Three years in the Secret Service had done the same. Open-collar button-down shirt, dark blue or gray suit, polished black rubber-soled shoes, current issue lapel pin identifying her as part of the Presidential Detail at a glance. She slipped out of her suit coat and revealed the nylon webbing of her shoulder holster to the mirror’s eye. That and the FN Five-seveN sidearm were a part of her as well.
But for just a moment in the hallway, she’d been a woman in a man’s arms.
Even after an entire day of putting up with her bullshit attitudes and weird silences, he’d still held her as if she wasn’t the disaster area that she knew herself to be. It was when he’d buried his face in her hair that it had undone her. She’d always thought of her hair as a shield—herself on one side and all of the b
