“I won’t hear of you missing the fireworks and the rest of this party because of me.” She stopped walking long enough to turn toward him and give him the kiss he’d intended. Just not under these circumstances. With that, she reached down, took off her sandals, and hurried away up the hill to catch her ride.
Two things are great to wash away frustration—a full-scale lightning storm and a billionaire’s fireworks display. Three minutes later he felt fine, so fine in fact that he wanted to tell her how much he enjoyed her company and how much he looked forward to the next time. He sprinted after her, hoping to regain enough ground. Beside the house and up the flagstone steps he ran, around the corner. Too late. He might have caught a glimpse of her as the door closed and the government car moved away.
He stood rock still for a full sixty seconds, wishing to make the last vision of the car change. It didn’t. He had been around the White House enough to know the significance of the license plate USSS-1. It could only be the car of the Director of the United States Secret Service. On the other side of the house in the shadows, another mind simultaneously reached the same conclusion.