Asher nodded, and his phone rang. The shrill sound made his stomach drop. He could feel the blood rush out of his face. He pulled his phone out and didn’t know the number.

“McIntyre.”

“Congratulations, Senator McIntyre.” The voice was familiar and welcome. His opponent.

Asher cleared his throat and tried to wipe away the panic that had quickly gurgled up. “Thank you for a hard-fought race.” They made the necessary small talk, but he watched Jenny. She was itching to get out of the suite and join the party.

He ended the call. The press team was already notifying reporters that his opponent had called to concede. Breaking news flashed across several television screens—McIntyre Wins New York’s Senate Seat.

The room erupted into applause and congratulations. A video monitor of the victory party in the ballroom showed the same thing.

He turned to Murphy. “Walk me through the security again.”

“We’ve swept the room. Everyone’s passed through metal detectors. Titan is in the ballroom. We’ve got eyes on the reporters, hotel staff, and crowd.”

“Maxwell is here. I know he is.”

“Might be, Senator.”

Asher gave Murphy a look. Only within the last week had the agent been convinced to stop calling Asher “Congressman.”

He turned to Jenny. “I want you on stage with me.” Out of arm’s reach wasn’t acceptable.

Her jaw dropped. “That’s like a family and staff thing.”

His family couldn’t make it. Molly was working election night in Washington, and his parents both had the flu and had called him obsessively all day. Besides, Jenny was family. That was a conversation he would bring up soon. Until then, a simple explanation would have to suffice. “I need you by my side.”

She beamed. “Let’s do this!”

***

Asher’s paranoid mood frazzled Jenny’s nerves, but she had no intention of showing that reaction. She’d decided early on, it was better to be all smiles and support than it was to feed into the tension. They both knew Maxwell would make an appearance. Titan knew it. The FBI knew it.

She tugged at her shirt and felt like she’d been Velcroed into a straight jacket. Both the FBI and Titan insisted that both she and Asher wear Kevlar vests. There was no sugarcoating their concerns after that request had been made mandatory. None of the men appreciated the challenges of finding a shirt and jacket that worked while wearing a bulletproof vest. Not that looks were an issue. Staying alive was the obvious goal. But still, a little more notice would have been helpful.

Asher took her hand as they walked into the ballroom, and her stomach fluttered. The room erupted in cheers. The music blasted. Cameras jumped in their faces. She grinned until her cheeks hurt and watched Asher, the picture of cool under pressure.

A million butterflies spun circles in her stomach while her hand went clammy in his grip.