Roy's Independence Day

by M. L. Buchman

  And indeed, he did put her back up against the hotel room’s wall on that late Friday night and she’d enjoyed every single moment of it. And for all of the hotel’s lack of multiple stars of acclaim held by the Raphael—where she was not staying—the bed was very comfortable for two, though the shower was a little small.

  On Friday’s flight over she’d identified gaps in her briefing reports, and spent that first afternoon’s meeting filling them in, with data from the people who lived and breathed French security.

  Sienna had spent Saturday’s meetings walking the dicey line of telling someone else how she would run their country if it was hers. If not receptive, at least they’d been very thoughtful by the time the long session was over.

  And Saturday night she’d won her bet with herself.

  The French President had rejoined them for the wrap-up of the meetings that night and the whole team had sat down to a very formal spread from some of the best chefs in Paris. But it hadn’t been half as much fun as that late Friday dinner with the three agents swapping stories around a table so small that their knees kept knocking together. It hadn’t even raised a speculative eyebrow from the Parisian agents when she’d moved her chair to sit beside Roy for coffee and dessert as they watched the people of Paris flow by—something she’d never dare try here.

  At that ending-night dinner—in tune with her thoughts as ever, or perhaps as concerned with protecting her reputation as her life—Roy had been careful to place himself down the table from her.

  And she’d missed him.

  It was ridiculous. They’d been within ten feet of each other for days, and she’d missed being able to lean over and drop a line to make him laugh. She’d been able to hear him telling his stories but could only catch enough to know that they were ones she hadn’t heard before.

  As if to make up for it, Sunday started warm and glorious.

  Roy was a generally gentle lover, but he set new standards in the pre-dawn darkness. By the time he was done, she didn’t feel sated, she felt worshipped.

  She awoke again as dawn was finally breaking. Just like it was supposed to in Paris, the drapes to the microscopic balcony fluttered gently in the breeze as the rose pink light of morning washed across the city and Roy’s splendid body.

  Sienna watched him for a long while. The July weather was warm enough that he had thrown back even the thin sheet and lay exposed like some Greek statue in repose.

  A week and a day.

  In a week and a day her life had been altered. Perhaps irrevocably.

  Somewhere in yesterday’s meetings she had noticed the first shift. She had spent Friday being the investigator and Saturday morning being the coach. But by the afternoon she had indeed been the National Security Advisor for the United States of America. She’d been able to help the French piece together new strategies to address the worst of their problems. Nothing had been solved, but there was a lot of promise for a more secure future.

  And what of her own future? NSA for six more months. She’d been approached by several strategy consultants before the President’s offer had preempted all others. She knew those offers would be renewed when she left the White House. If she didn’t screw it up in the next six months, her future was sound.

  Then what?

  Children with Roy?

  Marriage to a man willing to rage against the ministers of France in her defense?

  That had been the true test. Not how he made her body feel. Not his obvious honor and integrity. Oddly it was his fury that had proved his true feelings to her. The depth of it, the complete outrage on her behalf. No agent merely concerned with his protectee’s safety would have ranted so. If that was all it had been, he’d have lodged a complaint with their Secret Service and run it through channels.

  Roy Beaumont. Always careful. Always steady. He was a forthright man who always spoke his mind. What had it cost him to peel back that layer on his emotions?

  She smiled down at him still sleeping beside her.

  Did he know that he loved her?

  Did she know that she loved him? She nearly laughed aloud. Sienna Arnson loved a man. Loved this man sprawled naked in the light of a Paris dawn.

  She tried to judge the future against this newfound present. Was he a man she could love all her days and he the same of her? “There’s a dumb-ass question,” she could practically hear Roy say, he’d said it more than once during the meetings. “You can plan for the future, but you can’t predict it,” his follow-up rarely softened the blow. More than once he’d cut through the chaff and political backloops with his forthright…Yankeeness.

  Could she picture starting a life with Roy?

  More than any man she’d ever met.

  She brushed her fingers ever so lightly along his cheek. He woke as he always did, one instant out, the next totally present. But this time it wasn’t the agent who woke beside her, but the man.

  Sienna then set about proving to the man just how she felt about that change in who he was with her. When she’d driven him past speech, past control until her merest gesture made him quiver, then she’d straddled him and finally let him send them both to a place she’d never been with any other man.

  Chapter 10

  “It’s July 14th,” Sienna said as she wandered naked out of the tiny shower.

  “Which means what?” Some remote part of Roy asked the question. The rest of him was too busy admiring the naked woman before him. Not merely her body, which was impossibly firing off some thoughts that they had only just finished exhausting. But also the thoughtless ease with which she moved as she dried and buffed herself with a towel. The wet look was exceptional on her. Her dark red hair had slid into the deepest auburn, its wet tangle emphasizing the strong lines of her face. And her fair skin had reddened to a warm luster from the blazingly hot water she preferred.

