Under His Protection

by Isabella Laase

  Her father stood, the paper dropping to the floor as a subtle reminder that it was no longer key to their argument. “Stop acting like a selfish brat. You’ve had advantages that most people only dream of since I’ve been in this job. And you can live any life you want, but as long as you’re taking my money, living in an apartment that I paid for, and driving a car that’s in my name, you’ll not only follow some decorum of civility by watching your language, you’ll obey a few simple rules, and that includes behaving yourself with your security detail. I’m tired of getting reports about your childish tantrums. These men and women have a job to do, and you’ll do everything you can to make that job as easy as possible.”

  Even a vague reference to Agent What-the-Fuck and the rest of that invasive organization sparked a whole new level of anger. She prepared to continue screaming when the painful reminder from the Secret Service agent’s spanking magically repeated itself across her bottom. It wasn’t a comforting memory. Staring hard at her father, she wondered which one of those Neanderthals had complained about her this time; surely not the man who’d spanked her.

  When his face remained frozen, she dismissed any possibility that he knew what had happened in the West Wing and planned on keeping it that way. With her screaming effectively defeated, she shot her father the nastiest glare she could produce before turning away with no small amount of drama and headed toward the door.

  “You’re not leaving here, Victoria,” her father said dangerously. “I’m not done talking to you yet.”

  “Well, I’m done talking to you, Dad,” she mocked sarcastically. “And unless you’re planning on dragging out the fucking 1st Infantry Division to stop me, I’m walking the fuck out of here.” She could still hear his shouting from the stairwell, but nobody, not even the 1st Infantry Division or Special Agent What-the-Fuck, came after her.

  Chapter Three

  During the next few days, Cruz received no messages summoning him back to his boss’s office in disgrace, but he’d spent almost twenty minutes reflecting on the phone to his younger brother from his apartment in suburban Maryland. “I don’t understand it, Matt,” he sighed, rubbing the towel over his hair after his shower. “I mean, if somebody had spanked my daughter, I’d have something to say about it.”

  With less than twenty-four months between the brothers and twin boys born two years after that, Matias Cruz’s easy manner and quick smile had made him the quintessential middle child, at least until the two little girls came along eleven and twelve years later to change their family dynamics. “Damn, Alec,” he said, failing to fight a laugh. “I mean, really? You spanked her? Like over your knee? I think I’d have gone for a Taser or pepper spray. At least those don’t have any sexual connotations.” With a chuckle, he added, “Not for most people, anyway.”

  “There weren’t any sexual overtones,” he dismissed a little too quickly. When his frown deepened, he was glad that he hadn’t video chatted with Matt. Cruz had never shied away from giving a good spanking when playing with a women after hours, but no matter what his cock had to say about the pretty First Daughter, there was no way he could allow that daydream, no matter how nicely his palm had warmed over that tight ass. “And I didn’t think I should use anything that could potentially stop her heart or cause temporary blindness. I’d run out of options. A few well-placed swats on her backside did the job.”

  “Well, bro,” he said with another laugh. “I hope you enjoyed it cause Mom’s going to ream you out for smacking some strange woman’s ass when you get fired. Maybe you should quit first and take that job with me. I could still use a good deputy or two. Christian and Casey are talking about getting out of the army, and in a few years, the four Cruz brothers could be working together.”

  “With you in charge of all of us?” he asked with a laugh. “I’m sure as hell not desperate enough to work for my little brother. You stick to your low-stress, chief of police job in a one-horse county, and I’ll take my chances with an angry father who has access to CIA assassins. Besides, maybe he’d just stepped into the hallway and didn’t see anything. Maybe—”

  “And maybe he’s just talking to Human Resources,” interrupted Matt. “I mean, come on, buddy. You spanked his daughter’s ass. If he didn’t see you, she sure as hell went running to Daddy as soon as she could, unless they were just a couple of precursory love pats?”

