The Sentinel Read Online Free Page B

feverishly until, finally, pressing her lips to the nape of his neck, she cried out in orgasm. Garrison continued to ravish her, and then, finally thrusting his hips in a paroxysm of brain-throbbing ecstasy, he too found release.
    As they ate, they chatted about an upcoming Russian summit meeting to be held at Camp David and journalist Joe Kretchvane's unauthorized biography of her, which she said he was slanting to put her in the worst possible light.
    "Pete, what's being done about the Aryan Disciples threat?"
    "More agents on post, more scrutiny of White House visitors, less scheduled Presidential stops. Other than that, the security plan remains pretty much the same. Don't worry. We have it under control."
    "Did you know Agent Meriweather?"
    "Not very well. But he was well liked."
    "What was his background?"
    "He used to work in the Technical Security Division before being assigned to the White House Detail."
    "What do they do?"
    "Electronic eavesdropping."
    She nodded. "Do you miss the Presidential detail?"
    He got up and walked to the sliding-glass door.
    After a moment, she joined him. The sea was calm and dark gray. Close to shore, a swell curved into a frosty wave, roaring from right to left, then bursting onto the beach, an arm of surf reaching out, only to disappear forever in thirsty, moonlit sand.
    "The answer to your question is yes. I miss the action."
    She kissed him. "I'm not trying to toy with you, Pete. I trust you. I could feel it the first day we met. I don't feel that way with everyone, but there was something about you. I don't know why, but there is an electricity between us." She nuzzled her head to his shoulder. "You feel good."
    "Feelings aren't the problem. It's reality that gets people in trouble."
    He knew that if the word ever got out, he would be fired. Both he and she would end up as voodoo dolls for the world press to stick pins in.
    "No one will ever know," she said.
    Garrison's experience, his common sense, and the discipline inculcated by his training told him that even the thought of being with her was crazy and dangerous. But he could smell her hair and her perfume. He wanted her. He wanted her and nothing else mattered. The thought flashed through his mind that he would like to staywith her all night, but that it was impossible.
    She tenderly kissed his cheek. "It's my fault."
    "It's nobody's fault."
    "I don't care about him anymore. You don't believe me."
    "Then why don't you leave him?"
    "And be the only First Lady to walk out on her husband? The price is too high. No, I'm stuck in the White House for another few months. After the new Administration comes in, it's over between him and me once and for all. In the meantime, I'll put up with the charade. Pete, when you were married, were you happy?"
    "For a while."
    "What happened?"
    "Being on the detail, I traveled with the President constantly, and my wife wanted a husband who could be home with her. It just didn't work."
    "She wanted more from the relationship than you were willing to give?"
    "That's probably the way she would describe it."
    Garrison hated talking about himself. He considered it a sign of weakness. Gabbing about one's feelings was for TV gurus, totem worshipers, and alfalfa-sprout eaters.
    "Do you keep in touch with her?"
    "We exchange Christmas cards. I don't blame her for leaving. She's better off without me."
    "Do you miss her?"
    "It's been five years."
    On the wall was a framed photograph of a well-groomed, gray-haired matron.
    "Who is the lady in the photo?" he asked.
    "My mom. My father turned her into an alcoholic. He was a cold man - aloof. She worshipped him. She sat in our wonderful old house in Pacific Heights and secretly drank her bottle of brandy every day-after she'd gotten her charity work out of the way, of course. She was an intelligent, talented person who never recovered from my father abandoning her. He spent my mother's last Christmas in Aruba with a twenty-two-year-old stripper. Good old Dad. He