Page 11 of Secret Service

“Welcome home, President Walker.”

I pretended to check in with my agent at his post while the president started up the stairs. I had one ear on what my agent was saying and two eyes on Walker, and when he looked back at the turn, pausing with one hand on the railing—

How long did we stay there, staring at each other? It could have been a breath or a lifetime, a second or an hour.

I blinked—

He strode up the staircase without looking back.

The memory plays in my head again, and I curse myself for the thousandth time.

From my apartment, the White House gleams, shining like the crown jewel of Washington’s midnight. Washington isn’t a late-night town, and by now, the traffic has died, everyone has gone home, and nothing but wind slides through Lafayette Park.

If I close my eyes and listen, I can almost hear the radio chirps from the perimeter guards and the footfalls of the Uniformed Division patrols.

Inside the White House, safely within my detail’s protection, Walker sleeps.