4:55 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
The White House Residence
Washington, DC
"I hate this," Susan said.
They were standing in her bedroom, the same place where they had been rudely awakened by the telephone-she glanced at the clock-a little more than twelve hours ago. It had been a long, stupid day, full of faraway tragedy that somehow hit close to home, and vague, mysterious threats that might not mean anything.
But the threats had to be investigated, and naturally, superhero Stone had taken it upon himself to go out there and do it.
The heavy blue curtains had been thrown wide by the housekeeping staff, probably sometime this morning, and the last of the weak winter sun shone through the triple-paned bulletproof glass. The afternoon was gone, gray and fading. Night was coming in. The sky would soon be black. The colors matched Susan's mood.
She was tired, she realized. She felt like she could go to sleep now and wake up tomorrow for a late lunch.
"You didn't have to do this," she said.
He shrugged. "It's an important mission. I'm putting my top people on it, including myself."
"Okay, Mr. Arrogant," she said.
Luke shook his head gently and smiled. "Confident."
Susan didn't really want to hear it.
"Every time you go on one of these…operations of yours, I feel like you're never going to come back." She shook her head. "Now listen to me, I sound like a teenager. And I hate that, too. I hate everything about that."
"They're not really my operations," Stone said. "They're everybody's operations. The taxpayers pay for them, I was trained to carry them out, and hopefully they keep the country safer than it would be otherwise. I've been going on them since long before you met me. So far, I've always come back from them."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, in his crew cut, and his dress shirt, slacks, and crazy John Lennon tie. He was square-jawed and handsome, but not the most handsome man she had ever met. How could he be? She had been a fashion model once upon a time, meeting and mingling with some of the best-looking men on Earth.
Stone was tall and he was fit and strong, but clearly other men were bigger and stronger than he was. He was athletic and he was smart, but other people…she didn't need to go any further, she got the picture. Stone was remarkable in many ways, but he wasn't Superman. How did he manage to survive the things that he did?
"I just worry that one day your luck will run out."
He smiled, and he came to her then. "My luck will never run out," he said, "and I'll tell you why. Because it isn't luck."
They embraced, and he was nearly a full head taller than her. She slid her arms around his muscular back.
"Anyway, this isn't really an operation, at least not for me. You heard the generals. We've got more than eight hundred military personnel in that area of the world, including at least a hundred special operators. The generals are going to pick the best of the best from the people they have. Those folks are going to get this weapon, whatever it is. My team is just going to dig up information and provide civilian oversight, which is something you say you want. No more surprises. No more units out there stepping all over fragile relationships and running amok. No more bodies coming home from operations no one even knew existed."
She nodded. "That sounds good. Tell me more."
He shook his head. "That's all I know."
She felt a familiar heat rising in her body now, as she pressed against him. She turned her head up to him and they kissed, long and deep. It was nice.
It was better than nice. It was hot.
She pulled away from him just a bit. Her hand reached up and grabbed him by John Lennon. She pulled on it playfully.
"Say, Agent Stone?" she said.
"Yes?"
"What time is your flight?"
He shrugged. "Whenever my team is ready. Seven o'clock? Eight? The sooner the better, really."
She pulled on his tie again, harder than before.
"Do you have a little time for a secret closed door meeting with your President?"
He reached up and undid the top button of his shirt. Then he smiled. But his eyes were the eyes of a wolf, a predator, closing in on something tasty to eat.
"I always have time for one of those."