same.”

There was a defiant tilt to that chin. She’d seen that before. Her mind flashed back to the discussion she’d had with the older Jon. This younger version was right. The president had never ‘agreed’ not to save his friend. He’d merely nodded at her refusal to help him save his friend, then set out to do it on his own.

While Gabriella’s mind was whirling, Jon’s was doing a little dancing of its own. So. The saving of Richie had been unintentional on her part. In fact, his older self had tricked her into doing it.

This shined a whole new light on things. He realized that a lot of his initial trust in this woman had been based on the fact that he’d thought she’d saved his friend’s life. Now, he wasn’t so sure if he even wanted her standing in his home.

If her voice had been cold and flat earlier, his was glacial and hard as diamonds. “Get out.”

Chapter Eight

The shaggy ends of his hair lightly brushed his shoulders as he shook his head at her. Maybe she was right, but she wasn’t done answering questions. “We’ll finish this discussion upstairs,” he told her as he reached for the door handle.

She stretched across his body to lay one hand on his. “Sir, please don’t just throw open that door. I should get out before you and look around.”

“I may not be a saint, but I am still a gentleman. There’s no way I’m not getting out of this car first and holding the door for a lady. It would look odd if I didn’t.” He didn’t wait on her to answer him; he pulled the handle and flung open the door.

“Dammit, Sir,” she swore violently, pulling hard on his arm. “At least, please get out of the car slowly and look around.”

Casually, he climbed out of the car, trying hard not to look like his mind was completely blown by the shit she’d just told him. He frowned at her, as she began to climb from the car without waiting on him to give her a hand. Immediately, he reached to grasp her elbow and steady her on those impossibly high heels as her eyes scanned the area.

“Thanks, Mike,” he told the driver.

“We need to get indoors. Now,” she ordered softly.

The trip into the building and upstairs in the elevator was tense and silent as she glared at him. It wasn’t until they reached the closed door of his apartment that she finally spoke to him.

“Do exactly as I say,” she said very softly. She motioned for him to unlock the door.

Jon watched in awe as she slid the short skirt of her dress up and pulled a pistol from a holster on the inside of her right thigh with her left hand. He noticed that she pointed the pistol at the floor with her left hand, while she laid the first finger of her right hand across her lips in a signal for him to be quiet.

Carefully, she pushed the door open and motioned for him to follow her through the door. As soon as Jon cleared the doorway, she pushed him into a corner with a hand on his right shoulder, and closed the door with nothing more than a slight click. She kept her back to him as she thoroughly scanned the entry way.

Casually, she kicked off her heels, and began to move on silent feet down the entry hall, peering carefully around the corner of the doorway that led into the large family room. If she weren’t acting so damn serious, he’d laugh out loud at her. His eyes went immediately to the control panel for his alarm system. He grinned as he stepped over and entered the four digit entry code that would keep it from going off.

He wasn’t sure where she’d disappeared to, but he could tell from the solid green light on the alarm control panel that no one had entered the apartment while he was gone. Jon shook his head and shrugged his shoulders; if she wanted to play secret agent, he’d let her.

Mere seconds had gone by, before he heard her call out, “Clear,” from somewhere around the master bedroom.

“I could’ve told you that,” he called out as he walked into the family room. “The alarm told me no one had entered since I left.”

He heard her voice before she stepped through the large doorway that led to the bedrooms. “Sir, I could’ve snuck in here and with a few alterations to your alarm control panel been waiting to blow your brains out when you stepped into this room. All without your alarm telling you shit. Any assassin worth his salt could do the same.” The tone of her voice told him just how stupid she thought he was.

Even as she spoke to him as if he were a child, he was turned on by the picture she made. She stood in the middle of his living room, with her long, chocolate brown tresses falling around her shoulders, her bare stocking feet braced slightly apart, as she quickly and effortlessly slipped the safety on her gun before sliding it carefully back into that holster on her thigh.

Damn, she was hot.

Hoarsely, he asked her, "Aren't you gonna take the bullets out of your gun?"

Her head jerked up and a smile teased at the corners of her full lips. "No, sir. An empty gun ain't nothin' but a paper weight."

He started towards the bar in the corner. He needed a drink. “Where'd you get the name Kryptonite?”

Her next words stopped him in his tracks.

“You gave it to me,” she answered him distractedly as she took in her surroundings.

“I gave...” he choked on his words, then began to laugh. His laughter filled the room as he got the joke his older self had made giving her that name. It was good to know that at least some things would stay the same.

He would still have the same taste in women.

At his laughter, her head jerked around to give him a quizzical look. “Would you mind sharing the joke with the whole class, Mr. Bongiovi?”

“You mean you don’t know?” he asked, his laughter continuing.

“No, you never would tell me, but your friend David found my codename just as amusing as you just did. So share.”

She raised one eyebrow at him, as if daring him to answer. He was never one to walk away from a dare, but showing would be better than telling, and right now just wasn’t the time. “Some other time,” he told her. “Right now, I’d like some more answers.”

“Sir, I’m not going to tell you anything more about the future. It just wouldn’t be a good idea,” she cautioned.

“I don’t want to know more about the future,” he told her softly as he crossed the room. He stopped when he was almost close enough for their breaths to mingle. With his right hand, he reached out to brush her long hair back over her shoulder. “I want to know more about you.”

Chapter Seven

Gabriella sighed softly. Finally, he was taking this seriously. “It’s kinda complicated,” her soft Texas drawl tickled his ears. “How much do you know about political science?”

