Tropical Safeguard (Men Of The Secret Service)

by Stella Kelly

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  “Well, that was delicious,” said Agent Kensing as he put his fork down and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. His compliment made Cole stop mid-bite, along with everyone else at the table. There was a brief moment of silence as everyone stared. He scraped back his chair noisily and got up. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Agent Kensing, where are you going?” Cole asked, noticing his colleague’s half-eaten plate.

  “Sorry, folks, but Agent Nielsen and I have to get back to what we started. I won’t feel comfortable until we’ve completed our initial sweep of the mansion. Your safety is our main concern. I’m sure you understand.”

  Cole clenched his teeth and took a breath. This was going too far. Leaving in the middle of a meal while others were still eating went against everything he’d been taught. It was inexcusable. Agent Kensing’s hard-as-nails demeanor was grating on his very last nerve. This week in paradise was already turning into the week from hell.

  “I’ll join you in a moment,” Cole said sternly, leaving no room for negotiation.

  “Alright then. I’ll be waiting in the living room,” Agent Kensing said and walked away.

  The uncomfortable silence at the table was interrupted once again by the chef. “Would anyone like a mini-molten fudge cake for dessert? I’ll begin to warm them now.”

  After the delicious meal, Cole thanked the chef and approached Agent Kensing in the living room full of anger. Pacing, the veteran agent was completely unaware of the stress he’d caused everyone around him. There was no changing the man and Cole knew this, but still.... part of their job description was to blend effortlessly into the background, not enforce their presence on every situation. Clearly, the man was a razor-edged catalyst.

  Looking up, Agent Kensing noticed Cole’s arrival. “Good, you’re finally here.” He tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. “I’ve just done some research. Bermuda has a low crime rate relatively speaking. It’s probably one of the safest places we can be. Still, you have to check things out before resting assured that nothing will happen. And rest assured, Agent Nielsen, nothing’s going to happen while I’m on the job. Mark my words,” Agent Kensing said adamantly.

  “Fine. I understand.” Cole was at a loss. What could he possibly say? Did this guy actually believe he was here to goof off and not take the job seriously too? The veteran agent didn’t seem to possess a necessary level of decorum. He led the way and Cole followed.

  “Lets cover the second floor guestrooms while they’re eating and out of the way. We’ll then move on to the staff quarters. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Of course.” Cole wanted the task out of the way. Once they started the rhythm of shifts, he could easily avoid him. They would pass each other like ships in the night.

  Agent Kensing seemed distracted, unable to relax and slow down. There was definitely something bothering him. The chip on his shoulder was doubling in size as they walked up the long winding staircase to the second floor.

  “Is anything wrong?” Cole ventured, noticing Kensing’s furrowed brow.

  “No, nothing. Why do you ask?”

  Thinking the question absurd since his attitude was transparent, Cole shook his head, eyebrows raised. “I just sense something bothering you, that’s all. Have I offended you in any way?”

  “I appreciate you asking, but like I said, lets keep this professional. Me letting you know that my wife is thinking of leaving me and I’m stewing over it would be crossing a line. Just got a message from her and it ticked me off. Enough said?”

  “Enough said. I’ll drop it.” Cole felt a pang of sadness at Agent Prickly’s disclosure, but not enough to dwell on it. The man had made his own bed.

  After spending a much lengthier amount of time securing the second floor guestrooms, the agents made their way back downstairs passing through the kitchen on their way to the staff quarters. The table was clear and Jacque was loading the dishwasher. Cole wondered where the spitfire had gone, still uncertain about her role here at the mansion. She’d peaked his curiosity. He’d missed his second chance to ask her at the table. Agent Kensing had set the rigid tone and Cole didn’t want to continue it after he’d left, so he ate in silence and avoided asking any questions.

