"Henry said he'd be leaving around eight tomorrow morning," he told her as he rummaged through his duffel for the charger to his laptop.
"And Mike?" She asked as she leaned back into her chair.
His eyes lifted up. "He's about an hour out."
She groaned.
He cocked a brow. "You still have time to run away," he joked.
In two months, she would announce her candidacy for the Presidency of the United States. Until then there was work to be done.
"No running," she mumbled.
She'd been fidgety on the drive out here. Apparently, before that too because Henry wasn't the only one who directed him to keep a careful eye on her. She seemed in the mood to duck out of town, even this one.
He pushed his bag to the right— charger forgotten. "Well—" He huffed as he sank down into the chair across from hers. "The next hour or so is yours. Have anything you'd like to do?"
He watched as her eyes squinted, presumedly thinking of how much trouble she could get into in sixty minutes. Her fingers tapped against the table. Another moment passed before her face softened, and she smiled.
"Ice cream," she said.
He shouldn't be surprised. "I can run out if you'd like." He should have thought to stock the freezer.
"No, no," she waved off. "I'll go myself." She pushed up from her chair and smoothed down her sweater.
"I can't let you do that," he responded without a second thought. He could already see the pout forming on her lips.
Her brow pinched. "Why not?" She asked as she snatched her coat from the back of the chair. "I'm a free woman now," she smiled. "At least for the next eight weeks."
She'd be assigned another detail after she announced, this time Secret Service. She was too big of a player to go without protection. For their sakes… Henry. His. Mike. Her being surrounded by no less than four people at all times was a blessing. But these next eight weeks? Keeping tabs on her was already proving to be more difficult than they'd imagined. And today she was his responsibility.
Instead of making some quip about how she would never be free of him, he said, "I promised I wouldn't let you out of my sight."
"You going to follow me into the bathroom too?" She teased as she turned and passed through to the living room.
He stood and followed. "If I feel you're going to pop a window, then yes."
"I don't need a babysitter," she said over her shoulder. She was headed for the front door.
"How do you plan on leaving?" He asked once her hand had grasped the door handle. "You don't have a car," he reminded. He'd driven her out here. The keys were still in the front right pocket of his pants.
Her hand dropped to her side, and she turned, facing him with a fake smile plastered across her lips. She held out her palm. "Hand them over."
"No?" It felt wrong, though he'd spent the better part of the last six years telling her no.
She stepped towards him. "Blake," she said.
It was a warning. A reminder of who was the boss here. He wanted to laugh. She thought she was in charge.
"It's not happening," he told her.
"It is if you want to sleep in this house tonight."
~MS~
How he'd ended up in the passenger seat he didn't know. He sat, regretting every life decision that had gotten him to this point. His fingers gripped the grab handle as he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Slow down," he muttered as his body swayed in his seat. She took the turn hard.
He thought one upside of living out in the middle of nowhere was the lack of cars on the road. The number of people she could kill had dwindled down to two.
Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes and glanced over to the speedometer. "Jesus Christ," he gritted through his teeth. "Elizabeth you're pushing seventy-five."
He watched as her hands tensed and then relaxed against the steering wheel. "It's empty land for miles," she said. "We're fine."
They're fine until the cruiser hidden away behind a tress is missed even by the high beams.
The red and blue lights reflected in the rearview mirror.
"What do I do?" She sounded a tad panicked. He had a hard time believing she'd never been pulled over before.
He waved a hand to the right. "Slow down and pull over," he instructed.
As she rolled down the window, he couldn't help but imagine the news headlines when the press got a hold of this. Former Secretary of State and Presidential candidate Elizabeth McCord recklessly driving through the streets of Virginia.
The officer was approaching from the left now. Maybe a speeding ticket would be good for her. A needed reality check.
A flashlight was being shined into the car, and he couldn't help but squint.
The man leaned down and asked, "Ma'am do you know why I pulled you over tonight?"
He prayed she skipped over the smart aleck remark.