  But it was the internal contrast that was distracting him the most at the moment. She was soft, welcoming, eager, and sweet. He knew her expressions when enjoying a meal among friends, the look a half instant before she laughed, and at the moment of a cascading release shuddering down her frame.

  He also knew her looks when thoughtful, diplomatic, or completely frustrated. The last was revealed by an absolute calm and a solid bastion of silence that was wholly formidable. He’d watched her teasing Mabel Chen and standing up to the Presidents of both the US and France.

  The many moods of Sienna Arnson. He could imagine spending a long time learning them, though he doubted he’d ever understand them all. He wondered how she’d look lazing beside a Vermont waterfall after a long fall hike through the oaks. How her face might age with wisdom and joy.

  And a part of him desperately wanted to know how soon he could entice her back into bed so that he could again brush his fingers over those amazing curves.

  “Roy!”

  “What?” She stood facing him, hands on hips, and stark naked except for the towel clenched in one fist. How was a man supposed to think with such a view.

  “Speaking here, Beaumont.”

  “Lusting after your incredible body, Arnson.” Which was when he realized Sienna never stood like that herself. She was merely imitating his own stance when she was frustrating him.

  She threw the towel at his face then turned for her suitcase.

  He admired the view from behind until she was dressed.

  When she finished—as if her sleek capris, open sandals, and blouse just thin enough to hint at the black bra beneath wasn’t equally distracting—she once again faced him and planted her feet, again mocking his style.

  “Listening to me now, Beaumont?”

  “Nope!” He made a point of looking her up and down, another image he’d store away for a long time and savor.

  “Bastille Day. La Fête Nationale. Le quatorze juillet.”

  “Is that like Romeo and Juliet?”

 
; “Not in any way, except that this Romeo might soon end up as dead as week-old toast.”

  “It seems unfair.”

  “What does?” A light flush of irritation colored her cheeks. Gods but she was fun to tease.

  “The peasants overthrew the Bastille prison in 1789 and beheaded poor Louis the Sixteenth and dear Marie let-them-eat-cake Antoinette in ’92. And you think that’s an excuse to go party?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  He keyed his radio, “You two awake and ready for breakfast yet? We have a parade to go watch.”

  Jankowski mumbled something that might have been, “About goddamn time.”

  “How?” Sienna demanded.

  “Downstairs in five,” he keyed off and shrugged negligently. “I know shit. It’s my job.”

  “Should I thank Chen or Jankowski for educating your dumb Yankee ass?”

  “I’m hurt,” Roy slapped a hand to his chest. “You said you liked my ass.”

  She rolled her eyes and he used her momentary inattention to cross the two steps that separated them and crush her against him. She practically purred as he held her hard.

  “How the hell did you become so important to me?”

  “It’s your job,” she mumbled into his chest.

  It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t that he wanted her. It was that he could not imagine living without her. Not today, not tomorrow, not in ten years.

  For a day and a half he’d sat in meetings and watched her heart. Her commitment to helping. Her gentle hand with ministers and military men who needed a good smack. The only one in the room with a whole clue other than Sienna had been General Dumont. As old as Sienna’s father and sharp as hell. He had been the one to clue Roy in on Sunday’s importance to France. He had planned to stay until Monday “because even National Security Advisors get the occasional day off,” as Sienna had informed him, but this was even better.

  The general had told him of the day’s events and where to be for the best experience.

  And it started with the largest and oldest military parade in all of Europe. Down the Champs Élysées from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde. The President had invited her to stand beside him at the end of the route, along with ambassadors of many countries. It had only taken the slightest glance from Sienna for her security detail to respectfully decline.

  “Thank you, Roy,” she’d told him as soon as they were alone. “It would be quite an honor, but I’d rather go play. Besides, they’d probably turn it into another meeting and I’m tapped dry.”

  He let his smile tell her that he had no complaints about her decision. “You gave them a lot. They now need to take ownership of your suggestions or they will remain as solely your skills rather than them making them their own.”

  “And when did you get so smart?” He remembered the warmth of that moment. Sienna was brilliant and for her not to think him a burden was a gift.

  “Sniper, remember?” It was surprising how often that was the answer to her questions. He’d learned about the difference between training and deeply integrated skills with thousands of hours of practice. But he had never realized how ingrained his role had become in his life.

  Yet Frank Adams had seen more than just “sniper” in him. No one jumped from counter sniper to head of detail. And now that he thought about it, neither had he. He’d always picked up the scut work of planning and analysis. Only now in retrospect did he understand that Adams had sent that type of work his way far more than he did to others. He’d also been team leader of his sniper squad for the last year which had involved management skills as well as ensuring a deep integration into other teams: ground prep, close protection, SWAT, and air.

  “Roy? Where did you go this time?”

  “A, uh, far off land filled with naked dancing women.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “They’re all redheads, and they elect you their queen.”

  “And I make you the court jester.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Any chance of getting a straight answer from you today?”

