NYC, Seattle, Chicago
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Audrey followed Jack through the airport, during their first trip together. One of her regular business trips to a defense contractor in New York – but today, not with her father or with Mark Landow, but with Jack at her side. As they approached a dedicated security gate, she glanced at him, noting the way he reached into his pocket for his badge.
Where's the gun? she wondered absently. She hadn't seen it, not once, since they'd met today morning. She knew he had one—two, actually. He'd told her as much during their conversation, after he'd picked her up from her apartment – driving not a standard issue but still special secret service car.
But Jack must wear the gun differently than the agents she'd traveled with before, Audrey concluded. The other Secret Service details had been obvious about it: the bulge beneath their jackets, the stiff way they moved when seated, the way their hands seemed magnetically drawn to their weapons when something caught their attention. Jack, though? Nothing.
It had to be beneath his jacket, in some kind of holster. She pictured it there, tucked discreetly at his side. He moved so naturally that it was easy to forget he was armed at all. She realized that was probably the point. And maybe, she figured, he was just better at hiding the gun. Because he hadn't been trained as Secret Service: whenever you see something that bothers you, draw your gun. He'd been trained as an intelligence agency: keep up appearances – switch to 'fighting' must have been the last resort.
He stealthily flashed his badge at the guard manning the gate, and without a word, they were waved through a special lane. No metal detectors. No pat-downs. No fumbling with trays to empty their pockets or remove their shoes. Just a nod and a wave. Audrey followed him silently, the whole thing feeling strangely surreal. She'd traveled like this with her father before, but never without the hovering presence of multiple agents. Now it was just her and Jack. And it was… efficient. She appreciated that.
They boarded the plane quietly, their business-class seats in the front of the cabin. Jack let her take the window seat, settling into the aisle next to her with the same practiced ease he'd shown all morning. He offered a polite nod to the flight attendant as she handed him a bottle of water, and Audrey noticed how normal he looked. No dark glasses, no stiff posture. Just a man sitting next to her, getting ready for a flight.
She glanced at his jacket again, still searching for some sign of the gun. It had to be there. Somewhere. She tried not to think too much about it—about the fact that the man sitting next to her, the one pulling a notebook from his bag to check on his e-mails, had probably been trained to draw that weapon in seconds. It was disconcerting and comforting all at once.
Jack opened his notebook. She couldn't see what he was working on, but she guessed maybe he checked on his e-mails or it was still the matrix project. Whatever it was, he looked focused.
Audrey leaned back in her seat, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed so normal. Just a regular colleague working on a flight, trying to make the most of the downtime. She thought back to her former Secret Service details and how different this felt. The agents she'd traveled with before had always drawn her attention in some way—whether it was their constant vigilance, their obvious presence, or the unspoken barrier they put between themselves and everyone else on the plane. She had always felt… watched. But with Jack, it was different. He didn't draw attention—not from her, not from anyone else. He blended in, unassuming, just another business traveler.
And she liked that. She liked how easy it felt to sit next to him, to share this space without the weight of someone constantly reminding her that she needed protection. Jack didn't make her feel like a target or like the daughter of the Secretary of Defense. He made her feel like… herself.
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The elevator ride up to their rooms had been quiet, both of them absorbed in the lingering thoughts of the day's meetings. Jack had been the one to break the silence, just as they reached their floor.
"You want to grab a drink before calling it a night?" he had asked, his tone casual, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Audrey had blinked, caught off guard. She hesitated. A drink. In the hotel bar. It wasn't something she would have ever done with her previous Secret Service detail. Sitting there, nursing a drink while two agents lingered awkwardly at a table nearby, making sure she was "secure" but also looking as out of place as possible—it would have felt ridiculous. She had never even considered it an option.
But Jack? He didn't seem to think twice about it.
Maybe, she mused, he just wasn't used to thinking like a Secret Service agent. Maybe he didn't see the security complications in something as simple as sitting in a bar together.
She found herself saying, "Yeah. That sounds nice." She wasn't ready to be alone in her room yet. And she liked spending time with him.
As they stepped into the dimly lit bar, Audrey was about to tease Jack about how unprofessional this was—how the other agents she'd traveled with would have never done something like this—when she saw the subtle shift in his body language.
Jack didn't just walk in. He scanned. Subtly, but still.
She watched him, suddenly aware of how he studied the layout, how his eyes flicked from the bartender to the other guests, to the entrance, to the exits. And then, without a word, he led her toward the farthest corner of the bar, the wall behind them solid, giving him a full view of the room.
She nearly laughed at herself. Of course Jack hadn't forgotten about security.
