At forty-three, Elizabeth Thomas was poised to soon become the youngest U.S. president since JFK, and that meant all eyes were on her, not only because of her age but because she was such an attractive woman. Her short brown hair was a bit too stern and immaculately coiffed for Shield’s taste, but like anyone in the president-elect’s position, she probably didn’t have a choice in the matter. Beautiful, powerful women appealed to Shield because they had something to say and didn’t feel the need to decorate every sentiment with three adjectives. Plus, she found something sexy about their dominant composure, which usually carried over into bed.
“He seems decent,” the agent beside her replied, his accent placing him somewhere from the American Midwest. Like Shield, his eyes constantly scanned the room.
“I guess. When it comes down to it, they’re all the same.”
“I know what you mean. My name’s Joe, by the way.” He made no move to offer his hand, as that would have drawn attention to them. They were communicating so discreetly, in fact, that others in the room were unaware they were even talking.
Shield didn’t feel the need to share her own name. Instead, she checked the time and tapped the watch with her finger.
“Bored?” he asked.
“Numb.”
“How long have you been sitting?”
“Legard?”
“In general.”
“Twelve years, give or take.” In her peripheral vision, Shield caught him lifting one eyebrow.
“Long time,” he said.
“I guess.”
“For the French?”
“For whoever.”
“But you’re with the French SS, right?” he asked.
“I’m not with anyone.”
“Oh. You have a bit of an accent, so—”
“Private security.” It was bad enough that the protection jobs had become tedious and tiring. She despised occasionally having to put up with conversations like this—trivial niceties about absolutely nothing.
To most, she sounded American, but to those who, like her, had been trained to pick up on details, she clearly had a slight accent. He was wrong to peg her as French, though. She’d been stationed in Italy for two months at the age of twenty-three while on her first assignment with the Elite Operatives Organization and had fallen in love with the country. Though it took a while to convince EOO chief Montgomery Pierce to agree to base her there, he finally gave in, and she’d spent her off time the past dozen years at her villa in the mountains of Tuscany.
Joe mumbled all quiet discreetly into the transmitter in his sleeve. “I see. You don’t say much, do you?”
Shield shrugged. “Not if I can help it.”
He smirked and ignored the hint. “I’m with the American president-elect.”
“That’s nice.” They both knew Shield was aware of whom Joe was sitting, but the never-ending need to point out the obvious seemed ever present and ever irritating at functions like this. Shield glanced at Thomas. Maybe some of her irritation had to do with the fact she envied Joe. If she was going to be taken away from the country she loved and halted from doing what she wanted most, then the least she could do was have someone interesting, or at least novel, to guard.
Joe must have read her mind or her eyes. “Not as interesting as you might think,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Europeans have a certain taste for…intrigue that Americans don’t. And definitely not this one.”
“Because European officials are all extramarital affairs, booze, and wild parties?”
“Well, they do seem to have a rep for—”
“They’re just not as concerned about hiding their missteps,” Shield said. “Or they’re not as proficient as the CIA at covering them.”
“You have a point there.”
“I know.”
“This one’s all work and no play,” Joe said of his charge, his tone one of disappointment.
“She’s new and has too much to prove for too many reasons. Add that to the fact that she lost her husband a couple of months ago and she has every reason.”
“Never talks to anyone who’s not family or an official,” Joe went on. “I’ve been with her for four months, and I’ve never so much as gotten a hello or how are you from her. All she does is nod.”
“Why waste words unless you have something to say?”
“Because it’s polite.”
“It’s also fake, since she clearly could care less about how you are.”
Joe smiled. “Fair enough.” He remained blissfully silent for a few minutes, then, “Hey, what time do you get off?”
“Why?”
“I’m free around ten. What do you say we grab some beers somewhere and talk?”
“I have no interest in any of the three.”
Just then, the dignitaries at the table got up, and all the bodyguards—even those in the kitchen and powder rooms—sprang to high alert. Some remained in their positions, while a few made their way to the table. Still others, she knew, were securing the entrance and exits, while the rest positioned themselves in the parking lot.
Joe and Shield both started toward their subjects, who were engaged in a quiet discussion off to one side.
“Three?” Joe asked, clearly confused by her response.
“Men,” she replied as they neared the two political leaders.
As they waited discreetly a few feet away from the pair, Elizabeth Thomas glanced over at them, and her gaze lingered on Shield for several long seconds. That wasn’t unusual since she was the lone woman agent in the room, and the president was a strong proponent of getting more women into male-dominated professions.
Soon after, the politicians ended their chat and separated. She just had to see Legard to his car now, and then she was free to return to her beloved Tuscany.
*
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“There you are,” Marty said to himself when he saw the guy get out of his car and head up the steps to his front door. “Get comfortable, pal.” Marty knew his boss wanted results, and if he wanted to get paid, and, more importantly, keep the Broker happy, he’d better be quick about it. He watched his target go inside and then obsessively checked his watch until exactly twenty minutes had elapsed. “It’s time.”
He waited a few more seconds, until the street emptied, to get out of his sedan. Marty walked casually up the steps to the door and looked around one more time to make sure no one was in view before he pulled the automatic from the back of his waistband. The house was ideally situated for his purposes, set back from the street and with tall hedges that helped conceal his presence from curious neighbors.
The guy inside had barely opened the door to his knock when Marty jammed his size-ten loafer into the gap. “I need to talk to you about a friend.” He pointed the gun at the man’s stomach and, with his other hand, pushed him inside.
“What the—”
“Do what I say and you’ll be fine.” Marty followed him in and locked the door.
“What’s going on? Who are you?”
“I want you to help me with a certain friend we have in common.”
“I’m sure we don’t have any friends in common, so get the hell out of my house before I call the police.” Despite the man’s bluster, beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and his pupils were enormous.
Marty punched him, gun in hand, in the gut. “If I say we do, then we do.”
The guy bent over in pain, trying to catch his breath. Marty grabbed him by the hair and lifted his face. “You okay?” he asked in a bored tone.
“I have some money hidden in the bedroom,” his target managed between coughs.
“Good for you, although if you refuse to cooperate, you won’t need it.”