When Bishop reached his black Dodge Charger in the parking lot, he leaned against the driver’s door, still reeling from the discovery that he had a child, let alone from seeing Harper again. That long dark hair, those delicious curves and beautiful eyes, a much lighter blue than his own, had haunted his dreams for years. But his dreams were nothing compared to the reality of seeing her in person.
The moment she’d walked into the room, his lungs had seized in his chest. He hadn’t seemed able to catch his breath. It had been devastating to realize in that instant that he’d been fooling himself all this time.
He was still crazy in love with her.
When he’d been a Secret Service agent assigned to protect her, keeping his true feelings hidden had been a daily struggle. But he’d persevered, ruthlessly bottling up how he’d felt about her so he could focus on his duty: keeping her safe. Later, after being fired, his life ripped apart because of her lies—or so he’d believed—his bitterness and resentment had easily quashed those softer feelings.
But now?
He raked a shaking hand through his hair. It was as if someone had released the floodgates on the dam of his emotions. He wanted her—craved her—in his arms, in his bed. In his life. It was a bittersweet irony that just when it seemed that he was free to pursue her, he couldn’t. Once again he had to pretend to be unaffected when around her so he could focus on being her protector, and saving their son’s life.
Then again, considering the trauma she’d been through—because of him and his rejection of the truth—what was the likelihood that she even wanted him anymore? Hadn’t her rejection of his methods at the end of their meeting said as much?
She’d expected the more civilized Secret Service agent she’d been infatuated with years ago. But once she’d seen the harder man he’d become, she’d balked, unsure she even wanted his help. It had been like having a bucket of ice water poured over his head, leaving him bitter and resentful as he’d stalked out of the conference room. He’d regretted his actions halfway to his car, too late to go back to apologize. The conference room was probably already full of media and Secret Service agents again.
He fisted his hand on the roof of the car. It would serve him right if, once he rescued Shane, the mother of his son didn’t want him to stick around. He could spend every day of the rest of his life apologizing for not being there for her during her pregnancy and it wouldn’t come close to making up for his sins. God knows he didn’t deserve her. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her, needing her, aching for her so badly he didn’t know how he was going to survive the next few days, let alone the rest of his life, if she wasn’t part of his future.
One thing at a time. Focus on Shane, on saving him. Deal with the rest later.
He inhaled a bracing breath and opened his car door.
“Bishop! Wait up,” Jack Thompson’s voice called out from across the parking lot behind him. Two sets of footsteps echoing on the asphalt indicated there was someone with him. Both were jogging to catch him before he could escape.
Bishop swore beneath his breath. He should have left as soon as he’d reached his car. He didn’t have the time or patience to deal with Thompson right now, or whoever was with him. But he was here representing the Justice Seekers. Out of respect for his boss, he’d try to “play nice.” He reluctantly clicked the door shut and turned around.
To his surprise, it was Randy Faulk standing beside Thompson. Bishop shook the younger agent’s hand first. “Faulk, good to see you,” he lied. From what Bishop had heard, Faulk had done an admirable job protecting Harper after Bishop had been fired. But he still resented him because of a little green monster perched on his shoulder. He hated that Faulk had gotten to spend years with Harper, watching over her. Years that Bishop had wasted, blaming her for destroying his career.
Shaking Thompson’s hand had him feeling like even more of a fraud. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms since Thompson was Bishop’s former boss’s right-hand man. After Hines had fired him, Thompson had escorted Bishop out of the building. Definitely not one of his favorite memories.
“Bishop.” Thompson smiled as if they were the best of friends. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I wanted to thank you for helping us out today. And especially for not telling all those reporters that we screwed up.”
“Yeah,” Faulk added. “The media thinks we’re the ones who stopped the assassin. You really saved our butts.”
Bishop rested a forearm along the top of his car. “Don’t give me too much credit. The company I work for prefers to keep a low profile. No press interviews allowed.” It wasn’t an entirely accurate assessment since Mason trusted his employees to make their own decisions. Micromanagement wasn’t his style. But the white lie was better than the truth—that he didn’t have time for reporters because he had a kidnapper to catch.
Still, he couldn’t help a little dig at his former nemesis. “Maybe next time you Secret Service boys will let Justice Seekers clear all the buildings with a line of site to the target like we wanted to do, instead of tying our hands.”
