Chapter 9

Gabe hadn’t seen Macy much in the last couple of weeks. Crystal, their waitress, had come down with the flu and Macy had to pitch in on the serving schedule. He’d taken Joey and Simon to a new movie and once had dinner alone with her son, but he and Macy hadn’t managed to be together much. They’d had two hurried lunch meetings—a nooner, the guys used to call it—and the lovemaking had been intense, but there wasn’t enough time for cuddling during the aftermath. To talk. To share their lives. The three of them had watched a movie one night, but she’d fallen asleep before he left, so he’d tucked a blanket around her, got Simon settled and locked up.

Tonight after work, he drove to her restaurant. Despite seeing little of each other, he felt secure in the knowledge that she’d be glad to see him. He walked in at dinnertime.

That security feels good, doesn’t it, buddy?

Damn straight.

The room was crowded, both the bar and the tables scattered throughout. Crystal was back from leave, and every seat in the place was taken. He spotted the strawberry-blond head that he was looking for. He threaded his way through the crowd, and when he was a few yards away, he discovered she wasn’t alone.

Peter Camp, tall, blond, trim and fit in a stylish shirt and probably designer jeans. Why hadn’t Gabe changed out of his training clothes? The guy was intently focused on Macy, but he saw Gabe first. Instead of greeting him, the other man’s gaze darkened.

Hmm.

Gabe reached the table and Macy looked up. Her color was highlighted by the pink blouse she wore. “Hi. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

I missed you and wanted to come over.

“Yeah, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” He turned to Camp. “Hey, Peter.”

The man nodded, and his eyes shot sparks at Gabe.

“Want to sit?” Macy asked.

“Sure.”

As Gabe pulled out a chair, Camp scraped back his and stood. Threw some money on the table. Glared at Macy. “This isn’t finished.” He walked away.

“What was that all about?” Gabe asked. But in his gut—his male gut—he knew.

“Um…” She refolded one of the napkins on the table, then looked at him again. “You know I talked to Peter after that first time he came over?”

“Uh-huh. When he told you he’d always been in love with you.” The words were curt, more curt than he intended. It wasn’t her fault she was so desirable. He thought about her coffee date, which he purposely hadn’t brought up with her, never really confirmed, but knew in his heart she’d been with a man. He guessed it was the art teacher she’d mentioned.

“Peter backed off then. I think because he was so surprised when I said there was someone else in my life.”

“Did you tell him who?”

“Not then.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure, but he came over tonight and said he wasn’t giving up.”

“Did you encourage him?”

She frowned. “Of course not.”

He tried to relax, but his spine stiffened. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth. That you and I were involved.”

“And?”

She hesitated. Then, “He said he heard you were joining the PPD. When I confirmed it, he told me I was crazy to set myself up again to lose someone I care about.”

Even though he recognized the validity of the argument, or maybe because he did, anger reared its head. “Fuck him. He had no right.”

“No Gabe, he didn’t. But he is right.”

“You getting cold feet, Macy?” He could hear the challenge in his own voice.

So much for security.

“I’m not. But we have less than two months before the trainees graduate.” He saw the disappointment etch out on her face. “You’ll leave then. Before Christmas.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I have time off? I’ll be back.”

She bit her lip. “But never for good. This is so hard.”

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry.”

“And I hate that you feel you have to apologize for a decision we made together. I—”

His phone buzzed, to the tune of a Gaelic folk song. “I have to get that. It’s my mother’s ringtone.” He clicked on. “Hi, Mama. Everything okay?”

“Aye. So much fuss from all of you for such a little thing.” She referred to the first TIA, which had not occurred again, thank God. All five of them were worried about her.

“Not so little.”

“No more of that.” The lilt of her voice comforted him. “I called to make sure you’ll be here for Thanksgiving dinner. As always.”

“I will. Everybody else coming?”

“Declan and the girls. Connor. Even Nick and Isabelle can make it with the boys.” She hesitated. “You can bring anyone you want.”

He kept his gaze on Macy. “You know, Mama, I might do that.”

After he clicked off, Macy asked, “She all right?”

“Yeah, she said she is. She called to make sure I’m coming to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Ah.”

