Defiance (The Protectors #9)(39)

“Clearly,” he said, and I fought the urge to punch him in the arm.

“You know what I mean.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then tell me the abbreviated version.”

“Later,” he said. “Go talk politics – he loves that shit.”

“I can’t talk politics with the president,” I said fiercely.

Vincent laughed, actually laughed, and shook his head. “Fine, then talk about reality dance competitions. You’ll never get him to shut up.”

“I heard that,” Everett said.

“Should we set a place for Grady?” Vincent asked as he began sautéing the beef.

Everett let out something that sounded like a mix between a curse and a growl. “Bastard took an early retirement. Moved to Florida to be closer to his seven grandkids. Can you believe that?”

“That he moved to Florida?” Vincent drawled.

“No, smartass, that he’s got seven grandkids.” Everett began plunking silverware down next to the plates. “He must have been practically a baby when he started having kids.”

“Isn’t he like five years younger than you?” Vincent asked, a small smile flitting over his lips.

“Seven years, you asshole. Which means he’s only a few years older than you. Seven grandkids.”

It took me a moment to realize the men were grousing about their ages. From what Everett was saying, he was only ten years older than Vincent, which put him near the sixty mark. While the man might not be as built as Vincent, he was still gorgeous. Thick, glossy salt-and-pepper hair, a little bit of scruff on his wide jaw, stunningly bright blue eyes, and a fit body that filled out his dress pants and button-up shirt beautifully. It wasn’t until I sensed Vincent’s eyes on me that I realized I’d been staring at the older man. Vincent’s knowing smile said he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.

“They assigned me a new one.”

“A new what?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t stepping on any toes. But I was completely clueless as to what they were talking about.

“Secret Service agent,” Vincent responded.

“The snot-nosed little shit’s turning the house upside down with all his security measures. He’s convinced I’m the target of the next great terrorist plot.”

“Was there a threat or something?” I asked.

Everett waved his hand as he returned to the island and took another swig of his beer. “He’s looking to prove himself. He pissed off some muckety mucks somewhere along the way and he’s doing time in purgatory.”

“What did he do?” Vince asked.

“Rumor has it, he slept with the VP’s daughter…the VP’s barely-legal daughter.”

Vincent laughed before saying, “Fuck purgatory. He’s going to burn in suburbia until you send him into early retirement like you did Grady, or till you’re six feet under.”

I watched in astonishment as Everett punched Vincent’s upper arm. “Nice,” he said. “And I didn’t drive Grady away. We had an understanding.”

My belly did an insane flip-flop motion when Vincent cast his eyes in my direction and rolled his eyes.

“You know new guy probably put a tracker on your car.”

“Yeah, I know. That ungrateful shit Grady probably warned him I liked my alone time.”

“Alone time?” I asked.

“Everett has a habit of ditching his Secret Service detail. He ropes his household staff into helping him.”

“Staff,” Everett snorted. “It’s Helga and Jeremiah,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You’re making me sound pretentious, Vincent.”

“Shut up, old man,” Vincent returned. “No one’s buying your “aw, shucks” act.” Vincent glanced at me as he began searching out a bowl in the cabinet next to the stove. “Everett’s sharp as a tack, even for his advanced age. He pretends he’s all about making pottery and babying his prize-winning roses, but it’s complete shit. He could just as easily walk into the situation room at the White House and take control of whatever fucked-up shit’s going on there.”

I shifted my eyes to Everett, who winked at me as he finished his beer.

Before I could say anything, Vincent’s phone was beeping.

“There’s your man,” Vincent said. “You tell him the rules?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Everett asked. Vincent shook his head which had Everett saying, “I told Grady to tell him.”

Vincent turned the stove off, and then he walked over to a small monitor on the wall near the entrance to the kitchen. I followed him and saw him punch a button on a digital panel next to the monitor. I could see on the monitor that a dark sedan was sitting in the driveway. The first gate opened and the car immediately pulled in. The gate closed behind the car, but when the second gate didn’t move, the driver began honking his horn and then an arm came out to hit a button on the small metal post just before the gate.

“Yes,” Vincent said, his voice holding none of the mirth it had a moment ago.

“United States Secret Service,” the voice said sternly. “Open the gate.”

“What’s his name?” Vincent asked Everett.