Rebecca’s jaw clenched at the comment. She was also dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt. We were on vacation and Kit was technically right, during the next three weeks it was casual Friday every day.
“I am on vacation, Senator Avondale is on vacation. You, Ms. Witmer, are in training. Therefore you will continue to dress appropriately until Senator Avondale directs you otherwise.” Rebecca’s tone was firm and clear. For a second I wondered if there was some sort of jealousy hiding in her.
I watched the two women glare at each other; I pushed off from the edge of the sink I had been leaning against. Tucking the tablet under my arm, “Rebecca, I have already told Kit to call me Claire here and to leave the Senator at the office.” I glanced over at Kit, “She also prefers to be called Kit over Caitriona.”
I saw a slight relief in Kit’s eyes when she looked my way, as if I had given her a win in the silent competition that was already brewing between them.
Rebecca cleared her throat, “I understand. Kit, if you will please follow me, we will get you started on how to access the senate emails as well as Claire's other email accounts.”
Rebecca turned and walked out of the kitchen, standing just outside of Kit’s view she gave me a look that was once again questioning my choice in her replacement. I smiled and nodded to reassure her.
Kit set her cup back down, reaching for her bag, “Right behind you Rebecca.” She went to make her way when she stopped, looking at me, “Oh and thank you for the bottle of scotch, Claire. I have tucked it away to be unsealed and opened when the time calls for it.”
Kit left the kitchen before I could comment.
When I was alone, I returned to the emails on the tablet. Grateful that my faith in Kit and her ability was correct.
So far.
The few sips of coffee had helped my continuing hangover. I couldn’t control my shaking hands yet as my body was going through a slight withdrawal. I had not reached the heightened levels of a true alcoholic, but I was close. My last drink was almost three days ago and each hour that passed my senses cleared, I was quicker to pick up things and react. I had forgotten how cloudy I had been over the recent years and months and was grateful for a split second that I hadn’t done any permanent damage.
I followed Rebecca through the angular halls of the house. Watching her walk with a quick purpose, I thought back on the Senator and her in the kitchen. I had picked up on something going on between them during my interview and it was reaffirmed as I watched them interact. The way Rebecca broke personal space in a way that issued a sense of comfort that went beyond just a friendship. Then the Senator blushing when she caught me watching, telling me that my instinct about those two were spot on.
Something I would definitely ask about as I settled into the job. I wanted to know if I was the replacement for the woman and a break up gone bad. The Senator was beautiful, even more so when she was wearing just jeans and a t-shirt and her hair down, tussled by the wind. I could appreciate her looks more now that I was sober and things were clearer, but I would have to be careful that I wasn’t picked for more than just a protection job. Even if her green blue eyes gave me a strange sense of comfort and strength whenever ours met in glances and stares. I had already picked up that when the Senator stared at me, she was reading me. It was her tell and now that I recognized it, I would be able to bluff her when the time called for it. I had also taken note that my new wardrobe was a hit with the Senator, tailoring it to fit me perfectly was money well spent in her eyes. Eyes that roamed over my curves.
I adjusted the bag in my hand, clutching it kept my hand steady while the free one was balled into a fist. I did not want Rebecca to notice my shaking and run me through the wringer again of how I was far from suited for this job.
We took stairs down to a cool and well decorated basement office. Rebecca began talking as she punched in a key code on a small pad next to the office door. “I will get you set up with your own access code in a few minutes. Each of us have a code that tracks who and how often this office is accessed.” She pushed the solid door open and pointed to a small desk off to the right, “That will be your work station until I leave for Geneva. We can share my computer because in time it will be yours.”
I stood and looked around the room, picking up small details. Like the encryption hardware the wireless routers fed into, the soundproof ceiling tiles and the simple fact the computer on her desk was state of the art and nothing like I had ever seen, even in the bowels of the CIA building.
“Before we get started, Kit, there is one small non administrative issue to be taken care of.”
I looked over at the smaller woman, “Are you going to lecture me again on how unfit you think I am?”
Rebecca clenched her jaw, it was her tell that she was doing her best to keep her sharp tongue from lashing out across me. She turned and walked into a small closet. I heard a series of sequenced beeps and a heavy door being pushed open. A matter of moments later, Rebecca returned with a small black plastic box in her hand.
She set it on the table and motioned to the black bag in my hand, “You will not need to bring your personal firearm with you anymore. The .45 is too bulky to conceal and too loud.”
It was my turn to clench my jaw. I had thrown the .45 in the bag as a last thought since I couldn’t find my conceal holster and there was no way to hide the bulky silver gun in my tailored suit. I set the bag down on the carpet tile as Rebecca clicked open the black case.
“This is a Walther P99 .40 cal. It’s been modified for concealment and for sound without inhibiting the accuracy of the firearm. This is the same weapon I used in my days at the NSA and has always proven itself to be an exceptional tool.” She pushed the matte black finish gun towards me. I had seen a few in my detail days over in London. The sight of the firearm alone began to push memories of Montreal up from the depths I had tried to bury them in as I started to sober up.
I picked up the gun and found it to be of perfect fit and weight in my hand.
