Valor on the Move (15 page)

“I can imagine. Did you do the advance over there?”

Chang grimaced. “Yep. The Russians sure as hell didn’t make it easy. They know our protocols, and I swear they go out of their way to fuck with them.” He rubbed a hand over his lined face. He was about fifty, with an enviably thick head of black hair. “And of course Vagabond decided on a last-minute excursion to shake hands and kiss babies. Hopped out in the middle of a crowd in Austria for an OTR after the peace signing with the Chechens.”

Shane shook his head. Off the record stops were incredibly dangerous—not to mention stressful as hell for the protective detail—but the president didn’t seem to care. “Sometimes it’s like they want to get nailed.”

“Yep. Too bad Venus wasn’t there. She would have had his ass back in the limo pronto. But no, he was taking selfies as the crowd got bigger and bigger. There was a man in a trench coat getting near, and there was no room to even frisk him.”

“Did you lock him down?” Shane had done it in crowds himself—thrown his arms around a suspect, pinning their arms to their sides to keep them immobile.

“Yep. Smelled like beer and fish. Turns out he didn’t have a weapon; guess he was just expecting rain later. How’s it going for you and Pearce with Valor?”

“Good. No complaints.” That was true, at least. Shane thought of the lie detector test he’d had to take in the service application process. He wondered how hard he’d fail it now if they asked him questions about Rafa.

“You lucked out with that one. The mouse, right? He’s easy.”

Shane stretched his neck. “Uh-huh.” It felt strangely disloyal to talk about Rafa.

“He’ll probably end up arrested with blow and hookers one day. Wound too tight, that one.”

Shane bit back the flare of annoyance. “I dunno. Think he’ll turn out just fine.”

“Yeah, I guess the hookers and blow is our department.” Chang smirked. “At least that’s what people love to think. One of my wife’s friends asked me at our last dinner party how often we have wild parties expensed to the government.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice?” Shane shook his head. “Did you explain that it’s only happened a handful of times in decades and it’s been more than ten years now?”

“Would have been a waste of breath. I spun her a tale about jello shots with White House interns in the emergency tunnels. It was quite a rager, as my son would say.”

“I bet it was.”

The catering and decorating staff were in and out of the East Room at the end of the corridor preparing for Vagabond’s birthday party that evening. Shane and Alan were working a double with so many visitors expected. When Chang and the rest of the PPD left for the West Wing, and Rafa and his siblings were shepherded into the oval Blue Room for an interview with a reporter from
People
.

Shane slipped in to stand just inside the door while Alan remained in the hall. The reporter had of course been cleared by security, but each of the protectees had one agent in the room.

The White House PR flacks sat off to the side on an ornate blue and gold couch, while Rafa and his brother and sister perched on matching chairs positioned in a semi-circle facing the reporter. The wooden floor was polished to a high shine, and when Shane glanced down at his feet, he could make out his faint reflection.

From where he stood off to the side, he could see Rafa’s profile. Virtue sat between her brothers, with Velocity on the far side. The reporter opened with some light banter about their brother Christian being stuck at the airport and how Mother Nature didn’t cut the first family any breaks. They all laughed on cue, and Rafa fiddled with one of his finger nails, toying with the cuticle. He glanced to his right at Shane, his lips twitching into a quick smile before he refocused on the reporter. Shane kept his expression impassive. But damn it, he wanted to smile back.

As back to normal as things were, if Shane was being honest with himself—something he hadn’t attempted much lately—this still wasn’t a normal detail. He was keeping his distance and following protocol to the letter, but Rafa was an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch away. It was ludicrous. Even if they were two strangers who’d met by chance, Rafa was too young for him. What the hell did they even have in common?

Yet he found himself looking at recipes online and wondering whether Rafa would like to make them. He thought about surfing every day, the memories of his youth now mixing inextricably with Rafa. As he’d tried to sleep the night before, his mind had spun as he’d imagined Rafa in a wetsuit, damp curls on his forehead as he laughed under the sun. Shane ached to see that.

