“Ah, Nathan, good morning,” Everett said when he turned around. He was wearing a simple black apron that was protecting his dress clothes from the bacon that was sputtering in a pool of grease on the stove.
“Mr. President,” I said as I quickly ran my fingers through my hair.
“What did I tell you about that Mr. President nonsense last night?” Everett chided as he began searching out a couple of plates.
Two plates.
Damn. Where was Vincent?
“Where is he?” I asked before I could think better of it.
Everett’s sharp eyes held mine for a moment. “He had some things to do this morning and asked me to stop by and keep you company.” Everett’s eyes went past me and I turned to spy Nash standing in the hallway leading towards the garage. The younger man’s eyes met Everett’s, but I couldn’t discern the expression in his gaze as they stared at each other. My eyes fell to the gun sticking out from Nash’s jacket.
I swallowed hard. Vincent had let the man into his house armed.
Even after all the crap that had gone down yesterday when Nash had refused to put his weapons in the trunk.
“Where is he?” I asked again, hating the twinge of worry that seeped into my voice.
“I don’t know,” Everett said with a sigh, and then he was turning off the stove and reaching for the coffee pot. “He just said he had some place to be and that if he wasn’t back tonight, to take you back to my house with me. It isn’t like this place,” Everett said as he waved his hand in the air. “But Nash can call in some more agents if needed.”
The fucking bastard had left me.
And I knew exactly why.
All that shit he’d spouted about me being an equal participant…
Anger went through me and I was half-tempted to chuck the mug Everett slid in my direction against the wall. Right after the fury came the stark fear. What if the guy who’d tried to kill me got the drop on Vincent somehow?
“Call him,” I said.
“He won’t answer,” Everett said as he filled his mug with coffee. “I already tried.”
I didn’t know what that meant, nor did I care. But I could tell Everett wasn’t exactly thrilled with the circumstances.
“Bastard,” I muttered. “Not you,” I said as I glanced up at Everett.
Everett smiled and then went to fill my mug. “That he is.”
I put my hand over the top of the mug before he could pour and Everett immediately pulled back. “You said he won’t answer, right?” I asked.
Everett shook his head. “When he’s working…”
I nodded in understanding. I glanced at the watch on my wrist and then quickly took it off. “You might want to go home, Mr. President,” I said as I put the watch on the counter and then reached for the mug.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t,” he said with a smile, and then he leaned back and put the coffee pot down. He grabbed his own mug and took a sip as I proceeded to use my mug to pound the watch into oblivion. Once both it and the mug were destroyed, I went around the island and got a new mug. “Looks good,” I said as I looked at the food Everett had been cooking.
Everett chuckled and said, “I think you’ll do fine, Nathan Wilder. I think you’ll do just fine.”
“Ignore it,” Everett said for the third time to Nash as his phone began ringing. The man had declined to join us for breakfast, though I’d been the one to extend the invitation, not Everett. I had the clear feeling that Everett and his Secret Service agent were at odds, but for whatever reason, Everett hadn’t fired the man after yesterday’s fiasco.
Nash’s phone went silent and Everett’s began to vibrate again. He’d turned it to silent after the first three times Vincent had called, and he’d resorted to turning it over on the table so he wouldn’t have to read the texts that kept pinging on the phone. After smashing the watch, I’d used a chair to reach the singular security camera in the kitchen and had tossed a dishtowel over the thing. I figured if we didn’t move around, whatever motion detectors Vincent had in the house wouldn’t alert him to our presence. I knew I was courting trouble, but I didn’t give a shit. Vincent might have a lot to say to me when he got back, but he was going to get an earful, too.
“Did you ever meet my father?” I asked Everett as I pushed my plate away from me. Despite my certainty that I’d done the right thing, knowing I was going to be confronting a very angry Vincent soon had my appetite diminishing.
“Once,” Everett said. “The White House was hosting this event honoring a young solider who’d been killed saving his unit from an ambush attack. Your father was invited because the young man had been from South Carolina.”