“Claire had this gun custom made for you based off the specs acquired from your file. Qualifications will be next week in Los Angeles when the three of us head down for your first public event by her side.”
I looked at Rebecca as I set the P99 back into its case, “Qualifications? You did also read in my file that I was top shot in my academy class as well as every year in my unit? You should have.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but refrained from doing it in front of the woman.
Rebecca smiled and nodded, “Oh I read all about you and your extensive celebrity in the Secret Service. The Agent Witmer who can do no wrong.” She snapped the case shut, “I am requiring you to qualify. You have not shot a gun in the line of duty for almost two years and I need to know how much extra work I will have to do if you are rusty. You need to be at your top game and more if you are going to be protecting Claire at her side.”
I couldn’t resist nor stop the words as they tumbled out of my mouth, this woman was pushing my buttons and I wanted to push back. “How long have you and Claire been sleeping together?”
The flicker that came across the pale blues of the woman standing in front of me was enough. I had hit a nerve, a nerve that told me the truth without her ever saying a word. Rebecca looked down and pushed the gun case towards me, reaching down into her desk drawer and tossing a brand new concealable holster onto the black case, “You will also need this. Also custom made. It will not be detectable under any clothing you may wear.” Her voice was softer; I had definitely taken some of the wind out of her sails.
Rebecca pointed to the desk, “Sit and I will navigate your through the email access process.”
I hesitated, enjoying the one up I pulled on the former NSA agent and current lover of the Senator.
Rebecca held the leather chair, “Please, sit. We have a lot to cover today.” Her stare was not as hard as it had been over the last few days. It was something that came with being knocked down a peg or two in your ego; I would know the feeling. I had s
pent the last two years having all of my pegs knocked out.
_____________________
An hour and a half later, my headache was pounding. Rebecca had been talking nonstop as we set up my own email account and password; the endless rambling was making my head swim.
“Claire receives hundreds of emails a day, as you can see, and it is part of your job to sort them out. The ones from other senators forward directly to her second personal senate account. The one you will be sifting through is the public one. That’s the one all of her constituents can communicate to her through. Some of those you can forward to the intern pool back in D.C. There they will answer them.” Rebecca sat on the desk behind me, “Of course look for threatening emails and do as you did back in the day. Ensure her life is not at risk. Claire has been receiving a lot of discouraging communication in the last year due to her support of genetic medical research field.”
I was beginning to zone out as I read email after email of citizens asking the senator if she could come to a flag dedication in backwoods town, USA. I clicked without discretion until Rebecca pulled a chair next to me, silently asking to take over the mouse.
I flicked it over her way.
“Kit, you will also have to keep tabs on the medical research emails Claire receives. The Criterion Centre is the research facility in Geneva the Avondale family has donated to over the last almost ten years. It is a genetic research facility that has been aiding in finding the genetic causes of some inherited illnesses as well as further advancements in other aspects of medicine.”
I half listened and half paid attention to Rebecca. I knew in my past working with other Senators and Congressmen that they all had one particular thing that they donated too or supported all in the name of re-election bids. I was bored out of my mind and my hangover was worsening as the day went further without drinking anything and eating to steady me as I went through my small detox.
Rebecca droned on about responding to simple thank you emails from those who had received treatment from the facility. I was starting to realize more of my job would be administrative than protection, and boring as fuck.
I had spaced out so much I didn’t hear or notice the Senator come into the small office until her smooth voice wrapped around my name, hit my ears.
“How is it going Kit? Bored yet?” The smile on the Senators face told me it was a joke and not an observation of my blatant boredom.
I shook my head, shifting in the leather chair as the Senator stood in front of me. She was wearing a dark blue button down and a matching fitted blazer over it. Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and I spotted traces of minimal makeup. The Senator was still in jeans, but nicer jeans that made her look casually professional.
“Not bored, well informed.” I folded my hands in my lap to hide that they were shaking more than when I had gotten to the house almost two hours ago.
Rebecca stood up from her seat, “Did you need anything? I was working on getting Kit set up with the email system and email protocol.”
I smirked to myself as Rebecca threw on an ultra-professional tone, it did appear my comment about her and the Senator sharing a bed had hit very close to home.
Claire folded her arms, “I just need to run out and meet with one of my campaign volunteers at Pepperdine University. One extraordinary volunteer I am looking at to be the west coast campaign manager.” Claire looked dead at me, “I thought that I would have Kit come with me, a dry run of what it will be like when I am the Senator.”
I heard the slight intake of a sharp, frustrated breath behind me. “I think that is a good idea. When she comes back I will show her the itinerary program.”
I stood up, eager to get out of the fluorescent lights of the basement office. Claire smiled at me, “Perfect. We should only be gone no more than two hours Rebecca. I will have her back for you to continue your work.”
Claire turned to exit the office, “I will meet you by the car, Kit.”
I went to follow her, grabbing my bag when I heard Rebecca say something that made me turn around. She nodded at the bag and shook her head no, pointing at the black gun case.
I dropped my bag and grabbed the case, opening it up and expertly loading the magazine and gun in a matter of seconds. I winked at Rebecca as I slid the P99 into the holster and tucked it into my waistband. Marveling as I walked back up the stairs at how the holster really did seem to disappear under my clothes.