Christ. He was acting like a teenager.

But he couldn’t forget the sensation of Rafa’s lips against him, and the sound of his breathy little gasp. The youthful daring of the kiss had only made it sweeter, and the knowledge that Shane was the first man Rafa had ever kissed stirred up a possessive instinct he wasn’t proud of. The thought of anyone else touching Rafa sent his blood pressure through the roof.

The Castillo siblings took turns answering the usual types of fluffy questions about life as the first family. Adriana waved her hand as the reporter asked about growing up in the White House.

“You’ll have to ask Raf about that. Chris and I escaped to college, and Matthew was only a couple of years behind. But Rafa did a great job holding down the fort.”

Rafa laughed, but Shane could tell it was half-hearted. “Yeah, they all abandoned me as soon as they could.”

The reporter didn’t seem to pick up on the tension in Rafa’s smile. “Must have been terrible to have your own movie theater and bowling alley, huh? And a chef to cook you dinner every night. What will you miss most when your father’s term is up?”

After a silence that threatened to grow awkward, Rafa managed to smile again. “The bowling alley. Definitely.”

When the reporter moved on to the subject of romance, Matthew jerked his thumb at Rafa. “Since Chris isn’t here yet, you’d better ask my little brother. He’s practically married, and Ade and I aren’t even close.”

Shane wished they’d just leave Rafa alone. He glanced at the PR staff, but they didn’t seem concerned. Rafa smiled tightly again. Could these people not see that he didn’t want to talk? Were his brother and sister just clueless, or cruel?

“Um, there’s not really much to say. I’ve got a great girlfriend,” Rafa replied. “Ashleigh’s my best friend. I’m very lucky.”

“And such a beauty!” the reporter gushed. “You must miss her this summer. How is she enjoying Paris?”

“She loves it. She’s always had a passion for the fashion world, and she’s also getting a chance to explore art and everything Paris has to offer.” He glanced at his sister. “But you should really ask Adriana about that reality TV star she’s been dating.” He leaned forward and stage whispered, “He’s a bit of a bad boy, they say.”

As the reporter’s eyes practically gleamed, the PR flacks sprang into action, redirecting the interview to a few final questions about the president’s last birthday celebration in the White House.

When they were finished, Adriana glared at Rafa, who quickly took the chance to hurry out of the Blue Room. The west side of the entrance hall was clogged with staff, so instead of crossing to the back stairs, he took the main staircase. Alan and Shane followed to make sure he got up safely, and as he reached the second floor, Rafa turned back.

Shane could see the turmoil on his face, but he could only stand there as Rafa opened and closed his mouth, and then disappeared up to the family’s private floor, his shoulders hunched.
 

Shane’s earpiece squawked as the command center spoke. “Negative. Request denied. All guests will be magged. No exceptions.”

Beside him, Brent Harris rolled his eyes. He kept his wrist at his side and didn’t speak into his mic, but murmured to Shane, “And tell the freaking White House staff that we’re in charge of security for a reason.” He shook his head. “They always want to cut corners. And what happens if we don’t put everyone through a metal detector and someone has a gun? Well, it would be our fault. They’re always in such a goddamn rush.”

Shane nodded. The use of magnetometers was time consuming, and often a bone of contention between Secret Service and the White House staffers, who seemed to care more about appearances and PR than safety. “They think it’s enough we run a security check on the invite list. As if someone’s social security number and a clean record will tell us the whole story. Like a movie star can’t go nuts and try something.” As far as they were concerned, no one was above suspicion.

“I’m just about done with this whole damn place. All of it.” Harris’s cheeks puffed as he exhaled.

Shane frowned. “With the service?”

“Yep.” Harris shook his head. “Ah, hell. Don’t listen to me. I’m in a mood.”

