Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
The agent stops, too.
“No, come here.” I wave him toward me.
Gage looks between us, curiosity in his eyes. He’s handsome. I’ll give him that. But I’m not sure why he’s hellbent on talking to me.
The agent is still waffling, his expression unsure.
“Come on. You can do it,” I coax him closer.
“Ma’am.” The agent stops a few paces away. He’s older, maybe in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and a wary expression.
“I’m Georgia. This is Gage. And you are?”
“Agent Wassen.” His voice gets caught on a cold breeze that rips by. It cuts through my SoundGarden t-shirt and chills my skin. I reach for the zipper on my coat and work to pull it up. “Okay, Agent Wassen. You don’t have to sneak around behind me whenever I go somewhere. If you’re going to be following me, you can just walk with me like a regular human. How’s that sound?”
He adjusts his reflective sunglasses. “Ma’am, protocol is that I keep a fair distance away so I can see threats.”
“What threats?” I wave a hand at the empty street. The barricade around the White House extends another block, and beyond that only a few people are moving, all of them in military fatigues.
“I’ll know them when I see them. Ma’am.” He tips his head forward at me, then retreats back to his lurking position.
“It was a good try,” Gage says. “May I?” He points at my coat zipper I’m still fumbling with.
“I can do it.” I yank the slider up, but it doesn’t catch. For some reason, my vision goes blurry, tears swimming in my vision as I try again. Jesus, I’m falling apart.
“Hey.” Gage’s voice is softer. “Just let me try it. Okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but I drop my hands.
He reaches out slowly as I take a deep breath. A bitchy zipper and a Secret Service agent who doesn’t want to walk with me aren’t things worthy of a crying jag. I know that, but I also know those aren’t the reasons I’m having trouble keeping my composure.
Ziiiiip. “There you go.” Gage steps back. “All set.”
“Thank you.” My throat is thick with unshed tears, and I turn and continue walking toward the White House.
He doesn’t follow this time. “See you when you get back.”
I raise a hand in acknowledgement, not trusting myself with more words.
I don’t know how long it’s going to take, but I’m not leaving the White House until Juno talks to me.
As it turns out, it takes 8 hours and 24 minutes before I even catch sight of her. Fatima did her best to shoo me out and back to the lab, but I refused. Instead, I pushed my way into the Oval Office and camped out on one of the sofas. Candice (an enabler, god bless her) brought me lunch—a decent ham and swiss sandwich with the freshest potato chips I’d had in at least a year—and I used the government Wi-Fi to spend some of my time researching my lab mates, their work, and their discoveries, and the rest going through more CDC data on failed vaccine trials. I should’ve recognized Gretchen’s name from journals. She was one of the lead epidemiologists when news of the virus first emerged. Her work at Stanford paved the way for ramping up safety protocols and screening for the plague at ports of entry. Wyatt isn’t quite as high profile, but he’s done solid work in microbiology and virology going back several years. Evie and Aang are similarly credentialed. Out of all of them, I’m the least experienced. No wonder Aang wants to kick my ass.
“Georgia!” Juno hurries in, Vince at her back. “What are you doing here? Fatima said you’ve been here all day.” She has the nerve to look at me like I’m out of line. Like I’m the problem here.
“Where have you been?” My question comes out far shriller than I intend.
She walks to her desk and sits down, already settling in as if she’s been here for years. “I’m the president, Georgia,” she says in a lecturing tone that sets my teeth on edge. “I have endless responsibilities. That’s where I’ve been. You have responsibilities, too, and they aren’t being met when you’re sitting here pouting or whatever it is you’re doing.”
“What?” I explode, instantly on my feet. “What the hell are you talking about?” I’m yelling. I don’t fucking care that I’m yelling at the president in the Oval Office. “You send me off somewhere else, all my stuff is there, you had zero intention of me ever staying with you at all. You sold me out to Valen, a total stranger, like I’m someone you can whore out? And then you ran away on a fucking helicopter? What is wrong with you? What the fuck is going on?”
“I’ll just uh …” Vince backs out and closes the door.