Page 139 of Smoke Screen
“Don’t make me call security to aid these fine gentlemen in keeping you here,” he said.
Security. Wow.
Maddy glanced down at the floor, at Louis’s perfectly shined dress shoes—Italian, no doubt. Would he try it? Bolt to the door before security could even get here?
Possibly.
Well, she’d take care of that right now.
While Louis and President Thompson continued their pissing match, arguing over who had the right to do what, Maddy got busy on her phone and poked at the Center’s security app.
The one that allowed senior staff to lock the executive suite’s shatterproof entry doors in case of an active shooter or some other threat to a former president. Unlike her keycard, the app was controlled by the security department and not HR. With any luck, the head of security hadn’t yet paused her access.
An image of a bright red lock appeared on her screen.Yes.
Tap-tap.
Done.
She cleared her throat, drawing all eyes in her direction. She offered Louis a smile à la Phin. “Maybe you missed it in all of our meetings, but we have excellent security measures in place to protect your brother.” She held up her phone, revealing the bright red lock on the screen. “We’re locked in.”
Louis stood still for a second, his dark brown eyes going black, the heat behind them firing missiles that should have blasted Maddy through the wall.
Her knees wobbled and Good Girl Maddy begged her to make nice. To smooth it over. To make everyone see reason and talk it out.
Fuck off, Good Girl Maddy.
So what if she’d pissed Louis off? This was her life. Her career. The reputation she’d worked so hard for.
She locked her knees, lifted her chin.
“No one leaves until I get the truth,” she said. “I want my life back.”
Louis’s jaw dropped. Apparently, she’d shocked him.
Good.
“Guess what, sweetheart,” he took a step toward her, “you don’t tell me what to do.”
His right hand moved under his suit coat, and he took another step.
Hands. What’s he doing?
To her right, Phin moved closer. “Maddy,” he said.
Too late.
Louis lunged, grabbed hold of her arm, jerking her toward him with his left hand.
“Gun!” Phin yelled.
Gun? What gun? Her stomach cramped, and panic exploded like a charging army.
In his right hand, Louis held a giant black gun. He swept it left and right, pulling her tighter against him.
The back of her head bumped his chest and—ow—the man had an iron grip.
Louis swung the gun left to right again, keeping the Blackwell men and the Secret Service agents at bay. The agents had drawn their weapons, repositioning themselves to block Louis’s view of President Thompson. They pointed their weapons at Louis, who shifted, putting his back to the wall.
