Chapter Twenty-one

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I’m aware there is a big gap in my reports. I haven’t provided a report because there hasn’t been anything ‘report worthy’ going on.

POTUS and I have fallen into a routine. For a little over two weeks now, we’ve been doing the same thing everyday. He does his thing, and I do mine.

His thing mostly consists of gym in the morning, then on to phone calls and/or meetings. His afternoons and early evenings are spent with Richie, whether in a studio or kicked back in the den, both with guitars across their laps, working on their latest project. POTUS is very excited about this one, even pulling a couple all-nighters when they were on a roll.

My thing is guarding him. I’ve spent the last five years of my life guarding this man’s, and I’ve learned how to be unobtrusive and out of the way while doing it. But this is different.

I’m bored out of my mind!

At this point, I’d be willing to pay the assassin to make a move - just to add some excitement to my life.



“Why don’t you just fuck her and get it over with?”

Jon’s head snapped around, taking his eyes off the door Gabriella had just exited through to stare blankly at Richie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A little ‘huh’ escaped Richie’s mouth as he shook his shaggy head. “Really? You haven’t tried that shit in years.” At Jon’s raised eyebrow, he answered the unspoken question. “Lying to me.” He stressed the last word.

Jon pretended to ignore his friend, turning to scratch out something in the little notebook that lay open next to him on the sofa.

Richie waited until Jon put the pencil back down and started strumming the opening notes of Lay Your Hands on Me, at least the re-vamped version they’d been working on. “Kidd, I’ve watched this thing,” he stressed the word thing to indicate he wasn’t sure what else to call it, “go on for 17 days now.” He paused meaningfully, then repeated, “17 days, Jon.” His only answer was more strumming. “Studio, here, where-the-fuck-ever, you can’t take your eyes off her. You watch her leave the room, every damn time she goes to do a ‘perimeter check’,” he made air quotes around the words. “And, you don’t get shit done til she’s back in the room.”

More strumming.

“So, you’re either showing off,” he paused, waiting on the expected glacial glare. There it was. “Or, you want to fuck her.”

Jon’s strumming continued, but he did shrug one shoulder.

“And, she’s sleeping in your room,” Richie knew he was pushing too hard, but sometimes you had to with Jon. The lead singer’s head snapped up so that he could glare at him again. “What?” Richie shrugged. “It’s my home too. I notice things.” His fingers started to dance across the guitar in his lap, picking out the same tune as Jon. Several seconds passed by with just the gentle sounds of acoustic guitars in the room.

“So, is she sleeping in your bed, or not?”

Jon’s strumming stopped, as he flopped back against the sofa. He ran one hand through his hair. Sometimes Rich was like a fucking Doberman with a bone. “On the love seat. If she was sleeping in my bed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You call this a conversation?” Richie grinned devilishly.

“Fuck off, asshole,” Jon growled, just as Gabriella came back into the room. Richie watched as an immediate change washed over his friend. He sat back up, the frown around his eyes softened, and the growl left his voice when he asked, “Everything okay?”

Gabriella nodded and began to idly pace the perimeter of the room. It never failed; she always felt like she was walking in on some sort of top secret con-fab whenever these two men were left alone in a room together. For 17 days, she’d seen how well they worked together, how well they got along, how close they were. They were brothers. She got that now.

Now, she understood.

Richie’s muttered words drew her gaze to him. “17 fucking days, Jon.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rich,” Jon growled.

Gabriella continued to pace. Maybe if she remained silent, they’d forget she was there and continue their conversation. She wasn’t stupid; she knew what happened 17 days ago, and that they had been talking about her.

Jon started strumming his guitar. Strange that she could tell it was him even with her back to the two of them. She moved to stand to the side of one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the room. Both of them were great guitarists, but with Jon there was a certain amount of technical expertise, and Richie’s playing was all heart and soul.

A full minute went by before Richie’s bluesy guitar joined Jon’s. She was still scanning the rooftops of the building across the street when Jon began to sing, but it was really more of a growl. She was trying to ignore her body’s reaction to the huskily growled phrase ‘Your satisfaction is guaranteed’, when out of the corner of her eye she saw movement on the roof at her ten o’clock. Her head swiveled back in time to catch a man running hunched over. He was moving quickly toward the outer edge of the rooftop. With lightening fast speed, Gabriella dropped the curtain, and pulled her gun in one smooth move, even as she headed for the door. As she crossed the room, she ordered in a no-nonsense tone, “Don’t answer the door, stay in the apartment, and for fuck’s sake,” her eyes met Jon’s as she paused at the door, “stay away from the fucking windows.”

Before walking out the door, she chambered a round in her Sig. The rasp and click filled the now silent room, before the door slammed behind her.

“God, that’s fucking hot,” Jon groaned.