  “Nope. I’m pretty confident that Victoria Bradford isn’t looking for me to repeat that particular scene. I made my point. Besides, I sure as hell wouldn’t play with a submissive who thinks it’s a good idea to kick my nuts off.” Glancing down at his cell, Cruz read an incoming text from his supervisor, an arrogant ass who’d been trying to make his life miserable for the last two years. “But I think the mystery is resolved. I got a message from MacMillan telling me to be at the Oval Office in an hour. The president has requested a private meeting with me.”

  “Damn,” said Matt, suddenly solemn. “I’m sorry, man. Call me when you’re done, okay?”

  “Yeah. My bastard boss is going to enjoy this one. He’s probably got my termination papers filled out. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get arrested over this, but I’m hoping they’ll want to avoid any publicity, too.”

  Matt offered a few more words of support while Cruz changed into a suit and tie and secured his service weapon before disconnecting the call. He’d love to live a little closer to his job, but the DC rents were crazy expensive. His Maryland apartment was still pricy compared to what he’d paid during his first Secret Service field assignment back in Syracuse, but the one-bedroom apartment had a tiny balcony that overlooked some grass and trees. There was always plenty of parking and a lot of good running trails nearby. The cute little redhead on the first floor had even provided him with some quiet fun on the days their schedules had matched up. It was all he really needed.

  Thankful that it wasn’t the daily rush hour that generally held the city hostage for hours, Cruz managed the trip down I-270 with his typical speed, the reddish-orange fireball providing a spectacular sunset out his passenger window. Entering the White House from the 17th Street gate, he reported to the secretaries’ office with five minutes to spare, but fifty-something-year-old Betsy Garber peered over her reading glasses with disdain. “He’s in his private study, Cruz. Don’t keep him too long. The man leaves for Japan first thing in the morning.”

  Cruz nodded without speaking and made his way to the room where he’d end his career. Knocking quietly on the door, he waited until he was given permission to enter. “Good to see you, Agent Cruz,” the president said sincerely. “I hope this summons hasn’t inconvenienced you. I’m on my way to the Residence for dinner. I’d like you to join me.”

  “Join you?” he asked as though his hearing were a little off. “You want me to do what, Mr. President?”

  “Yes, son. I’d like you to join me,” repeated Bradford, sorting through some papers to fill his briefcase. “I know that it’s a little late, but I haven’t eaten yet. Have you?”

  Whether the man had seen him smack his daughter’s ass or not, Cruz couldn’t think of a single reason why the president of the United States wanted to have dinner with him. While he stupidly stood trying to figure out the correct response to an unprecedented invitation, the president took the heavy paperweight off his desk and moved it to the other side with no true purpose. The last time Cruz had seen that hunk of glass was when he’d wrestled it away from Victoria Bradford to keep her from throwing it at his head.

  “And thanks for saving the paperweight, Agent Cruz. It belonged to my grandfather. I owe you dinner for that, at least. And there’s that other little incident we should probably discuss, too. After all, not every Secret Service agent has managed to take my daughter quite so firmly in hand. So, I’m going to have to insist.” His tone lowered slightly. “Join me.”

  Yep. There it was. Cruz nodded politely, adding, “Yes, sir,” while wondering how much flights cost to Jacksonville. He needed to tell his parents in person what had
happened to his life before some tabloid picked up the whole mess.

  Out of habit, Cruz followed the traditional few steps behind the president as the man made his forty-five-second commute down the west colonnade to the Residence. Cruz quickly scanned the well-tended Rose Garden and the press briefing room for any oddities before they entered the Executive Mansion. Still on his six, Cruz followed him all the way to the second floor where he was led into the president’s living quarters, already lit and welcoming against the dark evening, and was settled in his private sitting room on a silk maroon and gold wing-back chair. He’d been in the room many times, but certainly never as a guest and always surrounded by a large staff. The second floor appeared to be empty except for the two of them, and Cruz had no idea what to say.

