Interlude- First Noel Page 14

  “Hey.” He let his eyes travel down Jack’s body, over the tux that fit him so perfectly well. “Hanging in there?” Jack had spent a few hours in the photo line.

  “Doing better now.” Jack winked and took a sip of his own champagne. “So.” His eyes twinkled. “What’s a gorgeous guy like you doing in a place like this?”

  Ethan laughed, throwing his head back, as Jack kept smiling. “You trying to flirt with me, Mr. President?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Mmm, I’m afraid I’m already taken, Mr. President.”

  “Is that so?” Jack’s eyebrows shot straight up.

  “By the most amazing man. He’s absolutely perfect.”

  “Do tell me more about this great man.” Jack’s eyes glowed. “Will I have to have him taken out?” He stepped close enough that their sides brushed. “I’m the president, you know.”

  “Nothing could pull me away from him, Mr. President.” It was a joke, their flirting, but Ethan’s voice dropped, almost like he was vowing. He swallowed, and his eyes caught on the gazes fixed their way, and how half the room was staring at them and pretending not to. “He’s got a smile that makes me weak in the knees.”

  Slowly, Jack smiled. “Oh yeah?”

  Ethan’s knees wobbled. “Oh yeah.”

  Their eyes met and held as Jack took a sip of his champagne, his Adam’s apple rising and falling. Jack reached out, tracing one finger over the back of Ethan’s hand. “I really want to dance with you,” he whispered.

  Ethan balked. He stared at Jack, his jaw dropping. That was not surreptitious. That was not staying out of the limelight. That was not being circumspect. That was nothing they had agreed on.

  What would happen to Jack’s presidency if they were more forward? If they stepped out into the spotlight? Senator Allen was already beating the drums against Jack for nothing more than their very secretive relationship and one public kiss on the White House lawn after the attempted coup. They were trying to salvage Jack’s career, not sink it further.

  “Jack… I thought―”

  Jack stepped back. “You’re right. Sorry.” He shook his head. “I forgot it’s not all about me. Your career matters, too. Rebuilding at the Secret Service.” He took a quick sip of champagne and watched the band play.

  “I don’t care about that. It’s your presidency that’s more important. That asshole senator is here. I don’t want to give him anything to use against you.”

  Jack’s big blue eyes turned back to him. “Nothing is more important than us, Ethan. And no one can ever use you against me.”

  Ethan’s heart stopped. “Jack―”

  “I want to be with you,” Jack whispered. “Really with you, Ethan. Like this isn’t a scandal. I want you by my side in those photos I just had to take. I don’t want you hanging out in the corners. I don’t want you to be my dirty little secret.”

  He stared into Jack’s eyes, filled with a mixture of love and aching sadness.

  “I guess we do what we have to do, though,” Jack whispered again. “Right?”

  Ethan reached for Jack’s champagne and set it and his own on the windowsill behind him. Jack froze when Ethan held out his hand. “May I have this dance, Mr. President?”

  The brass band was playing a swing rendition of “Jingle Bells”, and the dance floor was crowded. Guests, though, were paying attention to Jack and Ethan, and more gazes had turned their way.

  Jack took Ethan’s hand. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Ethan led Jack to the dance floor. “But you’re going to lead.” He stopped, and a space seemed to clear for them. Jack’s hand fell to his hip and Ethan gripped Jack’s bicep. Their hands rose.

  Jack stepped off, leading Ethan in a simple sway-and-swing as the band played on.

  Cameras flashed, press photographers, cell phones, and personal cameras going wild. Jack beamed, though, staring into Ethan’s eyes, and Ethan gazed back, transfixed by Jack’s radiant joy. His cheeks ached; God, he was smiling wider than he ever had.

  Eventually, the band wound down, transitioning to a slower song, a wailing jazz blues version of “Silent Night.” Jack pulled Ethan close, tucking their heads together, and rested his hand on Ethan’s back. Ethan mirrored him, cradling Jack’s other hand against his chest, and they swayed as one, no space between them, moving together while the music carried them away. Jack’s cheek pressed against his. Ethan closed his eyes.