The officer didn't give her a chance. "You were going seventy-six in a forty. Under Virginia law 46.2-862, anyone driving in Virginia is guilty of Reckless Driving when operating a motor vehicle on a Virginia road at a speed of twenty miles per hour over the speed limit."
Holy fu— She was screwed. He was screwed.
"That's a class one misdemeanor," he explained. He felt as his stomach fell. "I'm gonna need your license and registration."
He opened the glove compartment and fingered through a folder for the papers. He pulled out the vehicle registration and the insurance card.
"We have a problem," she whispered as he handed them over.
"A big one," he told her.
"No, I—" She turned back to the window. "I don't exactly have a license," she said. "I do. I did. It's uh well expired at this point."
Of course, her license was expired. She hadn't driven in the past six years. No need to renew it.
The officer made a face. "You're tellin' me you're driving without a valid driver's license?"
"Look," she began. "I'm Elizabeth McCord, the Secretary of State." She paused. "Well former Secretary of State as of three days ago."
He laughed. "And I'm the Defense Secretary," he joked.
His eyes darted from him to her. He could see the cogs turning inside her head.
"Well, actually you—"
"Don't say it," he warned her. Though he could see it too. The lack of hair, and the deep frown on his lips. His appearance was eerily similar to Gordon Becker.
"Do you have any proof of identification?"
She shook her head. "No, sir."
"Well then, I'm gonna need you to step out of the vehicle," he said.
He began to panic. Arrested twice in the same year? This couldn't be happening.
"Look, officer—" His eyes darted to his name tag. "—Abel. I'm sure that won't be necessary."
He smiled. "Ma'am I need you to turn off the vehicle and step out of the car," he instructed.
They were going to have his head.
~MS~
He paced back and forth between the counter and the line of chairs that were against the walls.
"Would you sit down," she said.
He wouldn't sit until she was out of cuffs. She was his responsibility tonight. This was his fault. Her campaign falling apart before it even began would be his fault. He was thankful the officer didn't feel the need to throw her in a holding cell.
He had a hand running through his hair as he walked towards the desks again when a bell chimed. He turned back towards the door.
His palms grew clammy. His head was on the chopping block.
Mike looked to him before his eyes jumped to where Elizabeth sat, trying her best to finger through a magazine with her hands locked together. And then his glare was back to him. "What in the hell is going on?"
"This is going to be a problem isn't it?" Elizabeth asked.
A class one and two misdemeanor charge? A bit more than a problem.
Mike crossed the tile to him. "What did you do?" He asked. "You were supposed to watch her." It came out as a near growl.
"I was," he mumbled. "I did."
"You let her drive?"
"I couldn't say no."
He shook his head. "God you're as useless as that intern Gary," he muttered as he walked up to the counter, passport and expired license in hand.
"You got me in trouble." He sank down into the chair next to hers.
She dropped the magazine to the table. "Don't listen to him."
They sat in quiet for a few minutes, listening to the ringing of the office phones and the occasional squeaking of boots on linoleum.
"Has Henry called yet?"
He shook his head. "I think it would be best to tell him after the fact," he said. He'd demand on driving straight down here, and that's the last thing they needed. "Hopefully Mike can clear this all up."
And he must because twenty minutes later Officer Abel and by the look of the other man's uniform, his supervisor were walking towards them with the key to the handcuffs.
"A misunderstanding, Madam Secretary," he said leaning down.
She rubbed her wrists after the metal was away from her skin. "Mrs. McCord," she corrected.
He smiled. She could be such a pain.
"I'm still gonna have to charge you for the reckless driving," Abel said.
And his smile quickly turned back to the frown he was sure would be permanently etched onto his face after tonight.
Mike stepped up. "Have you ever attended a Presidential Inauguration?"
"I can't say I have."
"Well how about I put your name down for some real nice seats while we renew this one's license." Mike began to lead the way down the hall. "Though trust me she won't be driving anytime soon."
He tugged Elizabeth up from her chair. "If ever," Blake mumbled.