Page 81 of Lock ’N’ Load

Damn, but he didn’t like this. Apparently, though, they had no choice. He looked down into Trista’s eyes, feeling her slight body trembling against his.

So much was left unsaid. So much was in his heart that could never be spoken. “Let’s go, honey.” He took her hand, and they followed Fenway to one of the SUVs.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Trista shivered at the chilly air blowing through the SUV. She and Matt sat in the back while Agent Fenway took a seat in the front. The driver was one of the agents Matt had punched in the face first. The SUV they were in was led and flanked by two other identical black vehicles.

Matt held her hand tightly in his, staring straight ahead through the windshield. His jaw was rigid, as if carved in granite. With her thigh pressed against his, she could feel the tension and rage vibrating in his big body. She pitied the next person who got on his bad side and worried he’d get shot trying to protect her.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, scared beyond belief at what was happening. These men were FBI, but they’d fought Matt and pointed guns at him. She didn’t know whom to trust anymore. Her only rock in this whole mess was sitting right beside her. Physically, anyway, but emotionally, he might as well be on the other side of the world.

“You okay?” His voice was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the fire burning in his beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

“This is all my fault,” she whispered. “If only I hadn’t opened the door. You warned me not to go outside, but I didn’t listen. I was just…upset.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “That’s my fault, not yours. Whatever happens, stay close. Don’t let go of my hand. Okay?”

She nodded, her heart bursting with love for him now more than ever. He’d unhesitatingly risked his life for her more than once. But if they were alive at the end of the day, she would still walk away. Funny how she’d just discovered the biggest conspiracy and news story in decades, and all she could think about was how her life would never be the same without Matt in it.

Twenty minutes later, they drove through Langley’s main gates. Oddly, though, they drove around to the rear of the building, where more black SUVs were parked and guarded by a small army of men in dark suits, all wearing ear wires.

Secret Service?

“Why is the Secret Service here?” Matt growled, voicing her thought.

As far as she knew, the Secret Service was primarily known for protecting high-level political dignitaries.

“Standard procedure.” Fenway got out and opened the door beside her, holding out his hand. But Matt was already out of the SUV and shoving Fenway aside.

“I got this.” As Matt held out his hand to her, his eyes never left Fenway, who put his hands in the air and backed off.

When she alighted from the SUV, he tucked her tightly to his side with his arm around her waist. Again the thought came to her that he would never be able to love her, but he’d die to protect her.

One of the Secret Service agents spoke into a microphone at his jacket cuff. The large metal door opened, and they followed Fenway and two other FBI agents inside. An elevator whisked them to the top floor, which she knew housed the offices of the CIA’s highest-ranking officials. Outside a set of cherry-wood doors, two more Secret Service agents stood guard. At their approach, one of them spoke into his cuff while the other opened one of the doors.

Fenway entered first, followed by Matt, who paused at the entrance. His shoulders were so broad, she could barely see around him. Once inside the enormous office, she saw more people standing to their left. Recognizing one of them, she gasped and backed away. Two hands on her shoulders prevented her retreat.

“You lying son of a bitch.” Matt reared back and slammed his fist into Fenway’s jaw. The agent fell to the floor, groaning.

Instantly, Matt was tackled by five men, two of whom pinned his arms behind his back. Even from his seemingly incapacitated position, he managed to throw two of them off and struggle to his knees, his chest heaving.

“Stop it!” someone yelled. “Let him go!”

The agents released Matt, who jumped to his feet and stepped back, shielding her with his body.

“Sgt. Connors,” the man who apparently had ultimate authority in the room said. “Ms. Gold, please forgive me. Neither of you were ever supposed to be in jeopardy. You have my most sincere apologies.”

“Apologies?” Matt clenched his hands, looking ready to launch like a ballistic missile. “She knows who you are. Who you really are, and you’re trying to kill her for it. So excuse me, senator, if we don’t accept your apologies.”

Senator and U.S. presidential candidate Michael Ashburn sighed heavily and gestured to a large conference table. “Please. I beg you to have a seat. There is much to explain.”

Someone off to the side cleared his throat, and she got her first glimpse of all the other people in the large room. She hadn’t noticed them before.

Stanley Windham, deputy director of the CIA, was flanked by her bosses, Wayne Gurgas and Genevieve Grujot, and another man she didn’t recognize. She’d met Deputy Director Windham during several security intelligence briefings she’d given.

An older woman of about seventy came forward, standing directly in front of Matt. Her short gray hair was beautifully styled, and the cream-colored skirt and jacket she wore screamed political royalty. In response to the woman’s nearness, Matt repositioned himself closer to Trista, still maintaining a protective stance.

Peering around him, Trista recognized the woman from the many photos taken posing with her son on the pre-election campaign trail. This was Senator Ashburn’s mother, Barbara Ashburn. For a woman no bigger than she was, Mrs. Ashburn possessed a soft confidence that she couldn’t help but admire.