Under His Protection

by Isabella Laase

  “It’s not the right time or place, honey,” he said gently. “Maybe after your father’s term is up, we can start over, but for now, we need a break. I’m thinking Bukowski should take over your detail. Let’s give it a few weeks to realign things and see how it goes.”

  Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she threw her shoulders back with that undefeatable attitude she pulled whenever she was backed into a corner. Staring straight at him, she said, “I know exactly what all that that means, but don’t worry about me. I understand. Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and I’ll be fine. I’m a lot stronger than you think.”

  “Nobody understands your strength as much as I do, Victoria. Don’t ever forget that,” he said sadly.

  Chapter Eleven

  For the first time since he’d moved to Maryland, he found himself wishing for a traffic nightmare to slow the trip, but they made it back to the city in record time. Neither of them spoke more than a word or two, his eyes glued on the road, and Victoria stared out the window at the suburban shopping malls and housing developments that dotted the freeway. He had no idea how he was going to walk away from her, but her life was hard enough. She needed a consistent message defining their relationship, and the only way he could deliver one was to try to figure it out in his own head first.

  They stopped at her apartment to let her change into a conservative tweed skirt and navy blue blouse, abandoning the borrowed black cocktail dress as a dismal reminder of her misdeeds, so it took over an hour before they’d settled in the main living room on the second floor of the White House. President Bradford was meeting with several of his legislative aides, and he raised his eyebrow when he saw his daughter, nodding Cruz and Victoria toward a formal-looking couch to continue his conversation.

  For a second, Victoria looked like she’d bolt, but she took a deep breath and sat to wait for what was probably going to be a very unpleasant scolding from her father, no matter how hard Cruz had spanked her the night before. He caught her eye to help settle her nerves, but she smiled weakly. “Don’t worry. This was my fault, Cruz. I’ve got this, really.”

  “Good girl,” he said sincerely. His little spitfire was going to be okay, and he’d use his talents to figure out who was harassing her. From there, they’d just take whatever this was a day at a time.

  While the president was focused on the demands of his job, a woman entered the room, causing Cruz to tense until he registered the identity of the thirty-something-year-old maid, Teresa Maddox. She and Victoria apparently knew each other well enough to exchange the small nod of acknowledgement, but Teresa didn’t respond with the same genuine smile as Victoria. Like all of the well-trained White House staff, she blended quietly into the background while removing a tray of empty dishes and coffee cups from the center of the conversation. She headed toward the side door to the president’s bedroom, pausing for a second to adjust her load, and the aides moved to a large table covered with more papers.

  Given a small window of opportunity to talk, the president turned to Victoria and Cruz. “Sounds like you both had quite the evening last night. Maybe it’s time I got the details.” The president’s innocent expression made clear he was talking about the nightclub drama, but Victoria choked back a giggle.

  Without warning, the explosion was so deafening that it took him a split second to react to the uncertainty. Accompanied by a pounding white light that temporarily consumed all of his senses, the acrid smell of gunpowder and a layer of confusing haze filled the room. Still unable to fully place the threat, he threw himself on top of Victoria, shielding her from debris and danger before rolling both of them to the floor between the couch and the big marble coffee table. She whimpered, curling into a ball as much as his weight would allow, but neither of them moved as shouting Secret Service agents came from all directions, the president immediately surrounded and pushed toward the exit and away from the billowing dust.

  “Victoria,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’m not leaving here without Victoria.”

  “Go, Mr. President,” roared Cruz. “I’ve got her. We’re right behind you.”

  Checking his surroundings, he saw Teresa’s body surrounded by a pile of rubble that used to be a brick fireplace. Ignoring the onslaught of more armed guards, guns drawn and tense expressions adding to the disorder, Cruz only had one job. “Are you hurt, little bit?” he asked anxiously, running his hands over her small frame. “Do you have any pain?”

  “Only from where you’re lying on top of me,” she mumbled, wigging underneath him. She let go of her death grip around his neck to push against his shoulders. “Get off of me, I need to breathe, and my ears hurt. What happened?”

  Still shielding her from the gruesome casualty, he didn’t answer. The blast had taken out the single interior wall leading to the president’s bedroom, clearly some sort of a small bomb, but other than a few cuts on the two legislative aides who were stunned into place, Teresa appeared to be the only serious victim. An agent was gently looking for any sign of life in her small, damaged frame, but his grim expression made clear that the attempt was a formality.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m getting you down to where they took your father.”