  More room opened up on the dance floor, a bubble surrounding them as the crowd watched. Ethan could feel their stares, could feel their questions, but he pushed it all away and nuzzled Jack’s cheek.

  A moment later, he felt Jack’s lips press against his skin. Grinning, Ethan pulled back, gazing at Jack as the rest of the world faded away. Jack was smiling that wondrous smile of his, the one that made Ethan’s heart beat faster and convinced him to break all his own rules. They gazed into each other’s eyes as they kept dancing, their foreheads resting together, and traded soft kisses in between smiles and gentle giggles.

  It was all over the front page of every newspaper the next morning.

  Their dancing was newsworthy, apparently, crowding alongside reports of the military buildup in anticipation of the coming invasion against the Caliphate and the media’s speculation of when it would occur. The trashier papers openly speculated about their relationship, calling the dance into question in light of the weeks and weeks of gossip about them being on the rocks and about to call it quits. More stately news organizations printed the photos and commented on the historicalness of the occurrence.

  The best papers chose the photo that captured the light in Jack’s eyes, his love and wonder and joy, and the bashful smile Ethan had, as if he couldn’t hold his happiness in.

  Scott had a copy of that photo―a front-page blowup that covered half the sheet―on his desk in Horsepower the next morning, Christmas Eve. Ethan spotted it when he walked in The agents there all clapped good-naturedly.

  Scott rolled his eyes. “You gonna bother us all today?” He pulled Ethan into a quick hug, though, and tugged out a chair for him.

  Jack was still the president on Christmas Eve and still had a day of work to take care of. He’d promised Ethan, over lingering kisses and an extreme reluctance to leave their bed, to be out of the West Wing by early afternoon. Ethan had laughed and shooed him away.

  He had his own missions to take care of.

  “Did you bring it?”

  “Yeah, of course I brought it.” Reaching behind him, Scott pulled a shopping bag from under his desk. “The guys at the scanners thought I was nuts.”

  Ethan grinned. He’d shipped his Christmas gifts for Jack to Scott and asked him to bring them to the White House so he could smuggle them in without Jack knowing. Scott had grumbled, but agreed.

  Inside the bag, a teddy bear in a dark suit and tie sat next to a smaller box wrapped in navy satin and tied with a white bow. He pulled both out and set them on Scott’s desk.

  “Why the hell are you giving the president of the United States a teddy bear?” Scott’s gruff voice tangled with his skeptical frown, and he glared at Ethan across his desk.

  “Because.” Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a package of white kids’ shoelaces curled into a stiff spiral and a travel sewing kit. “It’s going to be a Secret Service agent teddy bear.” He grinned at his friend. “And he will love it. Do you have scissors?”

  Scott groaned and tipped his head back, rubbing his hands over his face as a few agents standing around them laughed out loud at Ethan’s foolishness. “You’re ridiculous,” Scott grunted, tossing a pair of scissors across his desk.

  Standing, Scott shook his head at Ethan, but his eyes were bright. “I’m gonna do rounds. Don’t burn down my White House, Salad Reichenbach.”

  “Your White House?” he scoffed. “It was mine before yours!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The door slammed shut behind Scott, sealing Horsepower off from the White House. The rest of the agents within fa
ded away from Ethan, back to their duties―watching monitors, manning radios, and interfacing with H Street and intel squads. The low hum of Horsepower continued around Ethan, and in the dim light of the bunker, he got to work.

  A few cuts later, he had a spiral-curled spring of shoelace stretching from behind the teddy bear’s ear to the collar of his dark suit. He stitched the shoelace into the bear’s seams, tying the knots tight, and then sat it on the desk.

  The bear was ridiculous, and totally cheesy, and he felt like a complete sap just sitting in front of the damn thing… but Jack would love it. It was a Secret Service bear.

  Just like him.

  “I hope that’s not all you got him.”

  Ethan jumped. He glared at Scott, hovering over his shoulder. “No. His real gift is that.” He jerked his chin to the blue satin box.

