“Daniel,” the Chief of Staff insisted.
“That will take some getting used to as well, sir.”
“Doesn’t it though.”
And for that Roy swore he would try to loosen up around the man.
Daniel turned to Sienna, “Welcome to the Residence, Sienna.”
“Thanks, Daniel.” There was an easy familiarity, though Roy noticed that her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper even if the Chief of Staff didn’t.
Daniel was pulled away as Roy glanced down at her. Her pale white skin, which made her brown eyes such a visceral shock, was tinging blue. He leaned over until his mouth was close by her ear and his nose was practically buried in her hair, “Breathe!”
“You first,” Sienna joked, but managed to start breathing again.
He was momentarily mesmerized by the movement of her chest as she breathed deeply several times, but managed to shake it off before she noticed.
That dress had been messing with his mind since he’d pulled his own suit out of the back corner of his closet. Imagining Sienna out of her Washington-dulls and dressed up had been hard to formulate into an image, until the very moment he’d stepped in at her office door. The breath had been knocked right out of him. Snipers were trained to capture an entire image and then process it while ducked back in safe hiding.
That first, full-length glance of Sienna Arnson dressed to dazzle had done just that and it still was. Though she stood close beside him, he could still visualize every single detail of how she’d looked as he’d entered. Smiling, happy, and drop-dead gorgeous. She made him feel as if he’d been smacked upside the head like…like a squirrel that had jumped off a high branch and missed the next tree only to thud down onto the pine needle-strewn ground. He needed to go lie in a field somewhere until his head stopped spinning.
Sienna out of her Washington-dulls and in a cocktail dress—at least he suspected that’s what it was called—was revelatory. If he’d been gobsmacked by the National Security Advisor, he was blown out of the water by the woman revealed. And the neckline that exposed just the very first rise of her exceptional breasts was giving him a great deal of trouble—they weren’t over- or under-sized, they were just exquisite. The dress teased and enticed, invited a man to look and imagine. And those thoughts led down to a trim waist defined by curvy hips. Her legs, he really wasn’t going to think about those legs, because they were—
He tore his attention away and back to the room before he forgot how to breathe.
“The room may be daunting, but the fantastic way you look isn’t helping matters,” he muttered softly to her.
“Really? Cool!” She sounded far too pleased and vowed to never speak again.
They were both still rooted in place at the entrance to the main hall of the second floor of the Residence. They had ascended the Grand Staircase together rather than taking the elevator and been just fine as they crossed the intricate parquet floor to stand in the archway that opened onto the Central Hall.
The hall was a dozen feet high, twenty wide, and stretched for about a dozen miles down the entire length of the Residence. The last colors of sunset filled the giant half moon window at the very far end with bold oranges, deepening to red even as he remained riveted in place.
The room’s carpet was white, the furniture rich green leather with dark wood, and the walls the palest yellow. There was a grand piano, potted trees, and a half dozen of his fellow agents posted discreetly along the walls. The doors to either side led to the Yellow Oval Room and the First Family’s private apartments. This President didn’t live on the third floor. Rumor said he wouldn’t even set foot there since his first wife’s death—for they had been her private apartments. Hearsay stated that he hadn’t been up there while she was alive either, but Roy hadn’t joined the White House detail until after Geneviève Matthews was already the second First Lady. Now Daniel and his wife lived upstairs, the first Chief of Staff to do so in many decades.
But all of that wasn’t what defined the room. It was the half a hundred people circulating in the massive space who made this not just another overly fancy gathering. The power elite of Washington, D.C. filled the room. Daniel, the Vice President, and the President, all accompanied by their knock-out wives. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in full uniform—and General Brett Rogers who had been a Special Ops soldier for decades and had the battle ribbons to prove it. Cabinet members, congressional leaders…it was a daunting array for a mere sniper to be caught in.
There was conversation and laughter, serious circles of discussion and casual ones, men in expensive suits and a stunning array of women in amazing dresses—some of whom really shouldn’t be, but some of whom absolutely deserved to wear such attire.
He’d seen Sienna checking her dress in the occasional mirror as he’d escorted her to the Residence. She didn’t have a single thing to worry about.
And still both of them remained riveted under the stairway landing’s arch.
“Sienna?”
She looked up at him wide eyed, her chest still moving a little too fast.
“Don’t hyperventilate on me.”
“Why?” She actually gasped a bit. “You think fainting would be bad form at my first White House party?”
“Screw that. You faint and I’m stuck here with these people by myself.”
“What? You wouldn’t just sweep me into your arms and take me away from all this?” Her breathing sounded a little more normal.
“Hmm,” Roy considered the scenario. “I can work with that. Go ahead. Faint away and I’ll get us both out of here pronto.”
“Remember what honey badger says,” someone whispered from close behind him. Then, before he could turn to fully see who it was, he felt a sharp push in the center of his back. A long slip of a dark girl faded sideways into the crowd.
“Who was that?”
“That,” Sienna managed as they now moved slowly toward a nearby knot in the crowd, “was Dilya Stevenson. She gave me the pin.”