  Lifting her to her feet, he held her close to screen her from any more emotional pain, but she looked over her shoulder toward Teresa’s lifeless body, lying in a puddle of blood and her leg at an inhuman angle. “No,” she said, flailing, trying to lunge from his arms. “That’s not right. She was nice to me.”

  “Don’t look, honey,” he said gently, holding her tighter and turning her head back to his shoulder.

  Her body went limp, and Cruz had to carry her to the hallway before setting her on her feet and taking her hand. Her skin was cold and clammy, and she was about as pale as she could get. “Eyes on me, Victoria,” he added, tapping her chin sternly. “I’m going to take you someplace safe.”

  She nodded, and he squeezed her hand harder, very grateful when she returned the small gesture. Walking past several checkpoints guarded by tense colleagues standing as still as statues, he took them to the hidden staircase that led to the basement. The protocol for a disaster of this magnitude had been clearly outlined, as was the rendezvous point in the five-story-deep bunker underneath the White House, but when they reached the first of the heavy steel doors, Victoria whimpered, pulling back sharply on his hand. “I can’t go in there, Cruz. It’s too closed in. I can’t breathe.”

  “I’ve got you, little bit,” he said, “and you aren’t trapped. I’ll get you out of there as soon as the situation is declared stable. I promise.”

  But she pulled away from him to back into a wall and approached a full-fledged panic attack, her face pale and her voice trembling. “No. You don’t understand. I can’t do it.”

  Even without the aftereffects of the attack, she’d always had a tendency to avoid closed-in spaces, cracking her bedroom door before falling asleep or opening the slider to her balcony even when it was hotter than hell outside. In restaurants and bars, she mostly chose a seat with her back to a wall, facing the room or the exit. But this was non-negotiable. Until the building was cleared, she needed to be safe and that wasn’t going to happen above ground.

  He slipped his heavy dive watch off his wrist and wrapped it around hers. “We’ll start with fifteen minutes so that I can get some intel on what’s going on, and as long as nothing else dramatic happens, we’ll stick our heads back out here and make a decision. If we have to stay longer, I’ll get you some tranquilizers, but you’ll sleep like a baby and I’d rather keep you alert in case we need to move again. I’ll hold your hand, and I promise that I won’t leave you, but you need to do this, Victoria, I’m not asking.”

  True phobias were powerfully debilitating, knocking a person from what should have been an innocent reality to an irrational state where nothing made sense to anybody, much less the victim. It was a testament to her faith in him that she took his hand with a weak nod, and they entered the bunker together
.

  Knowing that the president needed to see his child for himself, Cruz led them through a subterranean tunnel that connected the entire complex to the Presidential Emergency Operations Center located below the East Wing. In a covert building operation a few years earlier, a high-tech bunker had expanded the space dramatically, and the president’s entire staff could now be housed below ground for an extended period of time in the event of a major attack.

  Bradford stopped speaking the minute she came into the room, briefly closing his eyes and offering a small prayer. Having been closer to the explosion than Victoria and Cruz, his hair and shirt were covered in a layer of dust, and he had a rough cut on his forehead with a persistent dribble of blood. Stubborn as always, however, he wiped it off with his sleeve, leaving additional bright red streaks smeared across the cuff, and waved away the medic who was trying to treat him. “Mr. President,” she insisted. “I need to examine you. Please, sit.”

  Victoria let go of Cruz’s hand to embrace her father. “Are you okay, honey?” the president asked, alternating between holding her tightly and trying to find any sign of trauma. “Are you hurt?”

  “I... just my ears hurt, Dad,” she said softly, running her hand along the latest trickle of blood. “But you were hit in the head. You need to let them check you out.”

  “I’m fine,” he dismissed loudly, indicating that his hearing might also be off. “But when I find out who did this, there will be no end to my fury. The wrath of God himself can’t compete with a father whose child was put in danger.” Turning to the medic, he said, “Check her over first. I want a detailed report on her safety, then I’m going up to the Rose Garden and giving a statement to the press. The public needs to see me, and the bastards aren’t going to keep me in this hole in the ground longer than I have to be. And somebody, find me a damned clean shirt and tie. I’m not going to look like anybody’s victim.”

  Victoria stared at the heavy closed door, her pale face acknowledging that there were several more just like it between her and any kind of serenity. Panicked tears returned, and her shoulders hunched forward, but Cruz was quickly by her side. Not caring who saw, he pulled her next to his chest. “I’ve got you, little bit. Ten more minutes unless somebody can give us a credible reason why not. Stay with me.”