“I’d like to not go alone this time. Come with me, Mace, you and Simon.”

Lines marred her brow.

“Please.”

“No, Gabe, I don’t think we should do that.”

* * *

“Parameters? What the hell do you mean, parameters?”

Macy was taken aback by Gabe’s stern tone. He’d been acting odd ever since he walked into the bar. She was almost afraid to say what she meant. Almost. “I think we should get real about this relationship.”

His eyebrows skyrocketed. “It felt pretty real all along. To me, at least.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“That’s a tone I haven’t heard before from you.”

“So, I’m a bitch for saying what I think?”

“I never said that, but calling me an ass isn’t exactly nice.”

“You’re mincing words.”

Nothing. Blank. The Secret Service mask. She’d always hated when Spike donned it to avoid an argument. Rising from the table, she crossed to the bar. “I’m going out back for a bit, Sally. I’ll relieve you in an hour.”

Once in the house, she’d started down the corridor to Simon’s room when she remembered he’d gone to Joey’s after school and for dinner. He’d been thrilled with his friend’s invitation. Pivoting, she’d reached the kitchen counter facing the living room when she felt a hand on her shoulder from behind. Not rough. But firm. She stopped. He moved in, aligned his body with hers. Slid his arms around her so she was encompassed by him. His male scent filled her head, and all her muscles and nerves went on red alert.

He whispered near her ear, “I’m sorry.”

“For which thing?”

“Freaking out when I found you with Camp.” He waited. “And for getting upset about Thanksgiving.”

A heavy sigh. Then, “Apologies accepted.”

He kissed her head. “I’m not ready to let you go yet, love.”

Another sigh.

He said, “We aren’t getting anywhere with this, and I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Turning, she looped her arms around his neck. “Then let’s make love, Gabe.”

* * *

He wanted her so much he could barely breathe. They stumbled to the bedroom together. She seemed as much in a hurry as he was as she whipped off her shirt, slid off her slacks and disposed of her underwear. He stood, besieged by need. Grasping her to him, he kissed her. Passion. Anger. Love. They all conflated.

“Clothes, off,” she said raggedly after a few seconds.

He made quick work of his shirt and pants. They fell onto the bed together. He covered her with his body. “I want you too much.” He suckled her breasts.

“I feel the same. Hurry!”

He slid his hand between her body and his, and found her wet and hot.

“Now.”

He didn’t ask if she was sure. Instead, he rolled to his side, scissored her legs and plunged into her. She was his. She would always be his. He was never letting her go. He thrust only once more and she spiraled seconds before he did. Oblivion claimed them both in one big chorus of moans.

Macy surfaced from the most intense orgasm she’d ever had. Gabe was inside her, still, and she realized she wasn’t finished. “Gabe, I want more.”

His mouth was buried in her neck and he didn’t even raise himself up. He thrust his hips forward. Harder, faster until she came again. When she was done, she lay her face against his shoulder. His hand came up to cradle her head, tenderly, so at odds with his explosion of desire a few minutes before. His scent was all male and musk, and his body felt hard and wonderful against her.

She looked up at him. His face was full of satisfaction. She wondered if hers was, too.

After a few seconds, he said simply, “I love you.”

Gabe was shocked to see tears in Macy’s eyes. He’d only seen her cry once before, at Spike’s funeral. Mystified, he drew her closer. “Please, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

She cried harder.

“Aw, sweetheart.”

Finally, she calmed.

“We can go on as if I hadn’t said the words.”

“No, we can’t.” A pause. “I love you, too.”

His heart kicked against his chest. How could he have known how much he wanted to hear that declaration from her? “Thank God.”

“No, no.”

He brushed her hair back. Her hazel eyes were still wet as she peered up at him. “This isn’t only about me leaving the training center, is it?”

“No, it’s more than your absence. It’s what you’ll be doing while you’re away. What could happen to you.”

They’d talked about this when they first got together. Gabe had said he wouldn’t put her in the same position as Spike had. But that was before they fell in love, got so close, and the issue had seemed far away. Intangible. Again, for a brief moment, Gabe wondered if he should pull the bandage off, let the pain be quick and slicing, or should he give them time to find a way to deal with his safety, or lack of it.