The second I stepped outside I took a deep breath to steady myself. The bright afternoon sun was harsh on my headache and my eyes. I put on my sunglasses and walked over to the Senator leaning against the Lincoln. I hit the unlock button, “Do you need me to open the door for you Senator Avondale?”
She said nothing as she climbed into the passenger side seat.
That alone made me pause. Every time I drove a politician or a celebrity anywhere, they took the backseat. Determined to hide and make me feel like an over trained chauffeur, but I was quickly starting to realize that there was a lot about the Senator that was far from the normal I was used to.
Climbing into the driver’s seat I kept my sunglasses on even though the deep window tint cut the sunlight down to a minimum, “Are you sure you want to ride shotgun?”
Claire nodded, setting her phone in her lap, “The view is better from the front and I don’t treat anyone who works for me as employees. You are driving me around, but you are not my chauffeur, Kit.”
I raised my eyebrow at her words, curious to inquire more. Instead I pushed the ignition and started the car, quickly turning the radio off. Looking to Claire for directions, “Where to Senator?”
Claire turned to look at me in a way that it seemed to penetrate my sunglasses, “Use the GPS and plug in this address. 715 West Ocean Avenue.”
I fumbled with the touch screen, grumbling that I had taken all the time to figure out the sound system and not the navigation system. Finally after getting to the input screen, I tapped in the address.
The gentle semi-robotic voice repeated the address and the destination name. I couldn't help but smirk at the Senator, “Paco’s Taco Joint? I thought we were headed down to Pepperdine University to meet your new campaign manager?”
Claire smiled; it was the first genuine smile I had seen from the woman since I met her. It added a little more oomph to her overall attractiveness, “We are. But its lunchtime, I’m hungry and Paco’s is my guilty pleasure whenever I am in Malibu.” I watched as her eyes fell to my shaking hand that hovered over the gear shift, “And you need to eat Kit. Your shaking is getting worse. “
I gripped onto the gear shift, throwing the car into reverse I focused on driving and away from the far too observant stares of the blonde next to me. This woman was an enigma that had the incredible ability to dismantle my self-built enigma. I tapped on the steering wheel as I pulled into the small winding lane that took us away from the house. The Senator was a genius; it wouldn't be hard for her to figure me out. But I wondered how street smart she was and how much I would have to pick up the slack if she wasn't. I let out a breath, I had dealt with far too many celebrities that had the street smarts of a garbage can, and I really didn't want to deal with a Senator who had the potential for the same mistakes. I shook my head, silently cursing Davey for the millionth time and let my mind focus on how happy my stomach would be when I dropped greasy tacos into it. Lunch would definitely be a welcomed break to this day.
Chapter 4
The observation I made about Kit’s shaking hands had caused her to squirrel back into her hole of trying to hide things from me. Making a comment about it wasn’t meant to be mean or a dig, I was actually genuinely concerned about her. I had watched her and Rebecca in the office for at least ten minutes before interrupting them. Watching how Kit took to the information she was being fed. I was also watching Rebecca. Watching her stiffly treat Kit gave me the impression that Kit had said or done something that hit too close to home for Rebecca. She had never once thrown up her old NSA agent exte
rior in more than five years of her being by my side, but now I could see it had returned fully.
Rebecca wanted to keep Kit at an arm’s length and that was a shift from earlier in the kitchen when she wanted to keep her close, close enough she could wrap her fingers around Kit's neck and throttle her replacement.
But Kit, Kit seemed to relax even though she was shaking like she was freezing. The hangover withdrawal was hitting her system harder and whittling her defenses down. I had full intentions of taking both Rebecca and Kit to Pepperdine University to test Kit with Rebecca present, but decided against it at the last second. I honestly did want tacos and had plans for a dinner delivery from Paco’s. Then changed my mind and wanted to get food into the woman before she collapsed. I saw the solo ride to lunch and the university visit as an opportunity to dig a little deeper into the redhead who was clutching the steering wheel with both hands so much so her knuckles were white. I had also picked up Kit knew I was silently analyzing her every time our eyes met or I asked a particular set of questions. It was easy to tell that I was getting under her skin, Kit would proceed to tap the ring finger of her right hand whenever she was nervous or anxious that someone was too close, that I was getting too close.
The cool silence in the car was adding to the building tension, making it very stuffy in the Lincoln. I reached for the radio and pressed the on button, hoping to alleviate something. The gentle, rich sounds of Brahms symphony in C minor filled the front seat, pouring from the speakers. I smiled lightly at the classical music, glancing over at Kit’s right ring finger as it began to tap on the leather steering wheel a little quicker and not in time with the music.
“Brahms, why not Beethoven?” I slid the volume down a few notches so a conversation could be had around the music, not over it.
Kit leaned her head to the side, rolling her neck, “It was on the radio when I got into the car this morning, I haven’t figured out the sound system yet.” She turned her head slightly to look at me, “This car is very different from my ten year old sedan with hand crank windows and basic AM/FM radio.” Her bite was back, softer than it had been in the morning, but it was back.
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