“Not a lot,” he admitted with a self-deprecating grin. “I know who I like in the race and back them. That’s about it.”

She had no trouble reading the look on his face. She’d seen it many times in the five years she’d worked for him. It was what he referred to as his ‘On’ facade. The ‘I-may-just-be-a-dumb-rock-star-but’ look. She had seen him use that look to get people to tell him just how much they knew on any given subject, whether it was all stuff he knew already or not. He’d told her once that one of his favorite sayings was ‘It’s better to let people think you’re a stupid ass, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt’. It had always been a useful tactic of pumping people for information for him. It seemed strange to see this younger version using the same tactic. And on her, no less.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” she told him bluntly. “Sir, you’re not fooling me. I’ve seen you use that tactic on too many people before.”

“What tactic?” he asked, innocently.

“Sir,” she paused while she debated with herself over how familiar to get with this younger version of a man she greatly admired. They had a very friendly relationship in her time. They often joked and teased each other; she’d even relaxed enough not to watch every word she said around him. Several times, she’d used a few choice curse words. She even knew what his favorite curse word was. “With all due respect...Fuck off.”

Jon laughed softly. “Is that any way to talk to your President?”

“You’re not my President.” She paused meaningfully. “Yet.”

He shrugged in casual indifference. “You haven’t answered my question,” he pointed out.

“We weren’t entirely sure as to the why, but we could make an educated guess based on what was going on at the time,” she told him. “Sir, you have the unique opportunity to ‘stack the court’.”

A puzzled frown briefly wrinkled his forehead. “Huh? Oh, you mean the Supreme Court,” he was having a hard time thinking in terms of him making those kind of decisions for this country.

She nodded at him. “With the retirement of two justices and then the death of a third. You were in the process of putting a liberal majority on the court.”

Again, he laughed softly. “So, who did they object to? Southside or Bruce?”

She frowned at him. “Sir, I thought you were finally taking this seriously?”

“Who said I wasn’t serious?”

“Your last nominee was Barack Obama,” she told him solemnly. “We are fairly certain that was the nominee that set their plan in motion.”

“Who the hell is Barack Obama?” Jon asked her.

“Sir, it’s best that I not explain all of that to you. You shouldn’t know too much about your own future.”

“Why? Will the world as we know it come to an end because of some ripple in the ‘time flux continuum’?” He sounded way too sarcastic as he tried to quote Doc Brown from Back to the Future. The thought crossed his mind that she probably had no clue what he was talking about. Then another thought struck him. “Hey! How old are you?”

“Didn’t your mom teach you better manners than to ask a lady that question?” she demanded with a sly little grin.

“Normally, yeah. But, this situation is way the fuck beyond ‘normal’,” he answered, adding a snort for good measure. “So, how old are ya?”

“Then or now?” she asked with a smile.

“Both.”

“Thirty-eight and twelve.”

“So there’s another you somewhere in this time?”

“Yes. She’s in a foster home in Corpus Christie, Texas,” she answered him. “But, you’re straying from the topic.” She really didn’t want to answer personal questions. When he nodded in agreement, she went on, “You had only just made the announcement that Obama was your nominee, when we heard whispers about an assassination plot and began to investigate.”

Jon shook his head in wonder. “I still can’t believe that in just twenty-six years we can travel through time. Have they invented that ‘beam me up’ transporter thing from Star Trek yet?” He was genuinely curious; he’d always wanted to buy one of those.

“Sir, the assassins had only recently developed the technology.”

“Ah, and used the trip to get me as a trial run, huh?” He suddenly had a flash of just how ridiculous this whole conversation was. Was he really buying into this whole travel through time to come back and save him thing? “Wait. I’ve seen this movie!” he growled at her. “Arnold was great in it, too.”

Her next words told him that she was indeed getting all of the smart ass movie references he was making. “Dammit Sir! This is not Back to the Future or Terminator. This is the real deal, and you are severely trying my patience.”

“So you have seen those movies?” he grinned unrepentantly at her.

“Only two of the Back to the Future movies, but all eight Terminators, even the ones after Arnold died and they CG’d him in.” she popped off without thinking.

“Arnold’s dead in the future too?” Jon asked, then realized that considering Arnold’s age now, it made perfect sense that twenty-six years from now he’d be gone.

“Sir,” she said in a one word warning.

“Right. Sorry. Who is trying to kill me?”

“We weren’t sure who the assassin that came back for you is, but we were able to make a few arrests. I can’t and won’t go into those details, Sir. You shouldn’t know too much about your own future.”

“Okay, then let’s back up a little and discuss the two you’s that are now in this time, and the fact that one of them can’t leave.”

She frowned at him, her light green eyes flashing with an inner fire as she lost all patience. “What about it?”

The limo pulled to a stop, and they both felt the dip in the car as the driver climbed out of the vehicle, and heard the door slam. Jon knew the man would wait patiently for him to open the door and be ready to exit the car.

“How will this work exactly? The twelve year old you grows up to become a secret agent, and...”

She jumped in quickly to interrupt him. “Don’t think about it too much, Sir. It’ll only make your head hurt.”

Chapter Six

The two of them weren’t alone again until the limo ride back to his apartment. It hadn’t been much of a surprise to Gabby when Jon had practically ordered her to join him. Jon had spent the last hour of the dinner party in a daze. His body was there, but his mind was a million miles away. He kept hearing those words over and over, ‘Richie’s dead’. He thought about that flight that Richie should’ve been on today, and how his friend would’ve been on that plane if it hadn’t been for this woman’s email.