As they sat, her curiosity flared again. Where was the gun? He'd changed out of his suit and now wore a simple grey cardigan over a dark shirt. There was no bulge at his hip, no telltale sign beneath the soft fabric. Was he even wearing it now? She wanted to ask, but before she could, the bartender arrived.
Jack ordered a ginger ale. Audrey ordered a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.
She tilted her head at him, amused. "Ginger ale?" She studied him for a moment. "You still don't drink at all?"
Jack exhaled, shaking his head. "Not if I can help it."
Audrey lifted her glass, swirling the deep red liquid inside. "When is drinking ever necessary?" she teased.
Jack gave her a half-smile. "Depends on the company."
She laughed, leaning forward slightly. "Ah. So, necessary when you're meeting your old comrades?"
Jack let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he took a sip of his ginger ale. "Sometimes."
Audrey grinned, resting her chin in her hand. "Like, say… Fresno? Three months ago? Your old friend Al. As I recall, that turned into a full-on drinking binge."
Jack exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as if he were amused and annoyed at himself all at once and still surprised that she knew so many details out of his life. "I was shocked how little I could tolerate back then," he admitted. "Rehab does that to you. After a while, your body forgets how to handle it."
He hesitated, then smirked. "If I saw Al now, the whole meeting would probably be over in twenty minutes and four whiskeys."
Audrey's eyes widened. "Four whiskeys? In twenty minutes?"
Jack shrugged, as if it wasn't that big of a deal. "Two doubles. Standard warmup procedure."
Audrey let out a breath, shaking her head. "And today, ginger ale."
Jack chuckled. "Still better than sitting upstairs alone in the room."
Audrey sipped her wine, smiling. "Don't tell me you'd still be working on that matrix project. I thought you were supposed to leave that nightmare at the office."
Jack smirked but didn't immediately answer.
Because the truth was, what else was he supposed to do? His evenings in D.C. had been long and uneventful. The past month had been filled with nothing but work and training for the Secret Service acceptance test. The running, the shooting range, the hours he spent studying procedures—it had given him a purpose. Something to do. Something that mattered.
And now? Now he was here, in a job that was important, yes—but after leaving the office (most of the times later than his colleagues), he felt like he was left with long, empty evenings again.
Audrey seemed to read his mind. "So… how's life in Washington treating you?" she asked, her voice softer now.
Jack leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. "It's fine. Settling in."
Audrey tilted her head, her eyes searching his. "What do you do in the evenings?"
Jack hesitated. Then he shrugged. "Some old friends from my Army days work in the ballistics lab, second floor. I've seen them a few times."
He paused, then remembered something that he had wanted to tell her all day. "Oh. That reminds me. Janice asked me to go for drinks."
Audrey's brows shot up. "Janice?"
Jack nodded, sipping his ginger ale. "Yeah. Thursday… in two days."
Audrey frowned. "Like a date?"
Jack raised an eyebrow, considering. "I don't think so. I think it's… an office thing. A clique, maybe. She's offered me to join them for drinks."
Audrey studied him for a moment. "Are you going?"
Jack shrugged, then turned to her with a mischievous grin. "Yeah. And don't worry—I'll tell you everything about it afterwards."
Audrey laughed, shaking her head. "You are my personal CIA."
Jack smirked, lifting his glass of ginger ale in a small mock toast.
They sat there for a while longer, the conversation flowing easily, their laughter a quiet thing shared between them. It wasn't like the professional conversations they had in the office, and it wasn't like the private moments they'd shared over the phone. It was something entirely new. Two friends, who felt like having known each other for a lifetime sat in a hotel bar in New York, far away from the world they were usually in. It was simple. Easy.
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Chicago
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The day had been long—meetings, policy discussions, and a working lunch that felt more like a battle. By the time they finally returned to the hotel, exhaustion lingered, but so did anticipation.
"Same plan as New York?" Audrey asked as they stepped out of the elevator, stopping in front of their rooms—side by side, as always.
Jack nodded, amusement flickering in his eyes. They both knew what she'd been waiting for all day. She hadn't exactly been subtle about wanting to hear how his evening with Janice had gone.
She opened her door, but before stepping inside, she threw him a parting glance. "Fifteen minutes?"
Jack just smirked. "Okay."
Ten minutes later, he stood in front of Audrey's hotel room door, checking his watch. He was early. He was supposed to be here early. Wait for her and not have her wait alone in the hallway, unprotected. A few moments later, her door swung open, revealing Audrey, dressed differently but not any less beautiful than before.
She looked at him, eyes bright with anticipation, her lips already curving into a mischievous smile.