  The staff’s quarters were located behind the kitchen on the main floor. There were five rooms in total; one for the chef; one for the chauffeur; one for Spitfire – whatever position she held; and one for each of the agents. A full house. Cole and Agent Kensing quickly looked into each room to get a lay of the land. The first two rooms were messy and overflowing with personal possessions, the objects advertising their owners. Jacque’s room was brimming with cookbooks on the dresser and the bedside table. He had a framed certificate from Le Cordon Bleu above his bed. Damien’s floor was covered in clothes and a picture of his ten-year-old daughter was in a frame beside the bed. A poster of a sports car and a scantily clad woman hung on the wall. The room was stereotypical bachelor – or teenage boy – the lines were blurred. Clearly Damien was single, probably divorced. Why else would he be living at the mansion? The accumulation of stuff lent itself to the amount of time each staff member had been employed at the mansion.

  Cole knew the room with the cream-colored walls and billowy white summer duvet on the double bed belonged to the stunning yet defensive woman he’d met earlier. Katrina. Her room was sparse, tranquil, and a string of Hindu prayer beads hung over the doorknob. It was as if she had no possessions. And, like Damien, he assumed she was single too. She must be. Why else would she be here? Unless…maybe her and Damien were an item? An uncontrollable flicker of jealous heat licked under Cole’s collar at the thought. He pulled at it, willing himself to relax.

  “Must be nice to have such a simple life. Not too challenging,” Agent Kensing commented as they entered.

  Cole couldn’t tell if the man was insulting her or paying her a compliment. He didn’t bother to ask. Something told him she was anything but simple.

  “Nothing here,” the veteran agent said as he passed Cole and left the room.

  The bathroom door stood ajar and Cole noticed something pink on the floor. Panties. He looked away, knowing full well that he should be leaving. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with….

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” Katrina pushed the door open further and entered.

  “Ahh, sorry, I was just…” Cole felt his face flush. He noticed her hand on her hip. Defensive. Confrontational. Quite the opposite reaction he was expecting from someone into meditation yet the only reaction he’d ever seen from her. In the brief moment of their stare down, he also noticed how jade-green her eyes were and how her eyelashes seemed to stretch for eternity. He’d noticed them from across the table earlier, but hadn’t wanted to stare too much. Now, her eyes bore into him like lasers and in turn he couldn’t look away if his life depended on it. He wondered if she wore colored contacts, but judging by her lack of make-up, she was a natural beauty all the way, a far cry from high-maintenance.

  “Agent, I think you’ve crossed a line here. I don’t take kindly to strange men entering my room. This is extremely unprofessional and I will be talking to Mr. Winters about it.” She stepped closer to him, unintentionally blocking his way. For such a tiny person, she commanded the space.

  Cole hung his head, embarrassed. “Listen, I apologize, Miss. If it’s any consolation, we’re doing our job to keep you safe and we also have to ensure Secretary Mitchell and Deputy Greenbaum’s safety.” Looking up, Cole was hopeful that this would put her at ease. It didn’t.

  “Safe from what? Killer birds? Man-eating fish? We’re in Bermuda, agent. Mr. Winters has already put us through the necessary hoops. We’ve had intensive criminal record checks; he’s crosschecked our references, referrals, and previous employers. We’re a very trustworthy group of people here. No masked murderers, gangsters, or plotters in your midst. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave my room.”

  Cole raised his eyebrows. Yes
, perhaps her reaction was warranted, but man was she ever direct. Yet despite her negative energy, she seemed cautious. He had the feeling she didn’t want to be rude but her anger got the better of her.

  “What is your role here at the mansion?” Cole took a chance in asking.

  “I’m Mrs. Winters’ Pilates instructor and massage therapist. Why?”

  “I had to ask. Listen, we were just following protocol and since you weren’t here to answer our knock, we took matters into our own hands. I’m sorry if you feel invaded. Excuse me.” Cole curtly walked around her and left, leaving the door ajar. She slammed her door behind him like an exclamation point to his departure.

  Cole was still in shock over the feisty woman’s overt bluntness when he found Agent Kensing.