She’d saved Richie’s life.

That was the only thing keeping him from turning the full force of his temper on her. Instead, he’d just been giving her what the fans call his ‘stink eye’. He was fully aware of what he was doing; he just couldn’t stop it.

How had she known the information in that email?

He had held the door of the limo open for her, and watched as she carefully slid across the seat. Even as mad as he was, he’d enjoyed the glimpse of long, shapely leg. He hadn’t missed the band that indicated thigh high stockings under the short skirt of that dress, before she’d quickly tugged it back down.

The wheels of the car had barely started turning, when he pushed the button to raise the glass partition between the front and back of the car.

He turned in the seat so that he could look her in the eye. “Start talking,” he’d ordered.

The woman in Gabriella over-rode the agent for the briefest of seconds, drinking in the casual elegance of the man next to her. The pictures she’d seen in her research hadn’t done him justice. Her eyes traveled up the length of his bent right leg, then over the narrowness of his waist, up the expanse of chest, to the tense jaw that gave away his impatience. Well, that jaw combined with the flash of anger in his stormy blue eyes. Her fingers itched to curl into the disheveled mass of blond mane that just barely brushed those wide shoulders. He truly was beautiful.

She curled her itchy fingers into her palms and looked him in the eyes. “Sir, let me assure you that this is not a joke. I know that even now you’re thinking it’s something that Obie, Joker or ‘Sambo’ cooked up.” She used her fingers to make air quotes around the nickname given to his best friend.

His full lips tightened even more and a brief flash of surprise slid across those blue orbs before it was once again hidden in his ‘On’ facade. “And, I’m just supposed to take your word for that?” He shook his head, wondering why he was even listening to this obviously insane woman. He knew it wasn’t that she was beautiful. Because, really, she wasn’t. Not in that classically-beautiful-kick-you-in-the-teeth sort of way. No. She had that whole girl next door sexy thing going on. That Sandra Bullock type of sexy that although subtle still managed to announce itself with authority.

“No,” she answered softly. “Take YOUR word for it.”

“What?” he asked her, frowning in confusion.

“Before you sent me here, you told me a story about your favorite book as a kid. You told me that you always wished that you’d had a special code word for disaster with your brothers just like in that book. But, that you didn’t have that type of relationship with your younger brothers. You always tried to be a good brother, but the age difference and your music got in the way.”

He wasn’t happy with the direction this conversation had taken. His family was always off limits, especially to obviously insane lunatics. “Cut the psych 101.”

“Sir?” she asked in genuine puzzlement.

“Every fan knows about the age difference thing with my brothers. Every last one of them can do the math, lady, and I’m tired of playing this fucking game with you.”

“Will you at least let me finish?” she was also starting to lose the tenuous grip on her own anger. At his terse nod, she went on. “In that book, two brothers had a phrase that they used even in humor to indicate a disaster had happened or was about to happen. Sir,” she paused for just a heartbeat, “Alas Babylon.”

Jon sucked in a deep breath, as memories of a long forgotten summer flashed through his mind. A summer that had begun with a two week quarantine while he ached to scratch every damn itchy bump on his body. At 14, chicken pox had kept him locked in his room so that his toddler brother didn’t catch it. He’d been unable to ride his dirt bike to the clay pits with his friends or go swimming in the neighbor’s pool. He’d played his guitar until it was late enough at night that he worried about waking his parents. That’s when he’d read the book she was talking about. This wasn’t just pop psychology like he’d accused. As a teenager, he’d often wished he’d had that kind of relationship with his own brothers, where just a simple phrase would mean so much more than mere words, where a phone call in the dead of the night would merely have to be long enough for two words to let you know they needed you and no one else would do.

Gabriella watched as slowly he came to grips with what had suddenly become a harsh reality. Sympathy she hadn’t expected to feel for him washed over her. She hadn’t really considered his side of all of this. She had tried to focus on nothing more than the mission.

Cloudy blue eyes met hers. His voice was soft and full of wonder, as if he was only now grasping the full implications of why she was there. “Why does someone want to assassinate me?”

Chapter Five

Gabby looked at the formidable man standing across the small balcony from her. He was truly beautiful in his fury. And, there was no doubt he was angry. He stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest. Even the elegant suit he wore couldn’t disguise the muscular build beneath it. His blond hair was a bit shaggy and looked wind blown, a style other men probably spent a lot of time trying to achieve, and he probably just ran his fingers through it. His blue eyes were intense and almost glacial, his jaw tense. She’d seen that look many times in the five years she’d worked for him, but never had it been directed at her. She had seen grown men, powerful men, all quake at that look. She probably should be rapidly developing diarrhea of the mouth and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.

She didn’t.

Instead, she calmly stared him down. If she let him intimidate her now, it would set a precedent for the remainder of their working relationship. He would continually turn that glare on her and try to get what he wanted. He would display his temper and expect her to quake in her shoes, but she was a competent agent. She was very good at what she did.

Besides, she could easily kick his ass.

“Sir, this is not something that I can just blurt out.” She tried to be diplomatic. He was her boss after all.

He took one menacing step toward her. “You better start blurting something out.”

Her lips compressed into a tight line. He reached out with one hand, probably trying to grab her arm. In the blink of an eye, she had his arm twisted around behind his back and upward toward his shoulder, all by just using pressure on his thumb. She hissed over his shoulder, “Sir, it might be wise to remember that I am a government agent, and that given the right provocation I could easily kick your ass.”