So he asked, “What do you want, love?”

“I can’t say the words.”

“You have to.”

“I don’t want you to go to the PPD. I don’t want you in the line of fire.”

* * *

The next morning, after Simon left for school, Macy got ready to go to yoga. She hated having fought with Gabe last night, hated that she was so needy—and that she’d cried, for God’s sake. When Spike died, she’d promised herself she’d never fall apart again. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ever give herself so fully to a man again that he could hurt her so much. And she’d done both.

In the dreary end-of-October morning, staring out at the gloomy sky through the bedroom window, she cursed her actions. Hell. She’d go to yoga and blank her mind, then come away with a new attitude.

Francois, her teacher, perched on his mat, in lotus position, eyes closed, breathing deeply. But when she settled on the side of the room, she heard, “Macy, ma chérie, so glad to have you back.” His voice was hushed as others were getting in the zone.

“Good to see you, Francois. I’m glad to be back, too. Life got in the way.”

Gabe got in the way.

Class started with pranayama. Sitting cross-legged, Macy closed her eyes, inhaled slowly and let the air out.

“Now, hold the breath a few beats after the inhale and make the exhale longer.”

Macy got into the rhythm, breathe in, breathe out, so much so that she was surprised when Francois said, “All right, ease open your eyes now and unfold your legs.”

Well, that was good. She’d managed fifteen minutes without thinking about Gabe.

* * *

While the trainees were attending morning lectures on investigative techniques from the threat-assessment people, Gabe ducked out of the room and headed for the fitness course. He’d need to keep up the strength, endurance and agility he’d built up when he thought he’d be leaving in September.

The morning was cool and wet, the temperature 65. With his luck lately, there would probably be a downpour. Dressed in training sweats, he warmed up with a slow jog. Unfortunately, his mind went right to Macy…

I hate this.

I’m sorry.

She glanced at the clock. I need to relieve Sally.

I’ll come out and wait.

No, I think you should go.

Sweetheart…

Please, we both need time…

So he left. And now was ashamed he’d been thinking Fuck it. If she says she wants me to go, I’ll go. Because today, he understood where she was at. But he was also sick of the seesaw they were on and frustrated by the roadblocks in their way.

He rounded a loop on the field and considered his predicament. His thought about ripping the Band-Aid off resurfaced. Was he being unfair to Macy? He hadn’t allowed himself to think that, but in light of the fact that she’d cried and her confession out loud that she didn’t want him to take the PPD job, he had to consider her point of view. Problem was he believed they could make this work.

Yeah, like she’s ever going to be comfortable while you’re in the kill zone.

The thought made him speed up.

He knew in his heart she’d never do well with the danger he was in and he should never ask her to live that way. Her husband had died on the job.

He should leave her.

God, he couldn’t. Not now.

To exorcise the conflict, he whipped off his jacket, tied it around his waist and began to run fast. Faster. He sprinted around the track three times before his lungs burned and his stomach hurt.

But as he slowed down, the conflict returned with a vengeance.

* * *

Macy noted the two stone lions on either side of the entry to The Capital Grille. As an artist, she admired the lifelikeness of the statues. After walking between them, she opened the heavy wooden door and vowed to enjoy her time with her sister and not mope about Gabe. Her mantra had become Pull yourself up by the proverbial bootstraps.

The inside of the restaurant was dim and cozy with white-clothed tables and small candles in brass containers. A hostess showed her to the table where her sister sat, backdropped by more dark wood and high ceilings. “Hey, sis.”

“Hi, Jo.” She leaned over and kissed Joanie’s cheek. “You look great, as always.” Whereas Macy was tall, slender and light haired, her sister was smaller in stature, curvy and had hair the color of Gabe’s.

“Thanks for coming into D.C. to meet me.”

“I love that we manage lunch in the city every month.”

“How’s Simon?”

“Hanging in there. His week at camp was interrupted by his injury, but he’s over his funk.”

Joanie unfolded her napkin. “Is he still spending time with Gabe?”

“We’re all going out to play paintball and then get pizza tomorrow night.”

“We’ll talk about all this after lunch.”

Early on, they’d set a standing rule: nothing about her son, man problems or Joanie’s work until they’d finished eating. She probably broke the rule today because Macy looked upset.

