enemies of the state (9 page)

“A misunderstanding?” Collard’s eyebrows rose. “On whose part?”

“The president wanted a friend.” Ethan set down his beer bottle and leaned forward, elbows on the table. He pierced Collard’s eyes with his sharp gaze. “I helped him get settled in the new routine of being the president. But he knows that there is a line separating us. Separating protectee from protective detail agent. There isn’t a friendship. He knows that now.”

Collard held his stare, not blinking.

Holding his breath, Ethan called on his years in the Army, his years in the Special Forces, to hold his ice-strong focus. He’d sold Collard his revisionist history. It was up to his friend to buy it, now.

After Camp David, Ethan had called Collard and bumped him up while Ethan took over the backend administration. He ran the mobile command post during the trip, sitting at monitors and running with the advance teams while Collard, Daniels, and Inada moved with Jack throughout the G-7. There were no morning workouts. There were no late night conversations. There was no contact, of any kind, between Ethan and Jack.

It hurt, the first few days. He rode back to DC in a different SUV than Jack. He forced himself to not head for the Oval Office or the Residence when they returned. There were agents stationed in the Residence for Jack’s protection, and if he needed a friend, then he could call someone he knew. They weren’t there as rent-a-friends. He’d forced himself to stay in Horsepower for hours, catching up on his paperwork as he bullied his feelings out of his system, as he’d buried his hurt, his want, and his desire.

If he’d watched Jack on the monitors, his eyes lingering on the man’s face, he didn’t have to admit that to anyone. Especially not himself.

They left for Turin the next morning, and it was a whirlwind, as it always was, of calculated movements and choreographed security scenarios, moving the president from one place to the other and keeping a constant watch on him during the event. Casual time was the worst. Jack could be relaxing in the lounge with the leaders of Europe, and the Secret Service would be jockeying shoulders with all the rest of the world leaders’ protective detail agents.

There hadn’t been time to think, much less to feel, and Ethan had operated twenty hours a day on eight cups of coffee, keeping the agents and the protective detail perfectly coordinated, in synch, and on task. When they all boarded Air Force One to head back, Ethan had racked out on a bunk down below in the agents’ ready room and slept through the entire flight.

Two days back in DC, and he still hadn’t seen Jack. He was calling that a success. A painful success, but something that had to happen. Different time, different place, different people, and maybe he would have flirted a bit more. Pushed the limits a bit. Or, maybe not. He’d never been one for straight-chasing. That was just a headache, and not necessary. There were plenty of gay men around. Men who knew they enjoyed other men, who he didn’t have to constantly search out signs and signals with, or try to divine meaning behind gestures or looks or turns of phrase.

No, this was for the best. He was a professional, and he wasn’t going to let something like this interfere in his duties. There were a million fish in the sea. And it wasn’t like he was searching for anything in particular anyway. He wasn’t one for long-term anything. If he had to put a number to it, the length of his relationships could be measured in hours—the length of time it took to rock and roll in bed, get dressed, and slip on out. There wasn’t any point to spending the night after a hot horizontal humping if he wasn’t interested in anything that came after.

Panting after Jack for a one-night stand was out of the question. Thus, he crushed his libido, killed his desire for the man. It was a fantasy, nothing more. Where it came from, he would never know. But what was done was done. He’d washed his hands of the business.

Now, to convince Collard he was through and there was nothing to worry about.

“Did the president ask about me?”

Collard’s eyes widened. Shit, that wasn’t the way to convince Collard that he was over the man, or that Jack knew their boundaries. Ethan scrambled. “I just want to know if he understood the boundary, or if it needs more reinforcement?” God, he could be so fucking stupid sometimes.

“He never mentioned you once.” Collard watched him closely.

Well, that stung. For some reason, no matter how much Ethan convinced himself he was done, through, so beyond Jack it wasn’t funny, he’d find himself wandering right on back to his memories, or getting stung by an offhand comment.
Maybe that friendship actually meant something to you.
How many real friends did he have, anyway?

“Good,” Ethan said, forcing cheer into his voice. He grinned, slouching back in his seat, going for nonchalant. “That’s great. See; things are fine.”

“You going to take over as point man again?”