  “The food will be here soon, but what would you like to drink in the meantime, Agent Cruz?” asked the president, pouring himself a scotch at the bar. “You aren’t on duty, so please don’t insult me by saying nothing. We’ve got a conversation coming that’s going to require both of us to be a little more... relaxed.”

  “Uh, a water would be fine, sir,” said Cruz politely. When Bradford raised an eyebrow, Cruz added honestly, “I’m afraid that I’m really not comfortable drinking anything else in your private sitting room, Mr. President.”

  “How about we move to the movie theater?” asked the president, showing a touch of the dry sarcasm that he was known for. “Or perhaps you’d like to meet me in that room on the ground floor that has all the dishes in it. I think we have something like a hundred twenty-five rooms to choose from, if you’d be more comfortable someplace else.”

  “A hundred thirty-two rooms,” responded Cruz without thinking. Part of his extensive training, he could describe the history and architecture of every room, but most important, he could find every hidden stairway and exit that could take the president to the covert underground safe space below the White House grounds. But the man’s arching eyebrow made clear that he’d had been speaking rhetorically. With his mouth growing a little drier, Cruz added, “A water would be wonderful, sir.”

  The president complied, then sat next to him in a matching chair, sipping his scotch with a sigh as though he’d waited for that moment of relaxation all day. For almost five minutes, the only sound was the ticking of some probably crazy expensive clock, and Cruz jumped a little when the chime registered the top of the hour.

  “Sir,” he said in an effort to take control of a horribly uncomfortable situation. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior toward your daughter. I’ll offer my resignation immediately, but I want to respectfully ask if there’s any way that we can keep this out of the media? My father’s not been in great health recently, and I need to protect both of my parents from any publicity.”

  The president nodded as though he were giving the request great thought. “Exactly what is it that you’re apologizing for, Alejandro? May I call you Alejandro? Is that what your mother and father call you?”

  “Uh, no. I mean, yes, sir,” stuttered Cruz. During his car ride to the White House, he’d worked out the apology down to the inflection of his voice, but the president’s questions had thrown him. “My family calls me Alec, but that isn’t necess—”

  “I’m pretty sure that I get to determine what’s necessary in the White House,” interrupted President Bradford, his expression still unreadable. “I can check with my lawyers, but that oath of office thing came with some pretty good perks. I’m still a little confused though, Alec, and you haven’t answered my question. What is it that you’re apologizing for, again?”

  “I, uh...” This guy was going to make him say it out loud. Sitting up straight, he met the president’s gaze and spoke clearly. If he was going down, he was going to do it with grace and style. “Your daughter was making an attempt to interrupt your meeting a few days ago, and in my efforts to stop her, I... um.” He hesitated before lowering his voice, but the president continued to nod in encouragement. “I spanked her, sir. She’d already bitten and kicked me, and I had no other options if I was going to restrain her and not truly hurt her.”

  There was a reflective moment of silence, the president still nodding as though he were hearing it all for the first time when muffled sounds came from the hallway. Cruz listened on full alert, his hand instinctively moving toward his service weapon before he dismissed the noise as a simple conversation between a pair of the over one hundred people who kept the White House running smoothly. A waiter, whose name and background Cruz could recite from memory, entered the room with trays of steaming food on a silver cart, the tantalizing smells appealing to a man who’d missed dinner after his daily five-mile run.

  “Thank you, Robert.” Bradford quickly dismissed the waiter. “I’ll take it from here.” The waiter left the room as the president moved the trays to a small mahogany table nestled under the window and motioned for Cruz to join him. “I know that this is the most important home in America, Alec, but I’ve long since gotten used to the interruptions around here, so please don’t shoot anybody today, although I do appreciate your diligence. Eat.”

