Chapter Four

Elizabeth

Thirty-five minutes left. Elizabeth strode down the hall and into the office three doors along from the Situation Room. A desk and a couple of blue leather armchairs took up most of the floor space, whilst a grandfather clock with sun-bleached oak hid in the corner. The stacks of books that lined the shelves behind the desk imbued the air with a musty smell, and the way that the clock stuttered over each second made it feel like a room that time had forgot.

She perched against the desk and curled her fingers over the edge, the silver and gold of her rings cold against the rich mahogany. Henry followed her inside. The door clunked shut. Silence. She met his gaze. "I know you're not happy about this."

"Well, that's one way to put it." Henry's tone cut through the room. "You heard Director Haymond; you're not CIA anymore."

Her nails bit into the wood. "Right. Because I quit." The words splintered from her mouth and drove into the silence. If you're telling me it's a choice between the career that I love or you and the kids, I will always choose you.

Henry gripped his neck; his body twisted up.

"But now I'm Secretary of State, which is who they're asking for."

His nostrils flared. "Yeah, and I wonder why." He drew in a stream of breath as he massaged his brow. Then his hand dropped to his side, and he frowned at her. "And what was that with Conrad? Steel…"

Operation SteelKing. Her spine bristled. Conrad, promise me you won't tell him. She shook her head and forced herself to hold Henry's gaze. "It's nothing."

"Well, it was enough to convince him." Henry took a step closer.

Elizabeth stiffened. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Tell me what it means."

"It means that Conrad trusts me."

His tone sharpened. "Elizabeth."

"You heard him, Henry." She hugged her arms tighter. "We're going ahead with this plan."

Tick, tick, tick. Henry's gaze bore into her. "You don't want to tell me, fine—" He waved one hand as if it didn't matter, though the sheen of his eyes said otherwise. "—but have you even stopped to think about the kids?"

"Of course I've thought about the kids." Elizabeth's voice fractured. Over and over and over. "But I'm also thinking about the children who won't have a mother or a father if I don't go inside. What about Desi, or Chloe, or Joanna?"

Henry clenched his jaw. "And what about our kids, Elizabeth?" And as her gaze dropped to the floor, he stepped closer still, until he stood toe to toe with her, towering over her as she leant against the desk. "What about Stevie and Ali and Jason?"

Elizabeth swallowed, but it felt like someone had crushed her throat. She lifted her chin and met his eye. "If Daisy dies, Joanna will have lost both her parents, and trust me, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone a little girl." I'm sorry, Lizzie…I couldn't do anything…they had already…She threw her hands up. Her tone spiked. "I can't just sit back and do nothing and watch my staff be killed. My life's no more valuable than theirs."

"It is to me." A jolt of darkness struck Henry's eyes. He clamped his lips together, but that didn't conceal their tremor. He looked up to the ceiling and shook his head to himself. "God, Elizabeth…"

"Henry," she whispered, "please."

She eased away from the desk, and bunching his shirt in her fists, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. His scent enveloped her: the kick of black pepper, the embrace of cinnamon, the earthy sweetness of ambergris.

A moment longer, and then his arms enveloped her too.

She melted into him. "I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing now and they died." She pulled back just enough that she could meet his gaze. "You have to understand that, after everything that happened with Dmitri—"

Henry tensed, like cord taking the strain. "But what about you?" He let out a terse breath. "How will I live with myself if they hurt you?"

"Henry—" She smoothed her palms up and down his sides. "—I'll be fine."

He snorted. "I'd have an easier time believing that if you weren't giving yourself up to a group of men with guns." His brow furrowed as he searched her eyes. "Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?"

She shook her head. "This is just something that I have to do."

Knock-knock.

She held his eye. "Okay?"

His gaze flicked away, and he pressed his lips into a firm line.

"Henry?…Please."

He rubbed the back of his neck and then gave a half-nod.

She nestled against his shoulder again and let out a ruffle of breath. "Thank you." She pressed a kiss through his shirt, and then another and another, and then letting her hands fall from his waist, she stepped away. "Come in."