"You're early," she remarked, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind her.
Jack smirked. "I'm a man." He just said, avoiding to hint at any discussion of having to be here early because of her protection.
She rolled her eyes as they walked toward the elevator. "Shut up."
Jack chuckled but didn't press. He hit the button for the lobby, and as soon as the elevator doors closed around them, Audrey turned to him, her gaze intent.
"Tell me everything."
Jack exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head, mocking amazement. "About what?"
She didn't hesitate—her hand shot out, playfully swatting him in the chest.
The moment her palm made contact, Jack let out an abrupt grunt of pain, instinctively hunching over. His hand flew to his ribs as he let out a strangled groan.
Her face fell. "Oh my God—Jack, I—"
Jack grinned, straightening with an exaggerated wince. "Damn, you really know how to find a bruise." She'd hit exactly the spot that had been giving him a hard time ever since Denver. A broken rib usually took six to eight weeks to heal… a bruised one just as long.
Audrey glared at him, torn between guilt and irritation. "I didn't mean to! It was supposed to be funny… I'm so sorry! Is there anything I can do?"
He shook his head, a smirk returning to his face. "Well, now drinks are on you tonight."
She let out an exasperated laugh. "Okay."
Jack shrugged as the elevator doors slid open. "After you."
They settled into a small corner booth, the city lights glittering through the large windows behind them. Jack ordered a ginger ale again, while Audrey opted for a glass of white wine.
"Alright," Audrey said, folding her arms on the table and leveling him with a look. "Janice. Spill."
Jack sighed, shaking his head. "You really care about this that much?"
Audrey raised an eyebrow. "She's been a pain in my neck ever since I started working there. Of course I care. Where did you meet?"
Jack smirked, taking a sip of his drink before finally relenting. "Fine. It wasn't just Janice. She invited me to this Irish bar in D.C.—Flannagan's."
"Sounds like a dive."
Jack shrugged. "It was fine. But Mark Landow was there. And one of his friends from Homeland Security. Maybe she wanted to be less obvious… make it less look like a date."
Audrey sat up a little straighter at that. "Landow?"
"Yeah," Jack said, his voice lowering slightly. "And let me tell you something—I think he's the one driving the wedge in your office, not Janice."
Audrey frowned. "What do you mean?"
Jack leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Janice is just a tool. She's a lose cannon and she'll do anything he says. They've known each other for 15 years. Mark's the one playing the long game. He's controlling who gets invited to those working groups every Wednesday."
Audrey's brows knit together. "The working groups?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah. He's the one deciding who's in and who's out. Which means he's shaping the policy discussions before they even start."
Audrey exhaled sharply, processing the weight of that.
Jack continued, his voice measured. "I don't think Heller realizes just how much influence those working groups have. But you should. You need to be paying attention to who's getting invited—and why."
Audrey nodded slowly, her mind already spinning. "I'll bring it up with my father."
Jack gave a small nod of approval before taking another sip of his drink.
"Did she say anything about me?", Audrey asked.
Jack hesitated. Just slightly, he added, "Well, yes."
Audrey looked at him expectantly. "What?"
Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of nicer words than those Janice had used last Thursday. "Janice is… jealous of you."
Audrey blinked, caught off guard. "Jealous?"
Jack met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Come on Audrey, don't make me spell the obvious. You know why."
That single look from Jack—so direct, so knowing—sent a flood of emotions crashing over her.
Because she did know why.
Because everyone knew why.
Because: she was James Heller's daughter.
Audrey felt the burn behind her eyes before she could stop it. She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. "That's so unfair."
Jack instantly regretted bringing it up. "Audrey, I—"
"I worked for the Intelligence Committee," she cut in sharply, her voice trembling slightly. "I applied for this job under the old administration. I didn't even know my father was on the shortlist for Secretary of Defense when I sent my application eight months ago. And then the election happened, and suddenly, I'm his daughter. And now, no matter what I do, no matter how hard I work—people like Janice will always think I'm only here because of him."
Jack was quiet for a long moment. He studied her, really looked at her, and something softened in his expression.
"I get it," he said finally. "It means you have to work twice as hard to prove that you deserve to be here."
Audrey exhaled slowly, forcing herself to steady. "Exactly."
Then, suddenly, it hit her.
So does he.
Her eyes lifted to Jack's, realization dawning.
She had been so focused on her own struggle—on her own fears of being seen as nothing more than Heller's daughter—that she hadn't realized Jack was fighting the same battle. He wasn't just some random hire. He was a former heroin addict, a man with a past that made him a liability in the eyes of the people around them.