Thompson’s smile dimmed. He motioned to Faulk. “I hear that press conference is starting up again soon. You should head back before Manning realizes you’re not standing sentry duty.”
Faulk’s face reddened, but he managed to keep his expression respectful, even though he probably wanted to punch Thompson. Instead, he shook Bishop’s hand again. “It was good to see you. Really. It’s been a long time.” He gave him a jaunty salute then jogged across the parking lot to the building.
“What’s with him playing doorman?” Bishop asked. “I thought he’d been promoted to White House duty.” Not that Bishop kept up with the agency anymore. But knowing who they were working with today had been part of his prep for providing security.
“He made a few mistakes and is paying for it. Got reassigned to the Manning estate, mainly protecting Mrs. Manning. But as you saw back there, Mr. Manning uses him in whatever capacity he sees fit.”
“Ouch. Hines never was one to grant second chances. I suppose Faulk is lucky to still have a job.”
“Hines retired three years ago.”
“Is that so? I figured he’d cling to his desk until someone pried his cold dead fingers off the stapler. Who’s the boss now? You?”
Thompson’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Nah, that job’s too administrative for me. I prefer field work, being the guy behind the curtain with the real power.”
Bishop didn’t believe him for a second. Everyone at the agency knew how desperately he coveted the top job. Apparently, Faulk wasn’t the only one who’d screwed up over the years.
“Good luck with the press,” Bishop said. “Maybe I’ll see you next time Manning’s in town.”
“You aren’t sticking around? I figured you’d be tapped for the internal inquiry into what happened. Your company is key to that since they helped with security. And obviously they’ll want to talk to you since you took the perp down.”
“My boss will handle it. I already gave a statement and he’ll let me know if there are more questions. I’ve got a scheduling conflict that can’t be moved.”
“Ah, I see.” The confusion on Thompson’s face said otherwise. He probably couldn’t imagine someone not wanting to be a part of something as historically significant as an attempted assassination investigation. Especially when the person in question was the so-called hero of the day. Thompson would have basked in the limelight if given the chance. The idea of not jumping to answer the agency’s questions would have probably given him a stroke.
“Well, thanks again. I just wanted to shake the hand of one of the best agents we’ve ever had. You were a real golden boy, on the way up. No one climbed the ladder faster than you—which only goes to show how exceptional you were. Judging by the job you did today, that hasn’t changed.”
Bishop nodded his thanks, surprised by the compliment, especially since the tone sounded genuine.
Thompson pressed his earpiece as if listening to a transmission. But since Bishop didn’t hear the telltale static typical of an incoming message, he was willing to bet a year’s salary the guy was faking it.
“On my way,” he said into the mic on his wrist. He grimaced, probably for Bishop’s benefit. “Looks like they’re waiting on me. Thanks again for what you did. It’s good to see you’re back where you belong, working protection detail, even if it’s not for the Secret Service. See you around.” He shook Bishop’s hand again before following in Faulk’s footsteps.
Bishop stood outside his car for several minutes after the agent left, surveying the area around him, the windows on the building overlooking the parking lot. Had Faulk and Thompson been watching from one of those windows? What was their real reason for hunting him down? They weren’t Bishop’s friends or coworkers. And neither had gone out of his way to speak to him during the planning leading up to Manning’s visit. So why had they done so today?
Maybe he was being paranoid, especially since Thompson had seemed like such a stand-up guy just now. But he had reason to be paranoid. He had a son to worry about now. A son whose life was in danger. As far as he was concerned, everyone around the Mannings was a suspect until proved otherwise. And who better to pull off a kidnap-for-ransom scheme than someone who worked closely with the family, close enough to learn their secrets? Looking into those assigned to protect Earl and Julia Manning was already on Bishop’s mental list of people to investigate. Faulk and Thompson had just moved to the top of that list.
He got into his Charger and sped out of the lot before anyone else could stop him. Once certain he wasn’t being followed, he set his phone in the console and called his boss.
“Bishop,” Mason’s voice responded through the Bluetooth speaker overhead. “Where are you? I got stuck placating the former president after you turned down Harper’s request. The next time I looked around, you were gone.”
“I didn’t turn her down. I just found out that she and I have a son. He’s five years old.”
After a long silence, Mason said, “Sounds like we have a lot to talk about.”
“More than you know. But first, I could use some help from the Seekers. Is anyone available?”
“I’ll make them available. What do you need?”