Mentally, she brushed of this severe breach in protocol. After all, she was supposed to protect him, not abuse him.

But, fuck it. He wouldn’t be her boss for another twenty-six years.

Gently, she released him, taking a step back toward the railing, and taking on an air of total detachment, acting as if the previous seconds hadn’t happened at all. To his credit, he did the same, even managing to somehow maintain a certain air of grace and dignity, while he tugged gently in all the right places to straighten his suit jacket.

Without thinking, Gabby stepped behind him and smoothed her hands across wide shoulders, gliding them down his back to tug gently at the hem of the jacket to straighten it. “There, all neat and straight again, Sir.”

Every muscle in his body had tensed at her actions. His body had instantly reacted to the smooth glide of her hands down his body. He bit back a groan. Damn. What would it be like to have those hands elsewhere. He realized that for her it was a familiar action, as if she’d done it many times before.

“Sir,” she began, as she stepped back around to face him.

“Please call me Jon,” he interrupted her.

“Sorry. Habit,” she explained. “Besides, you’re my boss, and well...” she paused.

“Your boss?” he was genuinely surprised. He didn’t remember hiring this woman, and he knew all of his employees by name and face.

“Well, not for another twenty-six years anyway,” she said vaguely.

“What?” Jon was now sure the woman was out of her mind, and the look on his face told her so.

“Okay, listen closely to me, Sir.” She decided it would be better to just rip the band aid off and get it over with. “I’m from the future. The year 2029 to be precise.”

“Riiiight,” Jon said, drawing out the word and looking over her shoulder for someone to come and rescue him from the lunatic.

“In the future, I’m the head of your security detail,” she continued as if he wasn’t looking for the nearest straight jacket.

Jon’s eyes snapped back to her face. “In the future I need a ‘security detail’?”

“Yes. In the year 2029, you Sir, are the President of the United States.”

He started laughing then. Throwing his head back and really letting loose. He laughed until his eyes were starting to tear up. This had to be something Joker had come up with. “Really?” he finally managed to get out between barks of laughter. “And who’s my Vice President? Sambora?”

She had expected him to have a certain amount of suspicion, but she hadn’t been expecting downright disbelief. After all, his older self had assured her that the necklace would speak for her. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “No, he’s dead.”

Jon sobered instantly at her words. Just the thought of Richie dead, had that effect on him. “What? Then how did you get his necklace?”

“You gave it to me. In my future, you wore it around your neck everyday that I knew you.”

They were interrupted then by Al, who had been looking for Jon. When the former Vice President stepped out onto the balcony, his eyes immediately went to Jon. “Jon, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Jon leaned toward Gabriella. “We’ll finish this discussion later,” he said very softly. Then turned to his friend. “Sorry, Al. This beautiful woman had me just a little distracted.”

“Understandable,” Al said with a smile at the lady in question. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Jon remembered his manners and introduced the two of them, but all the while his mind was whirling. What the fuck? Even Joker’s sense of humor wasn’t so sick as to kill off Richie, even in jest.

Chapter Four

When he raised his hand to knock on the door, it occurred to him that although she’d said she had ‘creds’, she hadn’t shown them to him. Instead of knocking, he turned to her. “So,” he began, “those ‘creds’ you mentioned? You wouldn’t happen to have them in that tiny little purse, would ya?”

She smiled patiently at him. “I wondered how long it was going to take you, Sir. Normally, you’re a lot quicker on the uptake than that.”

While she reached in her little purse, he wondered at her words. Why did she keep talking like they knew each other? He was fairly certain he’d never met her. He’d remember a looker like her.

There was nothing bashful about the way she handed over her credentials for him to have a closer look. He frowned with concentration while he read the details on her identification.

“Special Agent in Charge, Gabriella Prince?” He grinned boyishly at her. “And what, exactly, are you in charge of?”

Without blinking, she answered. “You.”

“Me?” he asked, taken aback. Had someone in the chain of command decided he needed to be watched? That would put a serious crimp in his ability to socialize with the higher ups in the Democratic Party. “What did I do?”

“Nothing.” She paused for effect. “Yet.”

“What the...”

She interrupted him. “All in good time, Sir. The first cigarette break. I promise.”

As bad as it irritated him to wait for his answers, he nodded curtly and knocked on the door.

It was an hour later before Jon was able to sneak away for a cigarette. Gabriella had been the perfect date so far. She’d been gracious and had smiled until he was positive her cheeks had to hurt. She had cautioned him to just introduce her as Gabriella Prince, not to tell people that she was an agent. Jon had enough sense to know that meant she was undercover, but undercover doing what was what he was dying to know.

When they first stepped out onto the balcony of Al’s suite, they weren’t alone. So, he chewed the inside of his cheek while they made small talk with one of Al’s other guests. When the man finally went back inside, Jon turned to her and said, “Okay, now spill.”

“It’s really not that easy, Sir.” She looked inside the door to make sure no one was standing within hearing range. “First, I was instructed to give you something.” She began to dig around in her small purse. “I was told that you would recognize it anywhere.”

He waited patiently, until she pulled a chain out of her purse, the pendant clutched tightly in her palm. He realized she was a little reluctant to hand it over. “Is there something wrong?”

“The person who gave me this told me it was one of his most prized possessions. He knew he’d never get it back when he sent it with me to give to you, and it seems strange to give it up now.”

He held his hand out to her palm up. “I’ll be more than happy to put it back in your care then, once I see it.”

