Chapter Seventeen

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I must say - watching that first interaction between POTUS and his friend was very enlightening. My version of POTUS is a hard-assed, take no prisoners, ruthless negotiator who would never have let anyone speak to him the way Sambora did, old friend or not. At least not in front of an audience. Even David, who came and went from the White House with enough regularity that the Secret Service gave him his own call sign, never spoke to him like that in front of me. Although, given the smirks and teasing barbs that passed between them at times, I’m sure he gave POTUS hell behind closed doors.

These two men are tight, to say the least.





“Kidd, I’m hurt. Really,” Richie spoke into the sudden silence that fell over the room after Jon’s words. “After all the things I’ve shared with you over the years, all the take to the grave secrets,” he shook his head. “You didn’t have to make up this elaborate story.”

Jon tried to interrupt him. “Richie...”

But, Richie continued, holding up one hand to forestall Jon’s explanation. “I’m still talking Jon.” Then he went on, “Really -,” he shook his head again and shrugged his shoulders, “I even told you the Lost Handcuff Key story,” he grinned devilishly there. “Rosa, still looks at me funny.”

Gabriella looked at Jon with one eyebrow raised in an obvious question.

“His housekeeper,” Jon informed her softly, even as Richie went on with his tirade.

“And yet, you couldn’t just say ‘She’s Dot’s grounds for divorce’ - NO! You had to come up with this complete fairy tale about time traveling secret agents, and you being the future President of the United States.”

“Mook,” Jon tried again.

“Still talking, Kidd,” Richie replied.

“Wait,” Gabriella exclaimed, as Richie’s words finally sunk in, “you think that he and I...that we’re...” her gaze went to Jon. He was still leaning against the front edge of his desk, still shirtless, still sexy as hell. She couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence, to actually say the words.

Richie leveled those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes on her. “Aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not!” she gasped.

“Yet,” Richie said. “I believe the word you’re looking for is - yet. Because trust me, even if you aren’t now,” he jerked his chin in Jon’s direction, “he’s thinking about it.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Rich,” he ground out in warning.

Richie’s eyebrows rose and the corners of his lips curved in an innocent smile. “What?”

Professionalism straightened her spine, and as bad as she hated to share what should have been kept completely top secret and on a need-to-know basis, she backed Jon’s play. “It was not an elaborate fairy tale, or a way to cover up some clandestine affair. I really am Secret Service, and I can show you my credentials to prove it.”

Sobering slightly, Richie realized she must really be a government agent. Why else would she offer to show credentials, unless those credentials would prove what she was saying? “Ok, so you’re Secret Service. That doesn’t impress me.” Too much, he added silently. “Why does he,” he tipped his head in Jon’s direction, “need protection? And don’t you dare try to hand me the same shit about him being the President in the future.”

Gabby’s teeth began to nibble at her bottom lip and her eyes went from Richie to Jon and back. “What else would you like me to say?” Quickly, before Richie had a chance to say anything, she went on, “I mean if you don’t want me to tell you the truth, why don’t you just make up your own lie?”

A devilish grin flirted with Richie’s full lips, before he opened his mouth to speak.

But, Gabby jumped in again, “Except for the ‘fairy tale’ that has him,” she jerked her chin in Jon’s direction, “and me in a bed together.”

A snort from Jon made Richie chuckle and choke out, “Yet,” again.

With Gabby’s glare and exasperated heavy breathing, Richie knew he’d gone too far, and his ingrained desire to appease a woman showed itself with his next words. “Ok, for the sake of argument, let’s just pretend for a second that you’re really from the future and he’s really the Pres,” he paused there to meet each of their gaze and nod for emphasis. “I’m his best friend and I don’t see that changing in the future.” His eyes seemed to glow with merriment, as he thought he’d caught them in the one part of their story that they hadn’t thought to cover with a plausible lie. “So, why haven’t you met me at a White House dinner or something, and why aren’t I on the do-not-shoot list?”

Even though Richie’s words were said with barely concealed laughter held in check, a somber sort of seriousness seemed to fall over the room. Gabriella felt it fall like a curtain, and Richie could read it on Jon’s face.

Jon’s head swiveled quickly in Gabby’s direction, and with a carefully blank look and an all too serious tone to his voice, he told her softly, “I need the room.”

Chapter Sixteen

Agent Mission Log Entry:

This is just fucked up! And no, I’m not going to apologize to some possible future superior for my language, because there is no other way to describe this except ... fucked up.

