Strike Force

“Senator Barbeau, this is an unexpected surprise,” the President said. He was a head taller than she and eight years older, and Boomer had to admit they made a fine-looking couple — or maybe he had already heard that in any number of celebrity gossip magazines that continuously postulated on the bachelor President’s love life. Boomer noticed the sudden presence of the President’s famous “photographer’s dream,” the two locks of thick curly silver hair that automatically tumbled over his forehead, one above each eye, whenever the President became agitated — obviously they also appeared when he was aroused too. “Welcome back to the White House. Let me introduce you to some folks you probably haven’t met.”

She interlocked her left arm with the President’s right, snuggling the side of her left breast seductively to him, then turned toward the others in the office and flashed her most brilliant smile, nodding collectively to the others as she greeted them. She gave Boomer a quick appraisal from head to toe, then a hungry look, a mischievous smile, and an appreciative nod after apparently liking very much what she saw. The President stepped over to Patrick. “Senator, allow me to introduce…”

“Lieutenant-General Patrick Shane McLanahan needs no introduction, Mr. President, none what-so-ev-er,” Barbeau interrupted. She unwrapped herself from the President’s right arm, went over to Patrick, and extended her hand. “An honor to meet you, General,” she cooed, locking her green eyes on his. She reached out with her left hand, placed it on the back of his neck, drew him closer, and kissed him lightly on both cheeks. “A true American hero. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. A real pleasure.”

It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room as the other men looked on, wishing they were getting some of that preferential treatment from the Southern belle — and what little air was left was being ignited by Maureen Hershel’s fiery stare at Barbeau. She quashed it right away and impatiently checked her watch.

“Nice to meet you, Senator,” Patrick said finally.

“Thank you, General,” she said, her voice still low and…husky, Boomer thought. Barbeau ran her left hand down Patrick’s shoulder, and her eyes widened a bit as she gently ran her fingers over his shoulders and arms. “You’re pretty tense, General.” She paused, then looked at him with that mischievous smile and added, “Or is that all you?”

“I’m afraid it’s all me, ma’am.”

“Well, you must get out of the weight room more often and visit me on Capitol Hill, General,” she cooed. She glanced over at Hershel, noticed her impatient expression, hid a smile, and added, “And maybe take a bath before you do, if I may be so bold, Patrick — may I call you Patrick?” She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and shook hands with Boomer. “Captain Noble, a pleasure.” She slid closer to him, placed her cheek against his, then gave him a kiss on the cheek as well. “Mmm, nice,” she whispered to him.

“That goes double from where I’m standing, Senator,” Boomer whispered back.

Barbeau stepped back, affixing Noble with a mind-blowing smile and a wink, then turned to the others in the Oval Office. “Good Lord, Mr. President, these men smell as if you have sentenced them to hard labor,” she said gaily, waving a hand under her nose and batting her eyes in her best Scarlett O’Hara imitation. “Do you normally allow airmen to come into the White House in flight suits, smelling like they just walked in from a thirty-six-hour mission?”

“Now you leave those boys alone and stop making fun of them, Senator — recruiting is bad enough these days without a senior senator chasing the good ones away,” the President said. Was it her imagination, Maureen asked herself, or was the President adopting a Southern accent all of a sudden? “Sit down, and tell me what I can do for you.”

“With your permission, sir, we’ll return to duty,” Patrick said.

Chief of Staff Carl Minden nodded and started to herd the two toward the door, but Barbeau said anxiously, “No, General, Captain, please stay. Mr. President?”

“You’re the one who said they stink, Stacy,” the President quipped.

“Looks like a serious political discussion gearing up here,” Boomer said. “Way above my pay grade, I’m sure.”

Barbeau flashed her bright green eyes at Boomer and gave him a smile that could have been either amused or devilishly angry. “You are a deliciously plain-spoken young man, Boomer. Mr. President, I’m madly in love with both of them. You must order them to stay.”

“We’ve got a full schedule this morning, Senator,” the President warned, then nodded for Patrick and Boomer to remain. The chief of staff’s mouth hardened in exasperation, but said nothing.