Secret Service Agent Megan Pete and Normani Hamilton, the President's daughter, return in the sequel to Above All, Honor. Against Normani's wishes, Megan accepts reassignment as the chief of the security detail assigned to guard her. Amidst politica...
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Five minutes to one p.m., Megan approached Normani's building. Two things occurred simultaneously. The earphone connected to her radio transmitter crackled to life, and she saw Normani Hamilton flag down a Checker cab, slide into the rear seat, and disappear as the vehicle pulled away into traffic.
"Commander, please be advised that Dawn is flying solo," Mac's voice informed her. "Unit one has been detached but does not have visual."
Megan turned abruptly, stepped into the street, and hailed one of the many taxis passing by, practically walking in front of it to get it to stop. As she pulled open the front door, she extended a hand displaying her open badge folder and said, "I need you to follow that cab up ahead."
The taxi driver stared at her. "You're kidding, right?"
Megan shook her head, her eyes following Normani's vehicle around the square. "I wish I were. You're going to lose them if you don't get going."
It was something about the utter stillness in her face and the unnatural calm in her voice that made him face forward, sit up straight, and, with his hands gripping the wheel tightly, execute a performance of New York City driving that would have won him a trophy at Daytona. He pulled to stop ten feet and twenty-five seconds behind the cab that had carried Normani to a small coffee shop deep in the heart of Greenwich Village.
"Thanks," Megan said, handing him a twenty as she stepped out.
He leaned across the seat to look up at her. She looked familiar, and he thought he finally understood. "You're making a movie, right?"
She didn't answer. She was already halfway across the sidewalk. She entered the small storefront cafe and immediately saw Normani at a small table in the rear with another woman. Normani looked up, her eyes meeting Megan's, but she gave no sign of recognition. Megan threaded her way through the few tables to the counter and ordered a double espresso. While she waited, she glanced around the room, noting the location of exits and the general position of the few patrons, mostly twentysomethings reading newspapers.
She paid and picked up the small espresso cup, moving to the far corner of the room diagonal to where Normani was seated. She sat at a small circular table for two, her back to the wall. From there, she could watch the front and rear doors as well as everyone in the room without infringing on Normani's conversation. She would've been happier to have a car out front in case they needed to leave quickly, and she hoped that Paula Stark and her partner would arrive momentarily. She had seen them getting into one of the unmarked vehicles in front of Normani's apartment building as she went by in the cab.
Fortunately, most civilians didn't recognize Normani when she went out dressed casually, her dark brown hair, adorned by a New York Yankees baseball cap, falling down her shoulders with little or no makeup on. Today, in jeans, a cotton V-neck sweater over her T-shirt, and scuffed boots, she looked like most of the younger denizens of the neighborhood. The man-on-the-street usually recognized public figures only when they were attired formally and placed in the appropriate surroundings. That was the one thing that made Megan's job easier. Because Normani Hamilton certainly didn't.