“17 fucking days, Jon,” Richie replied with a smirk.

“Why don’t you go have a look out that window, Asshole?”

Chapter Twenty

Agent Mission Log Entry:

It has always amazed me - the way his mind works. He really is quite brilliant; so sad that so few people realize it. In my time, POTUS has the respect of his peers, but it was hard earned. He told me once that for a long time he had been a laughingstock. But, with time, he'd shown them just what he was capable of.

Impressive. That’s what it is - to just watch those gears turn behind those beautiful blue eyes. It’s almost a crying shame that he doesn’t always show his intelligence. Too often, he over thinks things to the point where he doesn’t say anything at all, at least not out loud, but he has whole conversations in his head. Conversations that you can only wish to have been privy to.

The true brilliance comes when you can get him to turn off the censor between mind and mouth, when you push him too far into one of the more volatile emotions...like anger.



“What did you just say?” she asked softly.

Jon frowned at her, unsure if she was still angry or just trying not to spook him into full blown raving lunatic status. And, was that a trick question? What HAD he just said? “Um,” the gears were turning...turning...click. “Oh yeah. I said, ‘You’re still here aren’t you?’”

Quickly, Gabriella’s mind began to race. Was he right? Would she just disappear if he weren’t still destined for the White House? And then, suddenly it was almost as if she heard her POTUS say in her head, “Don’t think about it so hard, Gabbs. It’ll only make your head hurt.” She looked up at Jon and realized from the grin he flashed her that the voice hadn’t been just in her head.

She couldn’t stop her answering smile. “I think you’re right,” she said in wonder. “If someone else were President, I wouldn’t be here.” Then she paused as another thought occurred to her. “Well, unless he or she were in danger from an assassin too.”

He thought about that one for a mere second. “But, then you wouldn’t be here with me,” Jon countered. “You’d be with them, protecting them.” He frowned slightly; was that a pang of loss he’d felt at his own words? Would he even know that she’d been here? Or, would she just fade away like she’d never existed?

She began to pace again, this time not from anger. It just seemed to help her think when she could move her feet as she did so. “You may be right,” she said with a nod for emphasis.

“Of course, I’m right.”

There it was - that arrogance she was slowly getting used to. “Right then,” she began, “we need to set a few ground rules then.”

He frowned again. “What kind of ground rules?”

“There are certain things that as President, you can no longer do,” she started to explain, intending to give him the briefing that all new President-elects received.

“Whoa!” he held up one hand to stop her spiel. “Don’t start that shit,” he ordered. “You need to remember one very important detail,” he paused long enough for her to raise one brow in question. “I’m not President...yet.” He smiled to soften his next words. “I will let you do your job, but please remember that I have a day job.”

Gabriella frowned; of course, he was going to continue to be difficult. “Maybe a few compromises are in order,” she suggested.

He was skeptical. “What kind of compromises?”

Treading carefully, she started to lay down a few rules, tossing them out like ideas. Occasionally, she tossed out one that she knew he’d shoot down, so that he’d accept another, allowing him to think he really had a choice. He was almost as easy to manipulate as her POTUS.

After about ten minutes of compromise/manipulation, he spoke up. “Okay, look. If we’re done with the manipulation portion of the morning, I’d like to go heat up my breakfast. And, Rich’s waiting on me.” He rose from his chair, only awaiting her agreement to leave the room.

He had to wait for her to quit sputtering first. “I wasn’t...,” she paused, then flashed him a self-deprecating grin. “Was I? My POTUS never seemed to catch on,” she said that last part as if to herself.

Jon grinned and shook his head. “I’ve spent the biggest part of my life dealing with women...strong women. I guarantee that I would recognize attempted manipulation at any age, even if it came from a pretty little package like you.”

“Are you saying...”

He interrupted her, “I’m saying that if you try to pull that shit in your time, and get away with it, it’s because I let you. Not because I don’t recognize it for what it is.” He flashed her that little half grin, half smirk that seemed to make the female fans go nuts. “Now, I’d really like to go eat some breakfast. Then I’ve got shit to take care of.”

He started for the door, and she stood up to follow him, asking as she practically had to chase him down the hall, “Do you at least agree to allow me to go first in unknown situations, to check out locations before you enter, and to shadow you everywhere?”

Jon spun around just in time to catch her when she practically fell into his arms, because he’d stopped so quick in front of her. “Baby, you can shadow me any where you want.” He said it with just enough gravel in his voice and a lusty twinkle in his eyes, that she fully understood the innuendo.

“Almost everywhere,” she quickly corrected herself.

He dipped his head just enough to whisper in her ear, his breath causing the little wisps of hair there to dance and tickle her skin. One word made a shiver race down her spine and caused her woman’s heart to skip a beat. “Damn.”