Gabriella doubted that, very seriously, and told him so. He scoffed at her, and she reached out to put the necklace in his palm, hoping to make him choke on that scoff. He didn’t even blink as he looked at a Slippery When Wet pendant in his hand. “Why would this mean anything to me? You can buy these from the fan website now.”

“Not like that one, you can’t,” she assured him. “The inscription on the back is apparently the important part.”

Jon frowned at her. Only someone inside the inner circle knew about the inscriptions on the back of the pendants. He flipped it over and sucked in a huge breath. In small print, there it was: #1. “How the fuck did you get this?” Not too many people knew the pendants were numbered, and most of the ones that knew didn’t know who had been given what number. Jon knew without a doubt he held Richie’s pendant in his hand. “You wait right there,” he ordered, pointing one long finger at her, even as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. What the fuck was Richie trying to pull?

He hit the speed dial button to call his friend. And, as soon as Richie answered, Jon barked into the phone, “Where is your pendant?”

“Hi, Rich. Did I interrupt anything, Rich?”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Jon growled. “I’m not falling for whatever you’re trying to put over on me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Kidd?”

Jon could hear it in Richie’s voice; he had no idea what Jon was talking about. “Where’s your pendant?” Jon asked, slightly calmer this time.

Richie reached up and fingered the pendant that hung in the hollow of his throat. “It’s around my neck, man. Why?”

“You sure? You’re not fucking with me, right?” Jon asked. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Gabriella the whole time he’d been talking on his cell phone. She stood leaning slightly against the railing of the balcony, with a look of boredom on her lovely face. It was as if she was simply waiting on him to draw the only obvious conclusion. And yet, he had no fucking clue what that ‘obvious conclusion’ was.

Absently, he rubbed his thumb across the two little indentions in the back of the pendant. They were right at the bottom one on either side of the ‘v’ that made up the bottom of the diamond shape. His mind flashed back to a night ten years earlier. It was during the Keep the Faith tour. He’d been in his hotel room, about to go to bed, when he’d heard Richie’s voice raised out in the hall.

He’d stuck his head out his own door only to start laughing at the sight in the hall. A very tall red head had her arms around Richie’s neck in a death grip, while Rich tried to push her away with both hands. Jon realized the woman had Richie’s pendant in her mouth, obviously biting down on it for all she was worth.

Richie rolled his eyes at Jon’s laughter. “A little help would be appreciated,” he’d called out sarcastically.

“Oh, c’mon, Rich,” Jon said between barks of laughter. “Give her a night she’ll never forget.” He had stepped out into the hallway then to get a better view of the action.

“I’d rather not lay a hand on HIM,” Richie barked back, stressing the last word.

That’s when Jon realized the she in question had an Adam’s apple. Jon fell back against the wall, holding his stomach as he began to laugh even harder.

“Hardy har har,” Richie growled in frustration, still trying to push the red head away, and dodge greedy grasping hands at the same time.

Jon was finally able to bite back his laughter long enough to pull on the guy’s shoulder. “Let ‘im go, buddy. Can’t you see he’s not interested?”

The guy spun around and punched Jon, knocking him back against the wall. Richie used the space provided to throw a punch of his own. Jon stood holding his nose and glaring down at ‘her’. Richie just turned to unlock the door to his room.

“You gonna call housekeeping, or am I?” Jon’s voice was muffled by his hands.

“I’m not calling anybody. Do you really wanna admit that you got hit by ‘a girl’?” Richie teased as he walked through his door.

“Do you really wanna admit that you were almost raped by a guy?” he’d responded.

“No.” Richie leaned back out his door. “To the grave?”

“To the grave,” he’d nodded in agreement as he closed his own door.

To this day the words ‘That red head in Denver’ would bring a smile to both of their faces, but they’d never told a soul.

Now, he flipped the pendant over and found the corresponding marks in the front of the pendant. Said red head had been gap-toothed, and you could still tell by the teeth impressions in the pendant. There was no doubt this was Richie’s pendant.

Richie’s voice in his ear pulled him back to the present. “Why would I lie to you, Kidd? My necklace is around my neck.”

“You’re sure it’s YOUR necklace?” Jon asked.

Richie rubbed his finger and thumb across the bottom point of the pendant. “Yeah, the red head in Denver’s teeth marks are still there.”

“I’ll call ya back, Rich,” Jon said as he disconnected the call. He leveled an icy blue gaze on Gabriella. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Sir, that requires a very elaborate explanation.”

“Then you better start fucking elaborating.”

Chapter Three

August 22, 2003


That email had been on Jon’s mind all damn day. He still wasn’t sure who had sent it, and to be honest, he’d half-decided it was some sort of practical joke that Sambo, Joker, or even Obie had put into motion.

The little niggling sense of doubt was using the fact that none of them knew about the impending divorce until he’d told Rich as proof that it was no joke. And, it was all over the news that the plane that Rich should’ve been on earlier had crash landed due to unexplained engine trouble only two hours after take off. There had been minor to major injuries, even two deaths in first class...where Rich would’ve been sitting. Had that been why he’d been told to get Rich to cancel his flight? If so, how had the email sender known? It was all very weird!

Jon tried to shrug it all off so that he could enjoy this opportunity to have dinner with his friend. Al was only going to be in town tonight, and had invited Jon to join him and his wife in their hotel suite for a private dinner. There were only a few select close friends invited for the evening, and Jon felt honored to be among them.

Stepping off the elevator, he followed the signs that directed him toward suite number 1143. Just before he knocked on the door, the words from the email flashed through his mind. Furtively, he glanced up and down the hallway to make sure no one was around, then checked his fly.