She took a slow breath, reaching for her wine glass. "Then I guess we both have something to prove."
Jack's lips quirked in a small, knowing smile. "Yeah," he murmured, raising his glass. "Guess we do."
Their glasses clinked lightly in the dim light of the bar.
And for the first time, Audrey realized—she wasn't alone in this.
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Seattle
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The hotel bar was warm, filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. Jack and Audrey sat in a corner, the same way they always did, backs to the wall, eyes on the room. The setting should have felt familiar by now—another city, another business trip, another evening spent sharing drinks and coming down after a tough day.
But this was Seattle. Even the same hotel.
And that changed everything.
Audrey swirled her wine glass absently, her gaze flicking to the window where the city lights stretched beyond. It had been three months since she was last here—since that reckless, exhilarating day she and Jack had followed through with their plans to sneak her away from the Secret Service detail, snatching her from the polished safety of her life and giving her something she hadn't had in a long time: freedom.
She exhaled softly, taking a slow sip of her wine. Her thoughts were wandering. Back to the mountain roads, the sharp chill of the air, the sound of the motorcycle beneath them.
The way she'd clung to him.
Jack sat there, his fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of ginger ale, his own thoughts seemingly miles away, but actually, they both were thinking about the same thing.
Then, with a smirk, he finally broke the silence. "Well," he said, glancing around the bar. "This is… a hell of a lot nicer than the underground parking garage."
Audrey blinked before a laugh escaped her, breaking the tension. "No flickering lights, no exhaust fumes," she quipped, raising her glass in mock toast. "Huge improvement."
Jack shook his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, no shady guys lingering here who look like they could be ex-junkies."
Audrey smirked. "And not some man in a leather jacket, riding a red motorcycle, waiting to smuggle me out of the hotel."
Jack exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah… that one's not here today."
The moment settled between them, comfortable now. The shadows of the past softened, turning into something almost amusing in hindsight.
Jack took a sip of his drink before setting it down. "So, did you ever pay for that speeding ticket?" he asked, his voice casual.
Audrey grinned, tilting her head as if debating whether to answer. Then she nodded. "Yeah. Paid it the next day. You're officially debt-free."
Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "That's good to know. Didn't want that following me around."
Audrey smirked. "I almost framed it, you know."
Jack raised a brow. "What was is…. 98 miles?"
"Yeah."
"That's lame. That's not worth the frame."
She let out a laugh, and for a moment, the weight of the city, of the past, didn't press so hard.
But then Jack exhaled, his tone shifting. "You know… I've been thinking about that day."
Audrey studied him, waiting.
Jack leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "Back then, I encouraged you to run. To leave your security detail behind. Ditch your panic button, your tracker… I even helped you do that." He shook his head, his expression unreadable. "I was reckless, Audrey. That was reckless of me."
Audrey's stomach tightened. "Do you… regret it?" she asked quietly.
Jack's gaze lifted to meet hers, and for a second, neither of them moved. His eyes softened, and he shook his head.
"No," he said simply. "I don't regret that day. Just the recklessness."
Something in Audrey's chest uncoiled, though she wasn't sure why.
Jack exhaled and leaned back again, his voice steady. "I need you to promise me something."
Audrey frowned slightly. "Jack—"
"Promise me," he repeated, his tone firmer now, "that you won't ever do that again. That you won't sneak out. That you won't ditch your locator, your panic button—any of it."
Audrey hesitated. "Jack, it's not that simple—"
"It is," he cut in. "It has to be. You might not see it now, but whoever is out there, whoever's been watching—maybe they're even watching right now—you give them a second of opportunity, they can just take it." His voice was low, steady, carrying the weight of experience. "You won't see it coming."
Audrey held his gaze, the weight of his words settling over her. And suddenly, she saw it—the fear buried beneath his calm exterior, the quiet urgency in his voice. It wasn't just about protocol. It wasn't just about caution. She realized Jack could never live with it if something happened to her.
She saw it in the way his fingers curled subtly around his glass, the way his shoulders tensed as if bracing for the worst, as he said those words. If she made a reckless mistake, if something did happen—it wouldn't just hurt her. It would destroy him.
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.
Audrey swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. The truth of it sat between them, unspoken.
She took a slow breath. "Okay," she murmured finally. "I promise."
Jack studied her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small nod, he turned back to his drink, as if finally allowing himself to breathe.
Audrey took another sip of her wine, trying to ignore the rapid beat of her heart.
Because for the first time, she wasn't just afraid of the threats lurking in the shadows. She was afraid of what it would do to Jack if one of them ever caught up with her.
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