“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.
“Nash?” the other man said.
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“It’s either Nash or Bridges.”
Vincent shook his head. “Where are you getting that from?”
“I remember thinking I miss that show when he introduced himself,” Everett explained. He looked at me and said, “It was a good show, huh?”
Since I’d never seen it, I merely nodded in agreement.
“Ev, focus,” Vincent said.
“Nash,” Everett murmured with a nod.
“First name or last?”
“Not a clue,” the older man said with a shrug.
I smiled to myself as I watched the byplay between the two. Whatever they were to one another, it was something they’d likely spent years building.
Vincent hit the button on the dial pad and said, “What’s your name, Agent?”
“Special Agent Jonathan Nash,” came the response, and then the man was holding up ID. “Open the gate, sir.”
The man’s tone left little doubt what he expected to happen, but seeing the way Vincent tensed up, I knew the fun had come to an end. “Agent Nash, I assume you’re armed.”
“That’s none of your concern, Mr…”
“If you were any kind of agent, you’d already know my name.”
“Fine, whether or not I’m armed is none of your concern, Mr. St. James. I’m here to collect President Shaw and if you don’t open this gate immediately, I will be forced to break it down and you will be arrested for interfering with a federal officer.”
Yep, the game was definitely over because Vincent straightened and then he was striding past the door.
“Bad move, Nash Bridges,” Everett said to himself, and then he was rushing past me. I hurried after both men and caught up to them just in time to see Vincent pull a rifle from the trunk of his car in the garage. He slammed his hand against the garage door opener on the wall between the doors.
“Vincent,” Everett called, but Vincent ignored him and strode out of the garage. “Fuck,” Everett muttered, and then he was striding after Vincent. By the time I caught up to them, Vincent had reached the gate.
“Get out of the fucking car!” Vincent snarled and then he pulled the lever back on the rifle.