He sucked in ten lungfuls of air even as he zipped up his pants. What the fuck? How had they known? This had just went eons farther than just plain ol’ everyday weird. Quickly, he dug his PDA out of his jacket pocket. He had been just anal enough to save the phone number from the email. Thank God for his type-A personality!

Without even blinking, he stepped away from the door, moving closer to the elevators, and dialed the number on his cell. He heard a cell phone ringing somewhere not too far away, even as it rang in his ear.

A husky feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello, Sir.”

He felt absolutely ridiculous when he asked, “Kryptonite?”

“Yes, Sir.” There was just the slightest of pauses. “That would be me.”

Jon heard the voice in the hallway with him, not just on the phone, and looked up to see a beautiful woman dressed in a beautiful teal blue cocktail dress. She waved at him as she made a big show of closing up her own cell phone. Her light brown hair hung in waves down around her shoulders; he could see the red highlights even in the florescent lighting in the hallway. With four inch heels on her tiny little feet, she was almost as tall as him, but she was tiny with an athletic build. The halter neck of the dress showed off the muscle definition in her arms, and the short skirt showed off tight calves and thighs.

In fact, had he not been so damn curious about how she knew what she knew, he’d be completely taken with that view.

Who was he kidding? He was totally taken with the view.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s okay, Sir. I’ll take you through it step by step, just like always.” Her voice was patient and sure. Hell, she even sounded like they’d had this conversation a million times. “But first, let’s go in to dinner with Mr. Gore.”

That took him completely by surprise. “Uh,” he stumbled over his words, “you can’t go in there with me. Security stuff. I didn’t tell them I was bringing a date.”

“Don’t worry, Sir. I flashed my creds earlier and told them I’d be your date. I’ve got this under control.”

Why did he feel like they’d had this conversation before? “You are going to explain this all to me at some point, right?” He was trying to stay suspicious, but she seemed like she knew him so well, and she looked so damn good.

“Yes, Sir.” She held up her hand in the typical girl scout salute. “I promise. The first time you sneak away for a cigarette, I’ll fill you in.”

Jon took a deep breath, and offered her the crook of his arm, then smiled at how well her little hand fit there. What the fuck was going on?

Chapter Two

August 19, 2029
T minus 18 hours

The paper in front of him awaited his signature. He could almost laugh at the absurdity of it. How many times had he signed his name in his sixty-seven years? At least now, he signed the legal version of it.

A tentative knock on the door made him look up, but he was expecting her. “Come in, Kryptonite,” he called softly. He smiled when her face appeared through the barely opened door. Gabriella Prince had been with him for five years now, since his inauguration. She’d been hand picked for his security team and quickly worked her way up the ranks. Now, she was the Special Agent in Charge of, well, him.

She looked so professional in her dark slacks and buttoned up suit jacket. Her dark shoes had very little heel to them, and he knew that was so that she could move quickly. He always got a secret little smile seeing her all buttoned down like this, because he knew what she was really like. They’d had many conversations over the years that she’d been with him. At first, he’d been surprised to find out that under that business suit and tidy little bun beat the heart of a rebel. She’d only shown him that side when they were alone. There was a certain amount of familiarity about their relationship that he knew wouldn’t be acceptable to her superiors. And, honestly, he didn’t care.

When he’d met her, there had been something familiar about her. He’d had no trouble trusting her. At first, he’d thought it was just that she reminded him so much of his daughter. They were the same age, but he soon learned that Gabriella wasn’t anything like Stephanie. He had actually been the one to give her the code name Kryptonite. He was pretty sure that she didn’t get the joke behind it, but the first time Davey had heard him call her that, his old friend had burst into laughter. Yeah, he was more than attracted to her, but he was an old man now. And, she was young enough to be his daughter.

He realized that he’d never seen her wear her hair down. It was always up in a serviceable ponytail or tidy bun. He didn’t even know how long it really was. For just an instant, he felt a pang of jealousy toward his past self. That man would get to see her hair down at some point. He was sure of it. That younger version of himself that was far too arrogant for his own good, and so sure of his sexual prowess. That younger version of himself wouldn’t have the guilt of chasing after a woman young enough to be his daughter or worries of ruining her career to stop him from doing his damnedest to seduce her. And, even at his age he still had enough arrogance in him to believe that the younger Jon would get the job done.

Gabriella smiled at him. At 67, he was still a handsome man. His light blue eyes still twinkled with merriment, and his smile could rival the sun. He still had a commanding presence, and seemed to take up all the space in a room, even at only 5' 10" with a small but muscular frame. His hair was no longer brown, but a beautiful silver and kept in a well trimmed but windswept style. “You wanted to see me, Sir?”

“Have a seat, Gabbs,” he told her, motioning toward the chair on the other side of his desk. He waited while she got comfortable, shifting slightly in the chair and crossing her legs. “I wanted to talk to you about this mission.”

“I kinda figured,” she nodded.

He smiled at her soft Texas drawl. “Since we have no way of knowing the exact day that you will be arriving in the past, I wanted to give you some important dates and other information that will help you get his attention.” She nodded, and he went on to list several key events and when they happened so that she could use them as needed. He watched her intently as she committed every word he said to memory. She never needed to take notes. The guys under her command teased her about being a walking computer chip. In fact, her nickname with them was ‘Chip’.

Finally, he stared silently at her for several long seconds before saying softly, “There’s also a few things you should know about him.”