“It’s all right.” Shane watched as Rafa stood with his mother in the entrance hall, nodding every so often as the guests they spoke to said something. Wearing a tuxedo that hugged his body, Rafa looked like he could have been a movie star himself.
Stop thinking about him like that. Stop.
Shane had never understood it when people talked about not being able to get someone off their minds. People came and went, and he usually didn’t think about them much at all. So why was Rafael Castillo different?

Shane tugged at his collar, adjusting the coiled cord that hooked his earpiece to the transmitter clipped to his belt at the small of his back. The service provided agents with formal wear, and it had been a while since Shane had worn his tux. He preferred his usual suit since the collar of the tux was just a little too tight.

He cleared his throat. “What’s bugging you?”
Because I sure can’t talk about what’s bugging me.

“What isn’t?” Harris replied. “I’ve always loved this job, Kendrick. Serving my country. Keeping people safe from harm. And hell, obviously we’re all adrenaline junkies at least a little bit. When I joined, all the travel and long shifts seemed exciting. But I’ve missed my kids growing up. And now they’re hell and gone in California and the service won’t transfer me. I offered to pay my own moving costs. No dice.”

Shane had heard of other agents who’d faced the same stubborn bureaucracy. “What are they doing in California?”

“Sharon’s company transferred her to Santa Barbara. So I figured, okay. I’ve been in DC now more than a decade. Time to get some sun. LA field office is still big and active, and it’s a hell of a lot closer to Santa Barbara than DC. So I put in for a transfer. Denied, of course. They can’t spare me, and there are no openings in LA. Okay, fair enough.” He pressed his lips together. “So I asked them to put me on a waiting list.”

Shane kept his eyes on Rafa, as well as surveying the people around him. Alan was on the other side of the entrance hall doing the same. “That’s a bitch.”

Harris barked out a laugh. “Yeah, especially when the bastards put up an internal notice not a month later asking for agents to move to the LA office. Paid moving costs and the whole nine. Well, I just about broke my damn arm waving it to volunteer. Nope. They said they can’t replace me. Look, I know I’m a superstar, but come on. This detail isn’t rocket science. But they give me this spiel about ‘the needs of the service’ and how duty has to come first.”

“That’s a crap sandwich, all right.”

“Want to hear the cherry on top? They ended up forcing one of my buddies in Philly to transfer. He didn’t even want to go, but you know—the needs of the service. It makes no damn sense.”

Shaking his head, Shane whistled softly. “Guess I’m lucky I don’t have a wife and kids. I can go anywhere.” But the thought of moving again and leaving Rafa filled him with unmistakable dread.

“Sometimes I think they try to drum us out so we can’t get our pensions. Use us up and spit us out. After everything I’ve sacrificed for this job, I deserve more.”

Shane blinked. It was normal for agents to bitch to each other, but Harris’s bitterness gave him pause. As the detail leader, it was unprofessional for him to complain to an underling. Not wanting to encourage it, Shane said, “I hear you. But we should probably cut the chatter. I’m heading to the east vantage.”

Harris raised his hands. “You’re right. Geez, don’t listen to me, Kendrick. Like I said, I’m in a mood today.”

“No problem. We all have those days, right?”

“Yeah.” Harris was quiet for a few moments, his gaze focused across the hall. “You and Pearce are doing a great job with Valor. But how’s Pearce doing? Insists he’s fine, but he’s looking rough around the edges. Understandably, what with his family situation.”

Shane looked over to Alan’s position. It was true that the circles under Alan’s eyes were only getting darker. He’d been increasingly distracted and distant at times, but Shane kept that to himself. “He’s good. He won’t let us down.”

“Okay. If anything changes on that front, let me know.”

“Will do.”

As he walked the perimeter of the entrance hall, he nodded to Alan, who maintained his position. Shane stood near a pinky-white marble column, surveying the crowd.
Like I’m one to criticize Harris for unprofessionalism, or Alan for being distracted.
Watching Rafa fiddle with his cufflinks and look like he wanted to be anywhere else, Shane wished he could take him far away.