Chapter Nineteen

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I’m risking a reprimand from some future superior by putting this in my report, but I just have to bitch to someone and this slightly sloppy composition notebook seems to fit the bill.

POTUS pisses me off...NO END!

I’ve been known to get aggravated with him occasionally in my time, but nothing like this version. Somehow, this past version of POTUS manages to get on my last nerve without actually trying. Then, I become quite insubordinate - bordering on homicidal rage. Well, okay...maybe not that bad, but I HAVE wanted to kick his ass and take him down a peg or two.

But, it REALLY pisses me off when he’s right.



Gabriella was still in the hallway when the two men came out of the office laughing and joking like this was any other morning and an assassin wasn’t after one of them.

“Sir,” she began, but quickly corrected herself, “Jon, could I speak with you in private, please?” There was only the slightest pause before that last word, then her voice was drenched in sweet sarcasm when the last word fell from her slightly smiling lips.

Women were such a big part of his life, Jon had no trouble recognizing the emotion behind her voice. He looked at Richie, rolling his eyes at Gabby - making Richie chuckle. “There’s coffee in the kitchen, Rich,” he said, smiling, “and if you haven’t eaten, get Janet to make ya something. I’ll be with you in a few.”

Richie nodded and started down the hall. He tossed back over his shoulder, “Even if your ass is in a sling?” He didn't expect an answer and didn’t get one.

Without another word, Jon followed Gabby into his office, even closing the door behind them. He fought back a smile. Usually, when this room was used for an ass chewing, he was the one doing the chewing. He found her arrogance attractive - yeah, he was one sick puppy.

Gabriella had stomped across the room, only to spin around to face him once the door clicked closed. “Do you even understand the concept ‘top secret’?” she demanded.

With a smirk, he shook his head. She honestly didn’t know anything about him. Now, he told her so. “If you knew me at all, you wouldn’t have to ask that question.” She scoffed, and he went on, “I’m one of the most secretive people you will ever meet, but I’ve never had to keep a secret from that man - never will. Because better than ‘Top Secret’,” he made air quotes around the words, “Rich and I understand the concept of ‘to the grave’.” She opened her mouth, probably to argue with him, but he held up a hand to stop her words. “I’m through explaining myself to you. You’ve already told me that in your future Richie’s not around, so it’s understandable that you don’t realize just how close we are. But, I will not justify anything to you. I told him what’s going on - it’s done. Get over it.”

She was so mad, she actually sputtered. “Get over it?” she finally managed to get out. “I’m here to protect you, but you’ll be guaranteeing that this is a suicide mission for me if you go around telling everyone why I’m here.” She waved her left hand in the air before dropping it to her side so hard it made a slapping noise when it hit her thigh. “Fuck, why don’t you call the papers? I’ll probably end up locked in some dark corner of Area 51, while they try to figure out how I got here. And you won’t even care - until I’m not here to stop that bullet with YOUR name on it.”

“I would care,” he argued, but she didn’t hear him. Nope, she was on a tangent and building up steam.

Jon just let her rant while he enjoyed the view. For probably the thousandth time since he met her the night before, he wondered about his future self and how he coped with working day in and day out with this dynamic, sexy woman. He even let his mind wander to the topic of Richie’s death. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it would be like to lose his friend, but he supposed like all amputees he would’ve had to figure out a way to cope.

Wait. What had she just said? Something about things being completely fucked up.

“I should be having to pry you out of the bottle you crawled into when you ‘lost your right arm’,” she made air quotes around the phrase he had used to describe the loss of his friend. “But, no! That’s not exactly what’s happening now is it?”

A bottle? “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded.

For a split second, she frowned at him in confusion, as if she was surprised by him butting into the conversation she’d been having with herself, but she picked up her train of thought again quickly. “The one time you were willing to talk about this subject, you told me that when Richie died you crawled into a bottle and didn’t come out for days, not until David pried you out of it for the funeral.”

He wanted to deny her words. Would he be that weak and selfish? He liked to think he was stronger than that, but losing Richie just might make him go off the deep end for a few days.

“None of this is happening the way it’s supposed to,” she announced, glaring at him. “And, it’s all your fault.”

He was getting really tired of being blamed for all the wrongs in her world. His face darkened to a scowl. “I’m getting sick and fucking tired of being your fucking fall guy,” he told her. “And that fucking song is starting to sound too much like whining.”

She seriously resented that! Borrowing one of her POTUS’s favorite insults for David, she growled, “You sorry waste of a good fuck,” she pointed at him with one long finger, almost wishing it was her Sig. “I do NOT whine.”

“It sure sounded like you were, and as your future boss - I’m ordering you to knock that shit off.”

“We don’t know that you’re even still gonna be my boss. You might not become President now!”

Fuck. She really had a way of getting on his last nerve. “You’re still here aren’t you?”