“Sir?”

“He’s arrogant, a big flirt, and honestly believes that given enough time and a big enough smile he can charm any woman into his bed, if he wants. And, you are just the type he’s attracted too.”

“Sir?” she began again. “You talk about ‘him’ like he’s another person.”

“In many ways, Gabbs, he is. Richie’s death changed a lot of things about him, uh, me. I had no desire to get into politics, would’ve been completely happy to continue singing to the masses and writing songs that the critics condemned. That is until I lost my writing partner and best friend. It just didn’t have the same appeal after that.”

“I understand, Sir.” She was surprised; he’d never talked to her about the loss of his best friend. In fact, any time someone mentioned the man’s name, he would smile sadly then change the subject. She wished that she could save his friend for him as well. That had been something that he had wanted to accomplish with this mission, but after a lengthy explanation about altering their current time line and how one small thing could change everything, he’d nodded and let the subject go.

If she had known him in his younger days, she would’ve recognized the stubborn tilt of his chin that indicated he’d get what he wanted whether it was the ‘right’ thing for him or not., and would’ve been suspect of some of the events and facts that he had given her.

Now, he reached up and unclasped the chain around his neck. He hadn’t taken the necklace off in years. Not since a young girl had given it to him with tears in her eyes saying, ‘You should have this, Uncle Jon.’

He stood up from his chair and walked around the large, impressive desk. “I’m going to trust you with one of my most cherished possessions, Gabbs,” he told her softly, just as he reached her chair.

“You don’t have to do that, Sir.” She looked up at him with questioning eyes.

“You’ll need it to prove to him who you are.” He reached out with his right hand, and when her small hand was open under his, he gently dropped the necklace into her palm. “Once he sees that, he’ll believe you. Trust me.”

Gabriella looked down at the necklace in her hand. The pendant was diamond shaped with a double S logo. Silver, or perhaps platinum, it was warm in her hand. There didn’t seem to be anything really special about the piece of jewelry in her hand, but his tone and manner spoke volumes about the importance of this small piece of metal. She flipped the pendant over in her hand and silently read the inscription.

“He’ll recognize this?” she asked, doubt filling her eyes.

“Oh yeah, he’d know it anywhere.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He frowned at her. She sat holding the necklace in her hand, staring at it like he’d just handed her a bomb, and she was watching the timer tick down. “What’s wrong, Gabbs?”

Looking up at him, she smiled sadly. “It’s already been established that this is a one way trip for me, Sir. I hate to take something that means so much to you with me.”

The previous owner had meant more to him than the cold piece of metal. And, if all went as he’d planned, the necklace wouldn’t ever come into his possession anyway. A life cut short before its time had put that piece of jewelry around his neck, and he was determined to correct that wrong. “It’ll be all right,” he assured her, patting her shoulder gently. “For your mission to be successful, he needs to believe and trust you. That will accomplish those two things better than anything else. Here, let me help you put it on.”

He moved to stand behind her chair, taking each end of the chain into his hands as she held her long ponytail up out of the way. When the tips of his fingers brushed the back of her neck, Gabriella couldn’t stop the delicate shiver that raced down her spine. Mentally, she chastised herself. He was old enough to be her father.

But, she couldn’t deny the wanton sex appeal that still oozed from his every pore.

Gabriella believed in being fully informed about any mission, and this one wasn’t any different. She’d done her research and knew all about the man she was going back to save. She had watched old footage of him on stage and had been in awe of the way he held an audience in the palm of his hand. She’d looked at old photos of him and knew just how handsome he’d been in his prime. Gabby had been unable to resist digging up pictures of him in his twenties too, even though they were from way before she would actually meet him.

He’d been hotter than her grandma’s homemade salsa. And probably tasted better too.

“You should probably try and get some sleep, Gabbs,” he told her in gentle dismissal. “We don’t know what you’ll actually encounter in,” he glanced at his watch, “a little more than 17 hours.”

Gabriella stood up slowly, sweeping her hands down her thighs to smooth the wrinkles out of her khakis. “Yes, sir.”


August 20, 2003

Most Americans aren’t even aware of the intricate details of their National Security forces. Gabby thought it was probably for the best. She’d arrived in this time several hours ago feeling woozy and slightly nauseous. In her time, they had moved the confiscated time machine to a secure facility just outside the beltway. What had appeared to be just an average looking barn beside an unsuspecting farm house in 2029, was in this time, a big field with several tall oak trees doting it here and there. She’d ‘landed’ on wobbly legs next to one of those large trees and been able to lean against it while she’d taken several deep breaths and soon could stand on her own again.

She’d walked for about a mile before she’d been picked up by a passing UPS driver. She had told him some cock and bull story about her car breaking down and gotten him to give her a lift to the nearest service station, that just happened to be a hell of a lot closer to her destination.


Her first priority had been to get some computer time and thus acquire money and a weapon. It had been decided that it would not be wise to bring a weapon from her time here. It would be very hard for her to explain if she was questioned by authorities. Besides, obtaining ammo would've been impossible. She’d had to wait until the closest library opened but then she’d been able to slip in and use a computer. For decades, there had been an emergency ‘backdoor’ in the government computer system. Gabriella used it to get in and make sure her credentials made her legit for this time. Then she accessed the special bank account used by undercover government agents, whether they were FBI, CIA, NCIS or Secret Service, transferring money to an account she set up for her personally.