Roy looked around, but she’d disappeared somewhere. When he focused front, there were the President, the First Lady (who was at least as beautiful in real life as the magazines made her), and a couple he didn’t recognize. He’d guess they were Mr. and Mrs. French Ambassador—correction, Mrs. and Mr. French Ambassador as the title was hers, not his. Roy felt a slight rearward tug on his arm of Sienna slowing.
“You’ve got no worries, lady,” he told her when they were still a few steps away from the group. “You’re the most stunning woman in the room.”
She shot him a quick look of surprise and then he could see the NSA shield start to drop over her.
“Don’t do that. Just be you.”
It had been one of his dad’s rare lessons from back when he was trying to figure out how to impress girls.
“Besides, Sienna Arnson is amazing enough to scare the crap out of me even without the honey badger pin. Bet she scares everyone one else too.”
He didn’t have time to see her reaction, because they’d arrived.
# # #
Sienna didn’t have time to sort out her feelings about Roy’s last several comments. Combined, they made her feel a little taller and a little stronger. Even so (she dug her fingers hard into his arm to make sure he didn’t get away), Siena wasn’t letting go of Roy’s bulwark of strength and support.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. President, Mr. and Mrs. Ambassador. May I introduce Roy Beaumont?” He did the nod and handshake thing, being effortlessly polite.
He thought she was beautiful, she’d heard that enough to know it was true. But that Roy thought her beautiful while they were walking up to the exquisite First Lady dressed in a long sheath dress of gold with an Asian flower design flowing up the front in soft lavender was utterly ridiculous. She’d have attributed it to his trying to flatter her, except Roy hadn’t done that…
ever. If he really was as straight-ahead a guy as his occupation implied then—
She flipped to her college French and did her best to ask if this was the ambassador’s first visit to D.C.
No for her, yes for him. Shoe is on the other foot, Mr. Husband to the Ambassador. Of course the French were more open to powerful women. Then why had Roy told her to check her NSA persona at the door? It hadn’t felt as if he was trying to put her down or box her in. Maybe he was just... Now was not the time to ask.
First Lady Geneviève Matthews joined in easily, her French fluid though with an unusual lilt that must be her Vietnamese upbringing. It quickly became obvious that Roy and the President barely spoke a word of it and were soon left out in the cold. But Roy didn’t appear abashed and took it in stride as he did everything else.
She half listened as Roy made some joke about locking the First Family away in Fort Knox or with NORAD down under Cheyenne Mountain for the entire term of office. Rather than being offended, Peter Matthews was soon chatting about Roy’s job with what sounded like genuine interest.
Sienna lost the thread of the French conversation at the President’s amused comment to something of Roy’s that she’d missed.
“You had Kee Stevenson drag you aloft? Now that is one tough woman.”
“Noticed that myself, Mr. President.” Roy didn’t look at all surprised that the President knew Kee. As if it was so normal for the Commander in Chief to be hanging out with military snipers.
“You met her kid yet? She takes after her adoptive mother with a vengeance.”
Roy glanced in her direction, as if to make sure she heard what he was about to say next.
“Is that why Kee wants to give her away to Frank Adams and Beatrice Belfour as a Christmas present?”
The President laughed easily, “Two hardcore agents who never had kids didn’t stand a chance around Dilya. I mean that girl has us all wrapped around her little finger, but Frank and Beat dote on her as if they were her grandparents even if they aren’t old enough to be.”
Sienna could see the look of smug victory on Roy’s face. He’d found out something nice about Frank and Beat and obtained it from the most unimpeachable of sources.
“I knew it,” Dilya’s voice sliced right into Roy’s smug expression. She’d come up behind them, carrying a two-year old who was the spitting image of her First Lady mother. The toddler’s dress was a luminous gold to match her mother. It also served to accent how nice Dilya looked in her elegant black.
“Knew what?” the President asked.
“These two,” Dilya nodded at Sienna and Roy. “Something about Frank and Beat. Like they’ve been scheming on it.”
Sienna could see that somehow Dilya knew exactly what was going on, no matter how impossible that was. In fact, she was clearly enjoying outing their little conspiracy to the President.
“No,” Roy stumbled out. “We just…” But he had nowhere better to take it than Sienna did because they had indeed been scheming. Scheming on how he was going to get a second kiss tonight. And at the rate he was going, a whole lot mo—
“Let’s get to the bottom of this.” The President barely had to raise his hand for Frank to materialize at his side. If Roy’s height and strength had made her feel safe, Frank’s breadth of shoulder overshadowed even the personal power of the President. He became the dominant force of the group, probably of any group he was in.
Oddly, Roy didn’t fade.
Sienna was used to judging and working with power dynamics in a group, and it was a close thing between Roy and Frank as to who was the more impressive.
The President glanced around and also caught Beat’s attention. In a moment, she joined her husband.
“Mr. Beaumont here wants to know why you two never had children of your own that makes you so dote on Dilya?”
“No, I—” Roy tried to protest, but the President’s broad wink shut him down.