  “Apparently not,” but he could see she wasn’t as amused as he’d hoped. “I’m finding my world is a little out of its familiar balance since the moment you walked across my scope sight.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad?”

  He kissed her quickly and shooed her toward the door. “It’s neither one. It’s the best thing.”

  And she was, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  # # #

  Sienna liked being someone’s “best thing.” Even more, she liked being Roy’s “best thing.”

  They bought small strong coffees and large croissants from a tiny shop that fronted the parade route. They applauded the marching troops. Who could resist cheering a cavalry that still rode horses rather than tank-based armored cav or an air cav who flew helicopters. An entire phalanx of marching K-9 unit earned roars of approval from the packed crowds and squeals of delight from the numerous children. A goose-stepping squadron of visiting Mexican falconers in nineteenth-century uniforms complete with hawks and eagles perched on their padded sleeves was a stunning sight. And there was no emotion possible except awe as tanks and mobile missiles rolled down the Champs Élysées.

  They climbed the steeples of the Notre Dame cathedral where she snapped a photo of Roy posed with a gargoyle; and Mabel shot a photo of her and Roy with the entire city of Paris laid out behind them.

  Roy led them to a quiet lunch in the back garden of the Musée Rodin. It had been the sculptor’s home: an open, airy structure filled with magnificent light. If it were a dozen sizes smaller, she could move right in and happily never leave. The ground floor was dominated by a large marble of an intimately kissing couple. The Kiss which sounded even more luscious in French, Le Baiser. The garden itself was dominated by a greened-over bronze of The Thinker and dozens of his other works.

  Chen punched him in the ribs for making some crude conjectures on what the three meter high statue was thinking up there atop his stone pedestal. She’d taken to doing that after she determined that their height difference was too great to smack him on the back of the head. It looked as if she threw good punches, not that they fazed Roy in the slightest.

  Beneath the shade trees—on a lawn anonymously populated by dozens of other French couples and families on holiday and so green it might have come from an artist’s palette—they ate Brie, thin slices of salami, and marinated artichokes on torn-off sections of fresh baguette. Because the three agents were on duty, they all four had soft cider rather than red wine. It was easy to forget she was actually the center of a very safe sphere of protection except when she noticed how rarely they looked at her and how thoroughly they watched the crowds.

  She was reminded of Roy in the Smithsonian National Museum of Air and Space. He hadn’t spotted her by glancing at the crowd, his gaze had tracked through the hall in a careful sweep until it had alighted on her.

  That evening, no one complained about the long wait for a boat cruise along the Seine.

  “Teach me to do what you do.”

  “Guard people?” Jankowski sounded skeptical.

  “No, shoot people,” Mabel stated.

  “Neither,” Roy said, of course reading her intent along with her question. He must have noted her watching them watch. “Okay, Sienna. We’re standing in a queue of people, what do you see?”

  She began listing them, “A bridge, some buildings…” she was able to name more than a half dozen of them, “…the Seine, a queue of people, a departing boat, a—”

  “That’s enough. Now point to the places you just named in the order you named them.”

  As she swung her arm back and forth, up and down, she began to feel foolish. She was like a wind-up clock on steroids pointing high, low, back and forth. Roy let her continue until she reach
ed the end of her list—she had to guess at the order of a couple of them—and she could feel the heat in her cheeks.

  “Now let’s try this. Turn in a slow circle, only looking at what is exactly in front of you as you turn. Try not to look too obvious about what you’re doing.”

  She did a slow casual turn.

  “Now what did you see?” He asked when she once again faced him.

  It was far easier to list them in order. Also, she would be able to turn back to just the right angle to locate any one of the things she’d seen. Again, he let her run down all that she could recall.

  At the very end, while he was busy nodding in a job-well-done fashion, she whispered to herself, “And the man I love.” There was no hesitation this time. No second thought. No clench in the stomach.

  Her world rocked as if they were already on the boat instead of still standing on the stone quay that had remained unchanged for perhaps a thousand years. In a desperate grab for equilibrium, she shot out a question to buy herself a moment.

  “Okay, wise-ass Beaumont. Tell me what you see.”

  He didn’t look away from her for even an instant. He also hadn’t scanned the crowd when she did. For all she knew he hadn’t even glanced around in the last five minutes.

  “At one-thirty I see a woman who is either from the central Sahara or is about to collapse from heatstroke. Either way, she’s far too warmly dressed for a July day in Paris, so I’m keeping an eye on her. At four o’clock,” Roy waved a hand negligently off to his right without turning, “is a man who has been standing at the exact center of the bridge for over ten minutes. He is alone yet doesn’t appear to be waiting for someone as he isn’t looking around. He is just watching the boats load and unload. A company agent keeping an eye on his investment? A writer busy thinking about his next novel? Or perhaps a shooter watching for a target? Or maybe he just likes boats? At six-thirty, behind me, someone has Chen’s attention, so I’m keeping my eye on her to see if her ‘person of interest’ acts in a suspicious manner.”