Ethan’s beer bottle hesitated halfway to his lips, for only a moment. “We’ll see,” he shrugged. “I’ll play it by ear. See how things shake out now that we’re back into our routine.”

Collard was still watching him.

“Look, seriously. It’s fine. It’s all fine. There’s nothing going on, nothing is wrong. There is no ‘danger, Will Robinson.’ The president is doing what he has to do. You’re doing a great job as point man. I’m taking time to get familiar with all parts of this detail lead role, both point man and administrative. It’s all good, Scott. I swear.”

Slowly, Collard smiled. He reached out with his beer bottle, holding the neck at an angle for a cheers. Ethan tapped his bottle against Collard’s and downed the rest.

“You really should go get laid again,” Collard said as he set down his empty beer.

“You know, there are limits to this friendship.” Ethan grinned, shaking his head.

“No, there aren’t. You said once that the best part about being gay was the constant sex. If you’re having a dry spell, then what the hell does that mean for us sexless heteros? Huh?”

“Okay, your sex life goes over here,” Ethan mimed putting something inside an invisible box. “In this box of things we don’t talk about.”

“You didn’t have any limits when you were telling me all about that flight attendant you banged.”

“He was flexible.” Ethan winked.

“Or the lawyer you picked up at that State Dinner two years ago.”

“Scandalous and hot.”

“Or the Georgetown doc you picked up on the National Mall out jogging.
Jogging.
Man, I look like a dying Basset Hound when I’m done with a run, and you can pick people up while jogging?” Collard threw his napkin at Ethan.

Ethan batted it away.

“Why didn’t you pick up some doctor while you were out with your knee all busted up, saving the president from the vegans?” It was Collard’s turn to wink.

Shrugging, Ethan leaned back with a sigh. Why had this dry spell come over him? Until his libido had fired off over Jack, he really hadn’t noticed the sudden change in his sex life, from full speed ahead to barely dog paddling. “Dunno. Maybe I’m just getting old.”

Collard, predictably, snorted and guffawed all at once, an undignified kind of squawk that shook Collard’s small belly. “Yeah, right. You’re getting old. You’re like a GI Joe doll. You gay guys are ageless.”

“Don’t hate.” Ethan winked again. “I’d be happy to share the gay secrets with you, though.”

“I’m good.” Collard stood, along with Ethan, and dropped a hundred on the table. “I like grossing out my wife and daughter with my caveman ways.”

“You blame your farts on the dog, don’t you?”

“Nope. On my wife.”

Laughing, the pair headed out, waving to the hostess as they slipped outside. DC summers were warm, even after the sun went down, and Ethan kept his suit jacket thrown over one shoulder. Collard had his grasped in one hand, wrinkling the collar.

“Hey man,” Collard said, stopping next to Ethan’s SUV. “Seriously. You can call me anytime. Anything you need.” He grasped Ethan’s hand, holding his gaze. “Anything, anytime.”

Ethan pulled him close, wrapping him up in a one-armed, backslapping man hug. “Thanks, Scott,” he said softly, into his friend’s neck. “Really. Thanks.”

Collard pulled back, shuffling his feet and smiling in that uncomfortable way men did when they were overly emotional with one of their male friends. “You should come over soon. We’ll cook dinner for you. Liz can irritate the hell out of you with her teenage drama. We can get drunk and yell at the TV. Stacy can roll her eyes at us. It will be great.”

“Sounds good.” Ethan laughed, beeping his car to unlock it. “Want a ride to the Metro?”

“Nah, I’ll walk.” Collard slapped his shoulder once more. “Have a good night. See you at the office.”

Ethan waved as Collard headed off, ambling down the street to the National Archives Metro station. He hopped into his SUV after Collard disappeared down the Metro stairs, but he sat, idling, as he sighed and leaned back against the seat.

No, he wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to remember the past few months, or think of Jack’s smile, or his laugh.

Shifting the car into gear, Ethan pulled out into DC traffic and turned north on Pennsylvania Ave toward 12th Street. The White House passed by on the left, white marble gleaming across the lush lawns, fountain burbling in front of the Residence. He hesitated at 12th Street and Massachusetts Avenue. A right on Mass Ave would take him to 18th Street and up to Adams Morgan, the gayborhood, and his hunting grounds. He could go tonight. Find someone to go home with—or not go home with, but slip into the back with—and break this dry spell.