  “Well, what’s the story there? She’s very attractive.”

  For some reason, the comment annoyed Cole further. “No story, just a staff member. Moving on…”

  Chapter Three

  An island that historically ran rampant with treasure-laden galleons and pirates, Bermuda now held a civilized serenity that Katrina cherished. She could not have created the perfect escape if she’d tried.

  Opening the double doors onto her balcony, she walked out into the salty tropical air of the approaching evening. This place was paradise on earth, this expansive room, the secluded immaculately groomed property, and the quiet. It wasn’t just the environment, it was the people in it too. They didn’t pry. Well, aside from the recent staff additions. Thinking of her earlier encounter with Agent Nielsen sent her heart plummeting. A nagging guilt began to fester in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she’d overreacted – something she normally didn’t do, but under circumstances beyond her control she did often now. Her fuse had shortened to the point of impatience, a trait she never would have used to describe herself before. Was it self-preservation? The thought of a strange man in her room – her space – was extremely unsettling. She’d come so far. No man would make her feel vulnerable and exposed ever again. She wouldn’t let that happen, not anymore. But still, there was something about the tall, rugged agent that captured her imagination. Something tender, almost vulnerable in his mannerisms. He seemed gentle, cautious even, yet he was all man. She sensed he was a little out of his element with the other agent. And he was, after all, just doing his job. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him – too hard on a member of the Secret Service. Was she asking for trouble?

  Her long dark hair blew in the breeze and she raised a hand to pull it back behind her ear. Leaning against the balcony rail, Katrina stared out at the breathtaking view of the ocean and the pink and orange hues of the descending sun on the horizon. Even the best five star hotels couldn’t offer this kind of relaxed, private escape. It was breathtaking. Being late November, the temperature was cool but comfortable. The evening air filled with the musical chorus of whistling tree frogs, a twilight ritual Katrina could always count on. Looking down at the quaint courtyard below, she noticed movement to her right. Seeing who it was, Katrina was torn with a desire to crouch out of sight or return to her room. But then, she wondered if coming out on the balcony and seeing him at this very moment was fate. Agent Nielsen was strolling down the cobbled path that led to the cliffs at the far right of the sprawling back lawn. Although it was dusk, Katrina could see him clearly from her vantage point and at this distance, she decided he looked a little melancholy as he moped along. He stopped to inspect a leaf on one of the trees with curiosity and in doing so, turned slightly in her direction. Katrina felt a wave of panic. The last thing she wanted was to be seen staring at him, spying. Her feelings of guilt over their shared drama returned and all at once, she felt the urge to clear the air.

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  Cole followed the path wherever it took him. He felt a surge of freedom with each step he took farther away from the mansion. He had actually looked forward to this assignment; viewed it as a perk since he’d been working so hard over the past year. Being fairly young and single, his boss had piled on the assignments and Cole had willingly complied. Until his father’s recent health issues, Cole was free to accept any assignment in any location on the planet. There was nothing holding him back. He viewed this latest assignment as his boss’s way of saying, ‘Thanks for the hard work’. Unfortunately, saddling him with Agent Prickly had negated those feelings of reward. Instead, he felt like this was a weeklong sentence. Throw on the fact that one of the staff members detested him already. Him. He wasn’t used to being judged so harshly and dismissed like that. She’d really put him in his place. There had to be more to her story, he was certain.

  The sound of quickly approaching footsteps made him stop and place a hand discretely on his revolver. Turning, Cole saw Katrina appear in the dusk. He stood staring at her, speechless. Should he prepare himself for another verbal lashing?

  “Agent Nielsen, I’ve come to apologize.”

  Shocked, Cole’s face broke into a wide grin he couldn’t control if he’d wanted to. “Thank you. And I apologize too…again.”

  An awkward silence hung between them in the night air and Cole shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “May I walk with you?” she asked, smiling.