Now, her identification naming her as Secret Service Special Agent in Charge Gabriella Prince would get her in any where she needed to be to protect her charge, The Future President of the United States. She also had money for food and shelter while she observed said charge. With $10,000 in the bank, she was able to go to the closest branch and withdraw enough to get her transportation to New York City. She had two days to kill before she could make first contact with him. Two days before the first of the intel he had given her could be used.

Chapter One

August 22, 2003

He sat staring at the computer screen in front of him. Who in the hell sent this? The email address was completely foreign to him, and yet whoever sent this seemed to be very knowledgeable about him.

From: Kryptonite@gmail.com
To: papabear@bjm.com

Sir, Before I give you any information, I have been told that I will first need to get your undivided attention. I have been advised that the best way to begin that process is to give you the following information:

1) This morning over a breakfast of Fruity Peebles and orange juice, your wife told you that she wanted a divorce. This really didn’t surprise you, because you’ve been wanting the same thing, but you were holding on for the kids. You told her that you would call your attorney and get the ball rolling. By New Jersey state law, you must be living apart for 18 months before filing. However, you told the attorney a lie. You assured him that you had been living in the New York apartment for at least that long already, if you included the time spent on the road with your tour. When in fact, you’ve just been sleeping on the couch in The Shoe Inn. That is... WHEN you sleep.

2) In approximately two hours, Richie is supposed to get on an airplane. Call him. Tell him you need him to stay in town. You’ll need him tomorrow.

3) To avoid “the most embarrassing moment” of your life and being hung with the nickname ‘Peep Show’, tonight, before going into dinner with former Vice President Gore...Check your fly.

Now, I was assured that after having given you all of this information, that I will still not have your undivided attention, but that I will at least have peaked your curiosity. I hope my informant was as knowledgeable about you as he thinks, and that you will at least pick up that cell that is even now laying by your left hand, and call Rich.

Then, tonight, when I have your undivided attention, call this number 202-555-2035. Because, Mr. Bongiovi, your life is in danger.

Kryptonite



He looked over at his cell phone, laying just inches from his left hand. How the fuck had this person known this information? Suspiciously, he glanced around his office, then stood up to stride across the room and look out the window. Was he being watched?

Not even Richie knew about Dot’s breakfast announcement. He was going to tell him tomorrow. By phone. Once he was back in LA.

As he dialed Richie’s cell, he was quickly trying to come up with an excuse to get his friend to stay in New York.

“Hey Kidd,” Richie answered, “I’m on my way to the airport. What’s up?”

“I need you to change your flight. I think I’m gonna need ya tomorrow.”

Richie could hear the confusion and indecision in Jon’s voice. “Is everything okay, man?”

“No, Rich.” That’s when inspiration struck, now was as good a time as any. “Dot told me she wants a divorce.”

“Ah, fuck, man. I’m sorry.” Richie tried to sound sympathetic, but he’d seen the signs. Jon hadn’t been happy, but had been trying to keep it under wraps. Richie had suspected this was coming several weeks ago. “I’ll call and change flights, bro. Call me later.”

“Sure, Rich. Thanks.”

His voice was toneless and unemotional, even he heard it. Maybe, he was shell shocked. Maybe, that horseshoe in his ass had finally rusted, and his luck had finally run out. And maybe, just maybe, his life really was in danger.


August 20, 2029
0200 Tango

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” he asked her for the thousandth time.

“Yes sir, Mr. President. I’m not willing to ask one of my men to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”

She looked so confident. Her long light brown hair was pulled back into a serviceable pony tail, that hung in waves down her back She’d worn comfortable denim jeans that looked vintage and a body hugging light green t-shirt that had her looking like she’d just stepped out of 2003. There were white high top Converse sneakers with lime green laces on her feet. She was the same age as his daughter, and he had no desire to send her on this mission.

Two days ago, they’d received intel that there was going to be an attempt on his life. When a combined force of Secret Service and FBI agents raided the hide-out of the suspected assassin, they’d found what could only be a time machine and a mad scientist right out of a comic strip. They’d went over every inch of that lab with a fine tooth comb. It had been determined that someone had managed to go back in time about twenty-six years, give or take a few months. Dr. Crazy had repeatedly told them that it was too late, that the plan was already in motion.

The President still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. All the information they’d been able to gather in the last 48 hours indicated this would be a one way trip. He couldn’t in good conscience send her on what would amount to a suicide mission.

“Kryptonite, you know you can’t come home. Are you sure?”

“Sir, I have no family. No children, no husband. No one is waiting for me to come home. Damn, even my dog died last month. I can do this. I have all the intel I need.”

He looked around at the faces gathered around the two of them. They were all members of his security team, and had all wanted to be here to say goodbye to her. He grasped the upper part of her arm, and gently but firmly pulled her several steps away from the group.

“Gabbs, I’m not happy about this,” his voice was rough and gravelly with emotion. He was quite fond of her.

She smiled up at him, her pale green/gray eyes twinkled. “Honest, I’ll be fine, President Bongiovi.”

She repeated those words again, before she stepped into the large metal ball. Quickly, a few members of his security team lead him out of the room. He had argued long and hard to be able to be there to send her off. They had agreed only if he caved and agreed that he would leave the premises for safety’s sake before they actually activated the unproven technology.

As soon as the radio crackled that POTUS was ‘safely away', their tech guy was given the signal. The engines seemed to shift into a higher speed, their whine filling the room until a loud boom bounced off the walls and literally knocked them all to the floor with the force of the wave.

Steam rose from the metal sphere as several of the men ran toward it. When they opened the little hatch type door and checked inside, she was gone.