  Bradford sat at the table and uncovered the first tray to reveal a pasta dish with a thick red sauce smothered in sausage, peppers, and onions. “On his first morning in the White House,” he said, opening another dish to reveal a large, fresh salad and basket of warm bread. “President Reagan heard all the tourists moving around on the first floor, turned to Nancy and said, ‘Honey, we’re living above the store now.’ I used to think that was funny, but now...” He waved his hand around the elegant room. “This has been hard, but I chose this life. I was prepared for the dramatic change in lifestyle and for the lack of privacy. But Victoria never signed up for any of this. She moved here at a very impressionable age. I’m not making excuses for her. I know that she’s difficult, but...”

  The normally stoic man’s voice cracked slightly before he pulled himself together. “I’m just pointing out, all of this responsibility, losing her mother, getting through those teen years in full view of the public, she’s had a tough time.”

  Cruz’s own father was recovering from his heart attack with relative ease, pushing more of the physical demands of his job to a growing staff, but his children’s fears over the close call were embedded in a deep place, and he couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a parent. But he was still confused. “With all due respect, sir. May I ask what I’m doing here? I understand why I’m being fired, but you don’t owe me an explanation. I know that I crossed a line with Ms. Bradford.”

  Effectively ignoring him, President Bradford motioned a second time for Cruz to join him at the table, but this time, the man waited in stony silence until he complied. “Now eat, young man. And that’s an order, so don’t make me postpone my meal. Then I’d like you to tell me about yourself. What did you do before you came to the Secret Service?”

  “Mr. President,” he said with a defeated sigh. “My entire history from probably the hospital room my mother had when I was born to what I had for breakfast yesterday is recorded in copious detail in the Secret Service office, and you have access to any information you want from the NSA, the FBI, and the CIA with less effort than it takes to order a pizza. What are we really doing here?”

  Leaning back in his chair, the man crossed his arms and responded seriously. “It’s actually pretty hard for me to order a pizza. Most pizza joints think that a delivery to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is a prank call, not to mention the fact that you guys in the Secret Service get all testy whenever I eat any food you don’t watch being made. I’m waiting for you to tell me about yourself, Alec. Have some faith and appease an old father at the same time, would you?”

  Cruz did have faith in this man, but this whole meeting was pushing the limits of his patience. “Fine,” he said, failing to drop the confusion from his tone. “I was born south of Jacksonville, and my parents still run a landscaping business down there. I have five brothers and sisters, all adults and out of the house. I served eight years in th
e Air Force where I got my college degree. I’ve been with the Secret Service for the last eight.”

  Literally, the last eight because it was all going to end tonight. Maybe that job working for his little brother was more than a half-assed promise? He sure as heck couldn’t see himself going the civilian route after all those years of training, and it was pretty much a given that he wasn’t walking out of this one with a reference.

  “Were you angry with my daughter at the time?” asked the president.

  “Well, yes, sir, I was,” he responded incredulously. “I don’t go around spanking women in public as a matter of practice. She was on her way to your office, and she wasn’t obeying simple instructions. You were in there with a lot of brass, and I knew that your meeting was serious. My job is... was... to keep you safe and her distractions weren’t what you needed. She was being unreasonable.”

  “And that’s it? That’s the only reason you were angry with her?”

  How many questions did this guy have, anyway? “No, sir,” he said honestly, meeting the president’s gaze. “Your daughter had just bitten my arm and tried to kick me in the crotch. I was angry with her, but I didn’t smack her butt with any anger. I gave her a few swats to calm her down. That’s all.”

  The president took another sip of scotch. “You were right, Alec. I did look up your records, and I talked to your boss. Joe MacMillan isn’t a fan of yours, by the way.” Cruz nodded to accept the full reality of that message. For some reason he’d never fully understood, the guy had hated him since the first day he’d started at the White House. He must be laughing his ass off right about now.

  But Bradford continued. “I appreciate your honesty tonight, young man, and I’m sorry that my daughter was awful to you. I have no intention of asking MacMillan to fire you or even reassign you. As a matter of fact, he has no idea what transpired today, and I intend to keep it that way.”