The door creaked open. Henry lowered himself into one of the blue leather armchairs as Director Doherty carried a metal case, no bigger than a tablet, over to the desk and unlatched it. The lid popped open to reveal glimmers of silver surrounded by grey foam packaging. Doherty plucked one—a tiny metal disc—from the case and dropped it into Elizabeth's palm. "Your earpiece. So we'll be able to feed you any information."

Elizabeth scooped her hair back and tilted her ear up to the ceiling. "Please tell me you'll be able to get this out later." She tipped the device into the canal. "I've got enough going on in my head without other people adding to the conversation."

Doherty chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll use a magnet to retrieve it once you've come out." He presented her with a lapel pin, the presidential seal. "This one has a hidden camera," Doherty said as she pinned it to her blouse. "And this—" He pulled out another metal disc, one with two pins sticking out of one side. "—is your microphone. We'll fasten it under your collar."

He motioned to the collar of her blouse and waited until she nodded before he stepped forward and fixed the device in place. "We'll just check that all the systems are working in the Situation Room, then you're good to go."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said.

Doherty nodded and flashed her a tight smile. "You're welcome." He nodded to Henry too and then retreated from the room.

Elizabeth and Henry waited in silence; the tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock expanded into the lull between them. Elizabeth's heart beat in time. So this was really happening. She caught Henry's eye, the barely veiled concern, and she opened her mouth to speak. But then stopped. The camera, the microphone. She shook her head to herself. Henry inched forward to the edge of his seat, and taking her hand, he brushed his thumb back and forth over her knuckles.

"Madam Secretary?" Director Doherty's voice spoke in her ear. "Can you hear me?"

Elizabeth motioned to her ear, so Henry wouldn't think her crazy—or any crazier than he already did—as she replied, "Loud and clear."

A few moments later, Russell Jackson appeared in the doorway. "Show time." He jerked one thumb towards the corridor. "Are you ready to go?"

Elizabeth glanced to the clock. Twenty-five minutes. "Just give me a second."

Russell looked between her and Henry, and then nodded. "I'll mute the comms."

She tugged on Henry's hand and urged him up to standing. He brought his body flush to hers, and clutching her hips, he held her there. With her palm over his heart, the steady rhythm coursing through her, she slid her other hand around to the nape of his neck and toyed with the wisps of his hair. "I'll be okay, I promise."

Henry nodded, but his lips drew into a taut line. "No heroics." His voice hitched. "You're my forever, remember?" And his eyes glistened.

Elizabeth's heart ached, a tug like a ship trying to sail away from its anchor. "I know." Her gaze drifted to his lips. "I love you."

"I love you too." Henry nuzzled her nose, and her eyes slipped shut as he touched his lips to hers in a kiss as gentle as the patter of summer rain. His hands skimmed up and down her sides, each stroke tingling through her and lighting her like spools of sunshine. Then he kissed her again, more demanding this time; a nip at her lips before his tongue caressed hers.

Elizabeth swirled her fingertips over his scalp as she surrendered herself to the haze of his scent, his taste, his touch, and what she wouldn't give to stay there, suspended in that moment with him forever. But—This isn't goodbye. She broke away, and then drawing in a billow of breath, she rested her forehead against his. "I'll see you later, okay?"

He nodded against her. "I'll be waiting." He stared into her eyes, the look so close, so intimate, as though the waters of her eyes nourished the hazels of his own. "You still owe me that secret."

Tell me a secret. A piece of you. "I'll keep it safe until I come out." She took a half-step back, and then another and another, and as though swept up in the chill born by the sun succumbing to the clouds, she shivered in the absence of his warmth. "Please will you call Will? Ask him to collect the kids, and see if he'll stay with them until we get home?"

He squeezed her arm. "Of course." Then he offered her the hint of a smile. "I'll see if Maureen and the others can stop by too."

Elizabeth's stomach slumped. His family, the meal. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "Henry…the dinner, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Henry shook his head. Then his lips quirked. "Though offering yourself up as a hostage is a rather extreme way of avoiding Maureen."

Elizabeth smiled, though dread cinched the pit of her stomach. Twenty minutes; she had to leave. "We'll rearrange, and I'll be there. I promise."

"Just focus on getting your staff out." He pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. "Stay safe. I love you."