Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(80)
Something resembling triumph flickered behind her eyes, and she wiggled my phone for emphasis. A mean smile contorted her lips as she said, “Despite how it ended, I really enjoyed last night. You were incredible. Call me when you can.” She was clearly quoting a text message, and I cringed, horrified and embarrassed. “You forgot to tell her not to send any incriminating texts until you got your phone back. Not to mention, you didn’t do a very good job hiding the evidence.” She gestured toward my throat as she snidely said that.
Okay, so she hadn’t been looking at the wire for my surveillance kit. She’d been scouring for telltale traces of my night of passion with Allison. And even though it’d been days, and the mark Allison had left on me had faded considerably, Lucia didn’t miss it. I’d never hated the fact that my fair skin bruised so easily as I did now. And I’d never been so disappointed I’d so poorly judged another human being. Why the hell had she been reading my text messages? What happened to honor and respect for someone else’s privacy?
Lucia and I stared at one another, the atmosphere between us thick with tension. I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t meant for her to find out like that and was sorry she was upset. But I also wanted to lash out. She’d broken up with me—after she’d slept with someone else. It was no longer any of her business what I did or with whom. I could run naked down Seventh Avenue during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and she should have nothing to say about it.
A click sounded in my left ear, indicating someone was about to transmit radio traffic. “Grayson Follow-Up from lead. Be advised, it looks like we’re breaking up. Stand by for imminent departure.”
As soon as the mic clicked off, the block buzzed with activity. Agents hurried back and forth to their respective cars or posts. Other agents took up positions surrounding the limo. The uniformed NYPD officers on scene rushed to shut down the street for our next movement. One of the hulking black Suburbans raced off to secure the route with a roar. And I suddenly didn’t have to say anything.
“We’re getting ready to move, Luce.” It was time to work. I couldn’t do this with her now.
A bitter laugh escaped her throat, and she sneered. “So that’s it? I ask you what it was like f*cking your new girlfriend, and you run off to play In The Line Of Fire. Nice.”
I barely refrained from shooting back a scathing reply. I wanted to—oh, how I wanted to. But I bit my lip so hard I literally tasted blood. Instead, I reached out to retrieve my cell phone from her hand.
She surprised me again by throwing it down onto the pavement with enough force that it shattered, spewing bits all over the place. Spite glittered in her eyes, hard and poisonous, and she smiled that simpering smile again.
“Oops,” she deadpanned.
I closed my eyes and pressed the tips of my fingers to my temples. I was dying to let her have it. But we were about to leave, and the last thing I needed was the entire detail seeing me get into a knock-down-drag-out shouting match with my ex on a street corner at the arrival-departure area. Talk about an international incident.
I clenched my hands into fists and dug my fingernails into my palms, seized by the urge to hit something. I even gave in and settled for childishly banging the side of my fist into the passenger-side door of my car once. Or twice.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Michael rushing up the block carrying two paper cups of coffee. Perfect timing, because just then someone came over the air and said, “We’re moving to the elevators.” I glanced over Lucia’s shoulder toward the side door to the Intercon.
“Luce, I’m very sorry you’re hurt. But we can’t do this now. You have to get back to your car before he comes out.”
“You know what, Ryan? You can go f*ck yourself. Or f*ck Allison. I don’t really care.” Her voice grew louder with each word, and by the end of that statement, she was practically shouting.
A few people on the street glanced our way—agents and bystanders alike—but no one said anything, which I considered a minor miracle. I looked around to see whether I could identify any threats on the street. The click sounded in my ear again.
“Can someone grab the door?” a breathless voice asked over the air. “I had to take the stairs, and I’m not sure I’m going to make it.”
“O’Connor copies direct. I’ve got it.”
I brushed past Lucia and cracked the door to the limo, threading my fingers between it and the frame to make sure it wouldn’t latch again. I wouldn’t open it all the way until he was out—I wanted to be certain no one would be able to throw anything inside—but I wanted to be able to swing it open quickly once he was.
My head was on a swivel, and my eyes were everywhere at once as I tried to size up everyone I could see with a single glance. I wiped the palms of my hands on my pants one at a time and tightened my grip on the doorframe. I hated arrivals and departures. They edged out my second least favorite place, motorcade choke points, and my third, any scenario involving the protectee in a crowd. I always felt like if something went wrong, those would be the most likely places.
“Coming out,” a voice transmitted over the air.
I glanced around one last time and waited a beat for the delegation to start exiting the hotel before I swung the door open completely. I kept my gaze on the surrounding area and held my breath, waiting for the president to get into the car. He was maybe two feet away when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to finish a conversation he was having.