Subject-Sambora .... Richie .... is such a great guy, I can’t be pissed any more for saving him. Does it mean that my mission here is moot? Quite possibly. But, the assassin probably doesn’t know that, which means possible-future POTUS is still in danger. Therefore, as I see it, I still have a mission here.

See? FUCKED UP!





Jon had just put a big bite of eggs in his mouth when he heard Richie yell his name. He hurriedly chewed the bite of breakfast so that he could swallow and call out to his friend that he was in the kitchen, but before he could swallow, he heard Richie call his name a second time, with more urgency and even a note of desperation. What the hell...

Aw, fuck! Gabby.

Dropping his fork, Jon scrambled off the bar stool, almost knocking it over in his haste. He cut around the breakfast bar and ran quickly from the kitchen, hurrying toward the entryway. He came running into the living room, his bare feet making a slapping sound on the hardwood floors, even making a little screeching sound as he slid to a stop just inches from Gabriella. His gaze went from her gun to his friend and back.

Softly, he spoke the first words that popped into his head, “Gabbs, shooting him won’t get your future back on track.”

His words surprised her so much, she did the unthinkable and briefly took her eyes off the man in front of her to flit a gaze over at Jon. He stood with his hands up in a defensive, placating manner, much like his friend’s position. “What the hell are you talking about?” She motioned with her gun at Richie, “Who the fuck is this?”

“For God’s sake, Kidd,” Richie implored, “introduce me to the lady.”

Jon grinned then. “Special Agent in Charge Gabriella Prince, this is the King of Swing. Richie Sambora.” He paused before finishing, stressing the words, “My best friend.”

The two men watched as her whole demeanor changed. She was careful and methodical as she emptied the bullet from the chamber and put the safety back on, then holstered her weapon. Then as calmly as if they’d only just been discussing the weather, she crossed the short space between her and Richie with her hand extended. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sambora.”

With eyes wide and mouth agape, Richie just stared at the woman. Was she serious? He heard Jon cough to cover up a snort of laughter and realized he was being rude. Finally, he reached to take her small hand in his and give it one hard shake before turning it loose. He wasn’t sure he could say that it was nice to meet her. In fact, she’d probably scared ten years off his life. Instead he simply nodded at her before turning to Jon to await an explanation.

Jon didn’t need the almost psychic connection with his friend to read the look on his face. “It’s a really long, complicated story,” he began.

“I got nothing but time,” Richie growled.

Jon glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “Um,” he began, “in my office.” Then, he turned and headed for the room in question, confident that his friend would follow.

Gabriella watched as Richie followed Jon across the living room, then shrugged and fell into step several feet behind them; Jon may want her to help with the explaining. Mentally, she was trying to come up with a plausible back-story, something good to explain her presence, because there was no way that they could tell Mr. Sambora the truth.

She didn’t realize she was dragging her feet until she stepped through the doorway of Jon’s office, to find him pouring a drink for Richie.

“Kidd, it’s only nine o’clock in the morning,” Richie protested, while Jon poured him a highball of good Scottish whiskey.

“Trust me,” Jon replied, handing Richie the glass, “you’re gonna need it.”

Those words brought Gabby to a stop just inside the door and made her stare at Jon in wonder. Surely he didn’t mean to tell his friend the truth? Jon’s next words answered that question for her.

“You’re really not gonna believe this shit but,” Jon began, making Richie grin at the words that began every Jersey fairy tale. He went on to tell Richie who Gabriella was, when she came from and what she was doing there. Jon told the story with little embellishment, beginning with the email he’d received and meeting Gabby at the dinner party, and ending where Richie walked in this morning. He left out very little, just his accosting Gabby in the hallway, and Richie’s supposed death. Jon just couldn’t bring himself to tell his friend that part.

Gabriella was flabbergasted that Jon had told his friend the truth. Jon was amazed that Richie just sat through the whole explanation with just the tiniest of grins, only nodding in places. Richie hadn’t said a single word throughout the entire telling of the story, which was highly unusual.

When silence fell in the room, with the ending of the story, Jon waited for some sort of reaction from Richie. Gabriella’s gaze kept going back and forth between the two men. They were both gorgeous men, but complete opposites in looks. One light, one dark, but both oozing sex appeal. Jon sat on the front edge of his desk leaning forward slightly as he waited on some response from his friend. Richie slightly slouched in the chair in front of the desk, totally relaxed and with the barest touch of amusement curving his full lips.

When Jon looked in her direction, she raised one eyebrow in question.

He grinned and tilted his head slightly toward Richie. “He doesn’t believe a word I just said.”