“Still not taking sides,” Jordan calls out. “Basta.”
I glance back at Leo, who cranes his neck around to look at me.
“Bastafor me, too,” I say. And on that note I open the door and leave the cabin.
CHAPTERSEVENTY-TWO
I’ve never visitedthe Cheyenne Mountain Complex in person, even though I know all about it and have reviewed blueprints and plans and the SOP for emergency bug-outs just like this one.
The entire flight is chilling, not going to lie. For more reasons besides my husband’s foul mood. The very air inAir Force One’s cabin feels thick, stifling. It’s too tense and too quiet and reminds me how incredibly fragile life is.
It’s almost as somber as when I was vice-president and we usedAir Force Oneto fly Lauren’s body from DC to Montana for her funeral after she was murdered.
I wish I could have remained in the White House, even if I was stuck down in the PEOC. I would have put my foot down about it if Leo hadn’t pulled hubby rank on me, and then he and Jordan used fricking logic on me.
I grudgingly admit Leo’s right—me staying in DC isn’t possible after looking at the full scope of this attack. A second wave could be far more deadly than the initial attacks. Local authorities in the DC metro area should be focused on protecting the public, not on protecting me. Especially not when I can plant my ass safely under a well-guarded mountain.
Evacuating me from DC is the rational and expedient choice even though I hate being locked up when our country and its people are literally under attack. It resurrects guilt that I really should deal with one day by sitting down with someone to talk about it.
However, today is not that day.
Tomorrow’s not looking so hot, either.
By sitting down with someone, obviously I mean someone who isn’t Leo or Jordan. I know Leoliterallyis a trained professional when it comes to emotional crap. He’s got a psychology degree. He’s had years of training with the Secret Service and in the private security industry.
He’s also my Master and husband. Frankly, I’m not sure I want Leo knowing this about me. Don’t want Jordan knowing, either. Knowing how much they love me, the other reason talking this out with them isn’t feasible is because I’ll wonder if their views about it are tinged by their love for me.
Except opening up to someone else, even a licensed psychologist or therapist, comes with inherent risks given who I am. How can I be certain they’ll never pierce the veil of confidentiality regardless of what oaths they’ve sworn to uphold? Or how do I know someone won’t hack their files?
I can’t.
Twenty minutes before landing, my husband has spoken maybe ten words to me since we took off, and the CIA director calls the plane’s secure line to let me know Stella and Ellis were safely located on a yacht with ten of their cronies enjoying their anchorage off a privately owned island in the Bahamas that belongs to one of the passengers.
A guy who runs one of the largest pro-GOP PACs out there.
I order they be taken into protective custody for now and shipped to a secure facility at a military base in Georgia.
Apparently that pisses Stella and Ellis right the fuck off, but oh well. I’ll deal with the political fallout from that later. Having them safely under lock and key is one item off my mental plate and I ask that my parents be notified Stella’s safe and sound.
I return to the front cabin where Leo gives me the chilliest glare ever even as I lean in and brush a kiss across his lips before settling in my seat and buckling in. “I love you, Leo.”
He blows out a breath. “I love you, too. Asshole.”
I smile. “You can beat me for this once you’re at full strength. But I’d still make the same call.”
Once we’ve landed and have been transported to the secure facility, I know Leo’s not happy he’s being separated from me and sent on to our quarters but I have work to do. I ask George to take over ensuring my hubby doesn’t try to hurt himself doing too much while I have Jordan, Casey-Marie, and Declan accompany me to what is our temporary command center.
Everyone stands when I enter the room. I find Ciro dressed in jeans and a button-up, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and he looks as exhausted and frazzled as I feel. “Mister President.”
Instead of a handshake I pull him in for a hug him before taking my seat at the head of the table. “Thanks for holding down the fort,” I tell him as everyone settles into their places. “We’ll keep this short and sweet due to the late hour and the fact that I know we all need to catch a little sleep before morning…”
The meeting lasts nearly an hour and there are no major updates. Still no credible claims of responsibility, either, although ten people were arrested for falsely claiming to be responsible.
We’re not fucking around with this bullshit.
I grab two hours of sleep and a shower before I stop in at a meeting of congressional leadership on my way to a cabinet meeting. Jordan’s not happy with me that I didn’t eat breakfast but I really don’t feel like eating.
The confirmed death toll is up to 148, with the injured at 512, counting civilian casualties and law enforcement or other government agents.