  Cole found it difficult to hide his look of surprise and was thankful for the late evening’s fading light. They both turned and walked casually side-by-side toward the cliff. They stopped and leaned against the stone walled rail that overlooked the ocean. Looking down toward the jagged rocks below, they silently watched the thundering waves crash and retreat in a frothy aftermath. The moonlight illuminated the white rushing water, making it look like it was dancing and animated.

  “This place is mesmerizing. I’ve been to many tropical places, but his is top of the list. It sure beats Manhattan’s summer smog,” Cole commented as he looked out at the endless shimmering ocean.

  Katrina snapped her head toward him. “Manhattan? Is that where you’re from?”

  “Yep, grew up there. Have you been?”

  “It just so happens that I’ve lived in Manhattan for the past three years. Well, before coming here I mean. I’m originally from Maine.”

  “Really? Small world. What brings you here?”

  “Um,” she noticeably hesitated, “it just seemed like a great opportunity, so I grabbed it.”

  “Have you been working here long?” Cole tried to make his question sound casual, less methodical and calculated, less Secret Service interrogation. He could sense her apprehension.

  She slumped a bit and crossed her arms. “No, not long.”

  They stared ahead at the water again in silent contemplation. Glancing over, he was again struck by her overt beauty. The wind blew her dark hair around and it looked wild and untamed. He wondered if it matched her personality – the real Katrina that he was certain hadn’t been revealed to him just yet, the carefree woman instead of the defensive, edgy spitfire. He yearned to find out. The breeze grew cooler with the sun’s decent and Cole noticed her bare arms react with goosebumps as she involuntarily shuddered. “Here, take my jacket.” He slipped it from his arms before she could protest and placed it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said reluctantly.

  She glanced over, sneaking a peak at the handsome agent. Still amazed by his unexpected gesture, she thought perhaps she’d misjudged him after all. He really was a gentleman. Inhaling, she couldn’t help but smell the heady cologne at the collar of the suit jacket. The smell was wonderfully intoxicating and Katrina inhaled deeper.

  “So, you live in New York then?” She noticed his bare fingers as they rested against the wall. No ring.

  “Yes, but I’m all over the place depending on my assignments. I’m looking to stay in New York City or Washington for a while though. My Dad’s not well. I want to be close to him.”

  “Oh, is it serious?” Katrina watched as Agent Nielsen’s face furrowed, the subject apparently difficult.

  “Actually, yes. It’s Parkinson’s and my family has been watching i
t progress. My Mom is with him and he’s still home, so that’s a good thing.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You must be so worried about him.”

  “I am. It’s very difficult to have to watch it happen. He is…was…a very strong person –physically and mentally tough. His very presence commanded admiration. He’s still my biggest hero.” He looked down at the churning water again. His mind was elsewhere for a moment, with his father in New York she assumed, before he straightened. “So what brought you to New York from Maine then?”

  Katrina didn’t blame him for the subject change. “A job, like most people in New York.”

  “Where’d you live?”

  “Well, originally I lived in a hovel above a Chinese take-out restaurant in the village, but that only lasted a few months. Then I moved over to Tribeca.”

  “Ah, Manhattan loft living at it’s finest. I assume you didn’t squat like most Tribeca residents back in the day?”

  “Not exactly. And where are you from?”

  He cleared his throat. “Um, Upper Yorkville.”

  Katrina leaned away and gave him a curious look. “Upper East Side, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “What street?”

  He visibly hesitated, as if debating what to say. “Um, Park Avenue.”

  “Hmmm, I get it, you’re an uptown boy.” Katrina looked ahead and smirked. His response explained a lot. The groomed haircut, the discipline, the preppy attire, he seemed professional, rigid. She’d assumed it was just because of his job. Now she knew he was probably this way as a toddler; his silver spoon leaving a rich taste in his mouth.

  “Yep, uptown born and bread,” he said, matter of fact, as if embracing his family’s position in life.