Macy picked up the menu and perused it. Joanie did not, because whoever’s turn it was to pay got to pick the meal. She smiled when the handsome waiter came over. “Hello, Joan. You’re beautiful as ever.”

“Thanks, Anton. This is my sister, Macy.”

“Ah, just as lovely. Hello, Macy.”

Since they changed restaurants every time, Macy didn’t know the waiter. But he only had eyes for Joanie. She’d have to ask about him.

“We’ll have the pan-fried calamari, two bowls of the French onion soup, and the large spinach salad to split.”

“In that order?”

She looked to Joanie, who said, “Yes, after ten minutes with a glass each of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay.”

When Anton left, Macy wiggled her eyebrows. “He’s got a crush on you.”

“I know. It’s cute. He’s at least ten years younger than I am.”

“Good for the ego.”

“I guess. So, did you see Bloomingdale’s having a big sale on Friday? I thought I could get you those sheets you wanted.”

“Yeah, do that. I’ll reimburse you.”

The wine arrived.

“I finished an interesting book the other day about Justice Ginsburg. You might like it, Jo.”

“I adore that woman.”

The calamari came next. Not much conversation during that. Comments about the food. The restaurant. Other small talk to postpone serious discussion.

When they finished the spinach salad, they put their forks down.

“Me, first,” Macy said. “How’s the gun bill going?”

“The House of Representatives changed their minds.” Joanie glowered. “That damn Speaker. We aren’t done yet, though. It’s hard to believe that with all the mass shootings”—she shook her head - “people don’t do what’s right.”

“Guns are a hot button in politics. You’re up against the NRA.”

After talking about Joanie’s social life, her sister sat back. “Your turn. What’s going on with Gabe?”

Macy felt herself flush. “A lot.”

Raised brows, which meant do tell.

“He went all caveman on me last night.”

“In a good or bad way?”

“Well, we had a fight. Our first.” That made her sad. She told Joanie about his reaction to Peter and the parameters she wanted to set. “The sex was great. But all the conflict came back afterward.”

“You two have a lot to be conflicted about.”

“We do.”

“Why are you pulling back?”

“Because my self-preservation asserted itself. He’s leaving for the same job that killed my husband.”

Joanie sighed. “What did you think was going to happen as the time got closer, honey?”

“That we’d part amicably. I agreed to the affair, but he wants more. And if I’m honest with myself, so do I. He, um, said he loved me.”

“Of course he loves you. Did you say it back?”

“Yeah. It’s true, for us both, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“What do you want to change?”

“Silly me. I want to change him. I don’t want him to take the assignment to the PPD. And that is asking him to change. But I can’t make myself have faith. Believe all will be well. I just can’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I told him.”

“That you didn’t want him to go?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. Which means he won’t give up the job. But he thinks we can still be together.”

“Can you?”

Macy shook her head. “I’d signed on for Spike risking his life without knowing what I was in for. And truthfully, sometimes, when he was gone, I was glad. But I’ll never be glad that Gabe is gone. Or be able to handle his risking his life.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve made a decision.”

* * *

Gabe didn’t stop all day. After the checking in on the trainees and doing paperwork, he went back out to the fitness course and picked his least favorite exercise. Pull-ups. Grabbing on to the bar with a wide, overhand grip, he drew himself up. One, two…five, six…ten…sixteen…

Then he heard, “I been counting. Take a break, buddy.”

His muscles screaming, Gabe let go of the bar and dropped to his feet.

His brother studied him. “Not doing so good?”

He did a few stretches. “Nope.”

“Why don’t you get cleaned up and we can grab some dinner? Isabelle’s having a wedding shower for one of her friends, so I left the house to them.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Forty-five minutes later, they sat at a little restaurant in Beltsville about twenty minutes from Macy’s Place. Nick ordered a beer and Gabe a scotch, strong, straight up.

Nick arched a brow. “Hitting the hard stuff?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, talk.”

“No. I’ve been trying to outdistance it all day.”

“Hence the pull-ups. Okay. I have news.”

“I could use some?”

“I decided what I’m going to do now that I’m done with the PPD.”

“Wow. That was fast. What is it?”