  The satin was dark and the white bow just a decoration, curving around the lid. Scott reached for the slim box and flipped the hinged top. He whistled.

  “There’s a long history of first ladies giving presidents watches,” Ethan grunted. He pressed his lips together, rubbing them back and forth. Shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea.”

  “Nice watch.” Scott snapped the lid closed and set it―carefully―back on his desk. “You looking for an upgrade in your status?”

  “Shut up. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t even know if he’ll like it.”

  “He will.” Scott reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a rolled-up white paper bag with the seal of the White House Gift Shop. “Got you something for your bear.”

  Ethan reached in and pulled out a pair of the toddler sunglasses the gift shop sold, the words “Secret Service Agent” etched in white on the arms. Something cute for little kids, and a brilliant idea for his gift. He slid the sunglasses over his teddy bear’s glass eyes.

  They just fit, and it completed the entire package. “Thanks.”

  Scott grunted.

  “Hey.” Ethan spun in his chair, squinting up at his friend. “There’s something else I need your help with.”

  14

  Scott pulled the blacked-out SUV into the middle deck of a parking garage down the street from the Hoover building, the FBI’s DC headquarters. He stopped in the middle of a mostly empty aisle of cars.

  Down the line, another black SUV flashed its headlights at Scott.

  “There they are.”

  Slowly, Scott rolled forward, pulling in beside the similarly blacked-out SUV.

  “Be back in a few.” Ethan hopped out the back door, sliding from the darkness of the SUV, and jumped into the front seat of the car they’d pulled up next to. He had a hoodie and sunglasses on, and kept his face downcast.

  “Oh, fuck me,” the driver of the second SUV growled when Ethan shut the passenger door behind him and pulled his hood down. “Collard said he wanted to meet. He didn’t say anything about your dumb ass.”

  “It’s your lucky day, Smithson.” Ethan smirked at the FBI agent beside him. Special Agent Smithson was Scott’s―once Ethan’s―counterpart on the FBI’s top-level intel squads run out of FBI headquarters. If there was a case of note happening in the United States, Smithson would be in the loop on it.

  “What the fuck do you want, Reichenbach?” Smithson leaned away from him, into the driver’s door, as if he could physically get farther away.

  They’d always had a contentious relationship, but even this was extreme. Ethan glared. “Hey, fuck you too, all right? I’m only here because your guys in the Midwest iced me out of an investigation.”

  “Everyone who is smart is going to ice you out, Reichenbach. You’re fucking kryptonite.” He huffed, shifted again. “Say what you want and get the fuck out. I don’t even want to chance anyone fucking seeing us together.”

  “There’s a case in the Midwest region. Your guys have it locked down tight. You’re chasing a woman with the alias ‘Mother’―”

  “Fuck,” Smithson hissed. “You’re not getting involved in that. Fuck you.”

  “I already am involved. Two dead girls linked to Mother have counterfeit bills shoved down their throats. Those bills are my investigation.”

  “And we’ll send you the CliffsNotes version of our investigation when we’re done. Cool your jets, turbo. You can’t save your reputation by popping a couple of counterfeiters, you know. Or by edging into our turf.”

  “I don’t want your turf, asshole. I want this thing done. And I’ve got something you don’t have.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that? A ruined career? Bad fucking decisions, one after the other?”

  Ethan ground his teeth. “I’ve got an asset who is an associate of Mother. Kid who was human trafficked. Knows the vics. Ran with Mother for a while. Let me in on the case. I can work this girl for you guys.”

  “Fuck,” Smithson snapped. His fist hit the steering wheel and he shook his head, staring out the windshield as his face tightened. “You had to get involved in this fucking case, didn’t you?”

  “Did you know about the human trafficking?”

  “We can’t prove it.” Smithson cursed again. “You have someone who was actually trafficked?”

  “By another group. Her and others were ‘rescued’ by this Mother.”

  “It’s all fucking connected out there, you know? There’s a reason we don’t want you anywhere near this shit. You could bring it all down. All of it.”

  Ethan stayed silent.

