Codename: Kryptonite

Chapter Twelve

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I must admit that I'm having a very hard time with POTUS' arrogance and total self-absorbency. His complete and total assurance of more than just the world revolving around him, but the whole damn universe, makes me want to shoot him myself. I'm pretty sure that on any given day of the week that a jury of his peers would find the assassin innocent if he put a bullet in POTUS in front of a witness pool the size of New York City.

Although the future version of POTUS lied to me, tricking me into saving subject-Sambora, and possibly altering my time line, I'm pretty sure that I can keep from pulling that trigger myself. I'm fairly certain that would be an unfavorable mark in my file and affect any future advancement or promotion.

I must admit that in my humble opinion, POTUS couldn't be more of an ass.

The soft click of the door closing had echoed through the silent room, snapping Jon from his daze. Had she truly asked him not 'to get dead'? Yeah, asshole, she did.

Somehow, he managed to make it over to the bar and pick up his glass of wine, but standing there sipping from the glass and looking back over to where he'd been standing he wasn't sure how he'd even crossed the room. It made him make a conscious effort to pay attention to each step as he walked across the large room, watching his feet make every step on the hardwood floor until he was at the large picture window staring out at the skyline of the city.

Wow. The President of the United States? Really?

In the same amount of time it had taken him to get to where he was now in his career, he would be the leader of the free world. That was almost more than he could comprehend. There were so many questions. Why had he changed his mind and decided to go into politics? Was he a good president? What other offices had he held on his way up the political ladder? Who was in his cabinet?

How had he done it all without his wingman?

It seemed like Rich had always been there. He had been there for the long climb to fame. He'd been more of a partner to him in his life than Dorothea. He shook his head; that had been one of Dot's biggest complaints. That he shared more of his life with Rich and the other guys than he did with her. When she'd said that, he laughed, but it was the truth. What he had with the guys was basically a sexless marriage.

All of those thoughts led his mind down yet another path. Gabriella's angry accusation that he'd ruined her future by tricking her into 'saving' Richie made him wonder if he would even still become President. And as always, that thought led to another. The guys always teased him about how many paths his mind would go down because of one errant thought or suggestion. This time his mind went to Gabriella.

There wasn't any doubt about his attraction to her, but he knew he needed to keep a tight rein on his libido. Who knew how deep it could get if he couldn't keep his dick in his pants? After all, sex had complicated just about every minute detail in his life. He really couldn't afford to let it complicate this one. His life was on the line here.

It was as if his thoughts conjured up the woman in question. He was still standing there sipping his wine and contemplating life's mysteries, when her voice shattered the silence.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

An unruly head of blond hair jerked around to face her so that flashing blue eyes could freeze her on the spot. "I was enjoying a glass of great wine, the view and the silence."

She should have noticed the finger combed blond locks and realized he'd tunneled fingers through it continuously, probably in frustration or confusion. She'd seen him do it many times before with shining silver strands. But all Gabriella noticed was that he was making a target of himself. "Move away from the window." The command was said softly but with conviction.

"No," he answered. "It's hard to enjoy the view if you're 'away' from the window." He turned back toward the glass.

Gabriella fumed. She spun on her heel and marched over to the counter where she'd seen a large legal notepad and Sharpie marker earlier. He ignored her as she scribbled something on the pad. She ripped the top sheet off the notepad, then flung it back on the counter. When she marched back across the room, she grabbed him and spun him to face her, only avoiding sloshing the wine because the glass was almost empty. She used one long fingernail to poke a small hole in the top of the paper, then hung it on one of the still buttoned buttons on his shirt.

She patted the page lightly. "Well, then, if you're going to help the assassin, I can too."

Jon looked away from her smirk to glance down at the piece of paper she'd fastened to his shirt, as she turned him back toward the window. "A target? You put a target on my chest?"

"Yeah, let's just hope he's a decent shot."