“When?” Ryker asks, rubbing his hands up and down his wife’s back.
It’s been four years, and it still gives me a little jolt when I’m reminded that Ry married Willow. We’re still the Three Amigos, butit’s different. Not worse or better, just different. Ryker retired from professional hockey when Ray died, and moved home to take over the ranch. And then, he and Willow reconnected and fell in love.
Or admitted that they belonged together. I’d seen the writing on the wall for twenty years, but no one listens to me.
“I’m leaving in the morning. We’ll likely be back by tomorrow night.”
“I don’t like it.” She shakes her head again. “Gid, your leg—”
“Is fine. And I’m not asking you to like it,” I remind Willow. “I’m telling you what’s happening. I don’t know how long she’ll be here. I don’t know what kind of shitstorm is going on. And I likely can’t tell you about it once I’m filled in.”
“This is your home,” Ryker reminds me. “You don’t have to ask our permission for this.”
“I know. But you’re my family, and I need to keep you in the loop.”
“Do I have to be nice to her?” Willow asks.
“You’re nice to everyone, sweetheart,” Ryker says.
“She hurt him,” she whispers and buries her face in Ry’s chest. “So I don’t want to be nice to her.”
“She didn’t hurt me,” I say before I can keep the words back. “I can’t tell you more than that.”
I want to defend Lena. I hate that Willow has so much animosity toward the First Daughter. Sure, she caused a lot of irritation in the time that I was on her detail, and I wanted to take her over my knee more than once, but my injury wasn’t her fault.
“I just love you,” Willow says.
“I know.” I smile at her, and her face softens the way it always does when I send a grin her way. “I love you too. This is going to be okay.”
She nods and then sighs. “Fine. I’ll be nice. Until I have a reason tonotbe nice.”
“You’re kind of scary, Trouble.” Ryker lifts an eyebrow.
“I know. I learned it from Gid.”
“Say that again.” My voice is cold steel, my arms are crossed, and I’m staring at Bishop as he rubs his hand over his forehead.
Bishop has been the director of the Secret Service for almost twenty years. I worked well with him in my time here. I trust him.
And he looks fucking exhausted.
“There was a kidnapping attempt by one of our own.”One of our own.“He was taken down during the incident, but there are rumblings that he wasn’t working alone. We need to get Blackbird out of here and hidden away somewhere safe. That’s why we called you. No one would guess that she’s in the middle of nowhere, Montana.”
I shake my head. “You’re telling me there’s an inside job happening? What about the president?”
“What about her?”
“Is she going into hiding?”
“No.” The woman herself strides into the room and holds her hand out for me to shake. “I’m not hiding out. The intel we have says that I’m not the target.”
“Only Blackbird.”
Her chin goes up. “That’s right. There are theories as to why, but no concrete information. I want her out of DC, where no one will look for her.”
“For how long?” I ask.
“Until it’s over,” Bishop replies. “And we have no idea how long that might be. A week. Six months. Your guess is as good as mine.”