Or, he could turn left on I Street and head for home in Foggy Bottom.

A car horn honked behind him.

Ethan turned left on I Street. Jack’s smile stayed in the space behind his eyes.

* * * * *

He was up ungodly early the next morning, still out of sorts from the trip to Turin. It was pitch black outside, and as quiet as a major metropolitan city could get. Car horns honked as tires slapped against the pavement and engines hummed, the nightlife of the city dragging on. Too early to run, Ethan dressed in his suit and headed down to his condo’s garage. It was never too early to start the day, and at this time, there’d be no traffic on his commute. Ethan shook his head at his own lame joke.

The White House was quiet at four in the morning, but not empty. He badged through the gate, waving to the uniformed agents manning the gatehouse, and parked down in the garage. A cup of coffee, and then he’d hit the stacks in Horsepower. Maybe he’d even get ahead of the curve for once.

Whistling as he walked, Ethan spun his keys in his hand as he headed into the White House Mess.

He stopped dead, frozen in place, when he saw Jack leaning against the stainless steel coffee counter, hands braced in front of him, head bowed low. His suit jacket was off, tie undone and gone, left behind somewhere, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, messy and undone. His eyes were closed as he breathed deeply, leaning over a cup of coffee.

“Mr. President?” Ethan inched forward, one eye on Jack and the other desperately searching for the detail agent who was supposed to be in the room with the man. He wasn’t supposed to be wandering alone. He always had an agent in the room with him, other than private spaces and security-cleared areas. Where the fuck was his agent?

Jack snapped up, eyes wide and surprised, as if just waking up. He stared at Ethan for a long moment and then frowned. “Ethan?”

“Sir? Are you all right? What are you doing here?”
And where the fuck is your protective detail?

Jack blinked fast, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Damn,” he sighed. “It’s been a long evening.”

Evening?
“Sir, it’s zero four thirty. Have you slept at all?”

Groaning, Jack shook his head. “That explains it. Nope, no sleep tonight. Been in the Situation Room since seven last night.”

That wasn’t good. Ethan hadn’t turned on the radio on the drive in, listening instead to his MP3 player. If another 9/11 had happened, he was woefully ignorant of it. “What’s going on, sir?” He hesitated. “And are you all right?”

Jack finally turned to him, meeting his gaze. A sad smile played over his lips, tired but warm. “I’m fine, Ethan. Thanks for asking.” He inhaled the steam from his coffee mug before taking a sip. “And what happened was—”

“Actually, sir, I shouldn’t have asked.” Ethan tried to wave him off. “That was a slip of mine. Please. Don’t answer.” So much for his professional boundaries. They were mocking him in the back of his mind.

Jack shook his head, dismissing Ethan’s protests. “Nonsense. You know I value your input. I’ve wanted your advice about a few things, but haven’t seen much of you around.” Another sip of coffee, as Ethan cursed himself for the rush of pride warming his spine at Jack’s words, right next to the curl of his intestines, cringing. “We put a few LCSs into the Med, the
Freedom
and the
Coronado
, as part of a rotation with NATO to spot check transports and cargo haulers. Try to stem the flood of piracy, human trafficking, and arms smuggling going across that place, especially in the Eastern Med. Well, one of our ships stopped an unflagged cargo hauler with containers supposedly bound for the refugee resettlement zones in Germany, Austria, and France.”

Ethan busied himself with filling up his own coffee cup. Jack didn’t move, and Ethan ended up side by side with him, leaning back against the steel counter. “Let me guess,” Ethan grunted. “Not food and blankets?”

“Assault rifles, RPGs, grenades, and machetes. And the Caliphate just issued another fatwa, urging immediate attacks against the west. French police took down a refugee that had homemade dynamite strapped to his chest.”

“Shit.”

Jack nodded. “Another piece of bad news for the refugees.” He sighed. “The Caliphate also say they have another six hostages, but they won’t release the names or the nationalities.” Jack squinted at Ethan, scrunching his face up in a grimace. “Paris and Berlin are shitting themselves. Europe as a whole is freaking out, asking how many crates of weapons slipped through that we don’t know about. The counterterror teams from France and Germany are banging down doors and questioning everyone on their watch list. MI6 is flying to the continent now to share any intel they have.”