Dilya squawked as well and only looked a little quelled by the President’s, “Hush, you.” Clearly her little plot had spun out of her control in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Sienna suspected that few things did that to Dilya.
Frank Adams cast a baleful look at Roy that Sienna figured would have melted any lesser man right where he was standing.
It was Beatrice who laughed. “Because we love the kid so much.”
“I do not think your answer,” the First Lady stepped up, “is such enough to answer my husband’s question even though he would hide it as Mr. Beaumont’s.” The First Lady took her daughter from Dilya’s arms and hugged her close. The little girl started to play with her mother’s hair. Sienna was charmed that Geneviève Matthews did nothing to stop the damage to her perfect coif, instead she turned enough to kiss her daughter on the nose.
Frank looked sad and Sienna wondered how she could rewind this so that the question had never been asked. Somehow go back to before she’d set the challenge to Roy. But it was too late.
“It was both of our faults, Mr. President,” Beatrice answered soberly, resting a hand on her husband’s arm. “I was out in the field, specializing in assignee protection in hazardous situations, as you may recall, sir. I loved it and didn’t want to back away. But by the time I eased off—”
“I was the head of your detail by then, sir,” Frank Adams cut off his wife who was having some trouble speaking. “I refused to be some absent father—as heading your detail is not a part-time job—who might have to step in front of a gun and cost my kid having a father. I was going to resign, but Beat wouldn’t let me. She said this was too important and she was right, sir. Then she stepped in as the First Lady’s head of detail and I didn’t want her to give that up. It has been an honor.”
Sienna’s breath caught in her throat. Their impossible sacrifice was deeply humbling.
The President didn’t even hesitate. He reached out and shook Frank’s hand solemnly in both of his. Frank nodded and they were done.
Sienna heard the First Lady curse lightly under her breath, “Mens!” She shifted her daughter into one arm and wrapped the other around Beat and hugged her tightly.
“This one,” the First Lady joggled her daughter, “is just starting on her terrible twos. Any time you wish to steal her, please do.” Then she shifted from joking to intimately sincere. “I know of no one she would be safer with.”
“Aw crap,” Dilya’s sniffle summed it up.
Beat shifted back into her serious, head of the First Lady’s protection detail mode, which no longer looked as daunting as it had only moments ago, then turned to Dilya. “Kee loves you too much to do it, but if she ever cuts you loose, Little One, you know where you’re always welcome.”
“Yeah,” Dilya sniffled again, hugged Beat, and then grabbed the First Child and practically bolted from the room.
Frank and Beat faded back into their discreet, watchful mode along the walls. The President and First Lady were swept up into fresh conversations and suddenly she and Roy were left alone in a momentary vacuum in the middle of the crowded hall. It had been as if an air space had been formed around them with the President, a space that no one else had dared to cross and the effect still persisted for a few moments.
“Do me a favor, beautiful,” Roy laid his hand over hers where it was still tucked around his arm.
“Sure. What?” She wasn’t surprised by the rough tightness of her own voice.
“No more quests. I’m not so sure that I like the answers.”
Sienna could only nod in response.
# # #
The rest of the evening was a blur to Roy. He shook the hands of more people in the next two hours than he typically did in a year. He unearthed stories of the Vermont woods that had made others laugh…without knowing quite what they had said to make him tell each particular story.
He was only really conscious of two things.
First, the in
credible safety of the situation. All of the back-stabbing knives in the room were sheathed in polite words, and he was fine ignoring those. Though some cabinet secretary, who made Sienna clench unexpectedly hard on his arm, was saved a quick thrashing by the sudden arrival of the Vice President. Even on his best behavior the secretary’s manners weren’t all that impressive. However, Roy decided it would be a poor tactical move to punch the man for his tendency to speak to Sienna’s breasts, so instead he maneuvered himself to block obvious sightlines and avoided the whole situation.
Other than verbal forays, this was one of the most secure rooms at the moment, anywhere. And because the gathering was in the central hall, it would take a missile strike to have a chance of reaching them. A sniper never was on the front lines like the ground details, but somehow the twenty-seven vertical feet from his rooftop had moved him through some strange zone between “outside” and “inside” the Secret Service’s protection.
The second thing that dominated Roy’s attention through the evening was his infinite awareness of the woman who never let go of his arm. At first he was relieved because he didn’t want to be caught alone in a place he so little belonged. When he realized that her attachment in turn was part of an unstated mutual protection pact, he didn’t complain. Sienna wanted to be next to him so that she wasn’t cornered by some jerk? Fine with him.
Her skill on the social battlefield was utterly daunting. People of all calibers had sought a few moments of Sienna’s time. He didn’t recognize what was happening at first, but it soon became clear. She had a view of such clarity about global situations, that they were coming to her for interpretation.
Roy often had trouble following their questions. After a while he realized that was because the inquirer didn’t have a clear grasp of what they really wanted to know either.
Sienna’s answers however, were crystalline. By the time she was done, both the inquirer and himself understood not only the intended question but also the situation in a new light.
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