  Smithson grabbed his keys, still in the ignition, and turned them, hard. “I’ll make a call. But know this, asshole. You’re gonna be a ghost out there. You’re nothing. You can’t use this shit to make a new name for yourself.” Smithson glared at Ethan as his lip curled.

  “I’m bringing my partner, too.”

  “The fuck you are―”

  “He’ll be the face man. I’ll be a ghost. Deal or no deal?”

  “Fuck you, Reichenbach. Get the fuck out of my car.”

  “Text Collard when you want to actually play ball. Until then, fuck you too, Smithson.” Ethan slid out of Smithson’s SUV and slammed the passenger door so hard the SUV rocked back and forth. A second later, Smithson peeled out, the car’s black plating brushing over the back of Ethan’s hoodie.

  He hopped into the back of Scott’s SUV and blew out a hard exhale.

  “Looked like that went well.” Scott slid the vehicle into gear.

  “I fucking hate Smithson. I am not sorry to be gone from his shit show.”

  “He’s good with what he does. He and I haven’t had a blowup yet. Not like you and him. Jesus, I think hating the FBI is your personal thing.”

  “They’re pricks.” Ethan leaned back, running his fingers through his hair. “Sorry if I fucked up your working relationship with him.”

  “He’ll get over it.” Scott pulled back into the DC traffic, navigating back to the White House. “Did you get what you needed?”

  “Don’t know yet. He kicked me out.”

  Scott grinned. “That’s FBI-speak for you won. Congratulations.”

  Ethan snorted. He stared out the window until they made it back to the White House, and Scott parked them underground as if they’d never left.

  Jack kept his word and left the Oval Office just after two in the afternoon, kicking out his staff when a slow snowstorm started falling over DC. He headed down to Horsepower and picked up Ethan, who’d been hanging out with the agents he used to serve with, playing a pickup game of Nerf basketball with the hoop suction-cupped to the mirrors in the back.

  Jack good-naturedly played a round with the agents. They went easy on him, and Ethan watched as he perched on Daniels’s desk, grinning.

  They headed up to the Residence after, and Jack steered him toward the Study’s closed doors. He hesitated, though, holding the doorknob and pressing his lips together.

  “I hope this is okay.”

  Ethan kissed his hand, their fingers laced together. “It will be.”

  Jack blushed. He pushed the door open.

  A squa
t Christmas tree, almost as tall as Ethan, stood next to the crackling fireplace. Simple decorations dotted the tree, baubles, colored balls and twinkling multicolored lights. Three wrapped packages sat beneath. On the mantel, evergreen boughs stretched across the white wood and two stockings hung from silver hangers shaped like snowflakes.

  One stocking was embroidered with “Jack.” The other, “Ethan.”

  The lights were low, and candles flickered on the tables in front of and beside the couch. Soft golden light suffused the study, already worn and warm and comfortable with old American furniture and portraits of American history hanging on the walls, next to the cranberry wallpaper and bronze sconces.

  “I set everything up in here because I wanted to look at it while I was working in the evenings.” Jack’s hands disappeared into his pockets as he shrugged. “Wanted to think about it. You know. Our Christmas together.”

  Ethan pulled Jack close and pressed a kiss to his temple and then his lips before wrapping him up from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. “It’s perfect,” he breathed. “Absolutely perfect.”

  Jack turned, draped his arms over Ethan’s shoulders, and kissed him back slowly.

  15

  White House

  Christmas morning dawned with DC blanketed in a winter wonderland.

  Jack nuzzled Ethan under the heavy covers, his warm body sliding against Ethan as he slowly woke up. Jack’s hands roamed over Ethan’s body, his shoulders, his chest, down his arms, and around his stomach. Nuzzling turned to petting, and―when Ethan rolled over, pinning Jack to the mattress―petting turned to kisses and slow strokes, their bodies moving as one. They pressed together, from their toes to their endless kiss, rocking while Ethan laced their fingers and pressed their hands to the mattress next to Jack’s head.

  Jack’s eyes blazed. He whimpered, shivering, and cried out when he came. Ethan followed, breathing in Jack’s scent and kissing his hair before burying his face in Jack’s neck.