His brother told him about President Manwaring’s new task force. “I’ll be a director, reporting only to the Secret Service top man, but I’ll have a lot of autonomy.”

“God knows, with the spate of attacks on the police, something’s needed in law enforcement today.”

“I think I can effect change.” He explained the training the president wanted with what basically amounted to the instruction given for an AOP. “Law enforcement needs better skills to defuse a situation. To figure out how to deal with an active crime scene.”

“We train for that at Rowley.”

“I know. Jim wants the training for police to be held at the center, too. It would constitute a whole new division, be the prototype for the ones that will be established in training centers across the country. That’s why he picked the Secret Service and not the FBI to do this.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“A good one.”

Gabe didn’t respond.

“He said there’s room for co-directors if I choose. The job is big.”

Something prickled the back of Gabe’s neck. He took a sip of his drink before he responded. “I see.”

“He recommended you.”

“I’m going back on the PPD.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Excuse me?”

“You could take this and not give up Macy and Simon. Live happily ever after.”

Gabe was stunned. “Tell me you didn’t discuss that with the president.”

“He brought it up.”

Gabe slapped his hand on the table, making people glance over. “Jesus Christ. Everybody’s trying to get me out of the Presidential Detail.”

“I’m not doing that. Neither is Jim. He said the White House job is still yours. He thought you might want a choice.”

“I’ve made my choice.”

Nick stared at him. “Yeah, if so, what’s got you tied up in knots?”

“Fuck this.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Don’t ever talk to the president about me again. And let me make my own damn choices.”

Nick lazed back on the chair. “Okay, big brother. Since you’re doing such a good job of it, I’ll butt out.”

* * *

Macy picked up two dinners in the kitchen and, balancing the plates in one hand, headed to the dining room. The spicy kielbasa, hot German potato salad and German chocolate cake had brought in a ton of patrons. Unfortunately, Crystal had experienced a relapse. The poor girl had gone home for the night. Glancing over, she saw people two deep at the door, waiting for a seat. Henry was having a hell of a time keeping up with the orders in the kitchen. And where the hell was the busboy?

“Here you go.” At the table were a man and a little girl. “Sorry for the wait. We’re shorthanded because someone’s sick.”

“No worries. My night with Emma. We’re havin’ fun with the crayons and paper you provided.” He held up his drawing. Stick figures of a man holding a little girl’s hand.

She headed to three tables covered with dirty dishes and started to fill a tub. From behind her, she heard, “Can I help?”

Gabe. His deep voice was comforting, despite what was between them. She turned. “God, yes. Will you bus these tables while I seat people?”

He gave a small smile. “I think I can manage that.”

Once three parties were seated, she asked him to tell those still waiting that drinks at the bar were on the house, then took two orders.

“What can I do now?” he asked when he came back.

“Wait on tables?”

“Yeah, of course. I did that a time or two, working my way through college.”

The place got busier, Gabe helped even more, and Nathan, a retired Secret Service agent who knew Spike, jumped in. The agency was like family.

Saved by the feds, Macy thought as the last customer left.

“Hey, that was fun.” Nathan was a good guy. “Got a job for me?” he joked.

“Anytime, buddy.”

When dinner closed down, she sent Sally and Henry home. Gabe was sitting at one end of the bar now. Hell, she couldn’t even sulk about their fight after he’d helped tonight. So she avoided him for a while. At closing time, she turned off the Open sign and took a seat next to him. She swung the stool around, and when he did, too, she put her feet on the rungs of his. He offered her his beer and she sipped, right where his mouth had been. “Thanks.”

“I’m with Nathan. This was fun.”

“You have better things to do with your time.”

“You were here. Nowhere else I wanna be.”

She kicked the wooden bar with her toe. “You still mad about Thanksgiving?”

“Yep.” He sipped and watched her over the rim of the glass. “You?”

“It’s hard to be, when you helped me out so much.”

“I’m sorry I went off about the holiday.”

“Me, too.”

He set the beer down, lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I had a lousy day.”

“Me, too.”

“Can we table all this? I’d like to go to the apartment and sit on the couch with you.”

“I’d like that.”

Hand in hand, they left the bar.

Looked like the storm had passed.

For now.