  Followed by several of his superiors, a grim Joe MacMillan entered the room, taking control of the situation and barking updates to the small crowd. “We’re bringing the vice president and his family to the White House under heavy guard, and they’re instituting emergency protocols at all federal office buildings, including heightened security at the Capitol and the Supreme Court. The dogs are running a sweep of the whole house, Mr. President, but so far, they aren’t finding anything. It appears to be an isolated incident.”

  “How the fuck did they get a bomb past your security anyway, MacMillan?” roared the president.

  MacMillan’s position as head of White House security clearly put the blame on his shoulders, and he was man enough to recognize it. “We still don’t know, sir,” he said with a nod of acknowledgment. “There’s one casualty, a maid, but other than that, everyone is fine.”

  “One casualty isn’t fine,” snapped Victoria. “She has a name and deserves your respect more than your dismissal.”

  MacMillan nodded a second time, but the set of his jaw showed a nonverbal seething at both reprimands. “Cruz,” he ordered. “Get back up there and see what you can find. I want to start drawing any connections to the threats against Victoria.”

  “Victoria?” asked the president incredulously. “What makes you think any of this was aimed at Victoria? She wasn’t even expected to be in the White House today, and this had to have taken weeks of planning. Don’t waste your time on dead leads.”

  Tonia Sukovich was MacMillan’s immediate supervisor, who had a calming influence that Cruz had come to respect. “Rest assured, Mr. President. We’ll follow every lead, but Cruz, go upstairs and see what you can find. You have a lot of military experience with detonation devices, and I’d like your take on what’s going on up there before the FBI shuts us out of the investigation altogether.”

  Victoria buried her face in his chest with an almost imperceptible whimper, but there was only one answer. She was his world, his breath, and his future, and the job didn’t have a chance against that. “With all due respect, ma’am, I am not leaving Ms. Bradford today,” he said firmly, tightening his hold on her trembling body and kissing the top of her head to make clear his true role in keeping her safe.

  MacMillan must have been waiting to pounce on any sign of insubordination. “Watch yourself, Cruz. That’s a direct order, so get your ass up there if you want a job when this is over.”

  “Then I guess I don’t have a job anymore, sir,” he said, meeting MacMillan’s glare.

  MacMillan took a step closer with his fists clenched, and Cruz moved Victoria to his side, fully prepared to punch the arrogant bastard in his miserable face. She grabbed his arm, bravely adding, “No, Cruz. I’m fine. I... I can do this... You go.”

  He kept his glare focused on MacMillan. “No. I said that I’d stay, and I’m going to honor that promise. She’s mine. I’m not leaving, not on two feet, anyway, and I promise you that dragging me out of here will be about as ugly as it can get. As a matter of fact, fifteen minutes are almost up and, if nobody has any objections, I’m going to take Ms. Bradford outside for a minute. The confinement down here is difficult for her.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” thundered MacMillan, pushing Cruz’s shoulder and bumping Victoria, who was forced to take a step backwards. “Somebody else can take her. Get your ass up there. Now.”

  Cruz grabbed MacMillan by the lapels of his requisite navy blue suit, but a few agents intervened before he could knock the bastard’s teeth out, separating the two of them by force with Sukovich shouting, “Stop, both of you. Everybody take a deep breath and calm down. This is the last thing we need right now.”

  “Cruz stays with Victoria,” said the president. “And that’s a direct order if any of you want a goddamned job tomorrow.”

  The medic had finished bandaging his forehead during the altercation, but a check of his vitals revealed an elevated blood pressure and pulse. “Mr. President,” said the exasperated medic. “I think we should move you to the hospital for a complete checkup.”

  “Of course my blood pressure is up!” he responded angrily, slipping into a clean white shirt with an aide’s help. “It happens when somebody tries to blow you up in your living room. And I’m not going to any hospital until I’ve at least given my statement to the press. All we need is some Constitutional crisis because people think I died in here today. Then Cruz is going to get Victoria the hell out of here. Find them a car and some FBI safe house, but I want her someplace secure before she goes to bed tonight.”

  “But sir,” rambled a still frustrated MacMillan. “Nothing is safer than the White House. She should stay right here and once we clear the building—”

  “Do you even hear yourself, you moron?” bellowed the president. “If you have to clear the building then somebody on your team let down a dramatic barrier to my safety, and Victoria was almost killed because of your gross incompetence. I want her and Cruz as far away from here as you can get them in a day.” Looking toward Cruz and Victoria, he lowered his tone. “Take her, son. They’ll get you everything you need for a few days while we figure out what the fuck went on here. I trust you with her life, and right now, you’re about the only one.”

  Victoria pulled slightly on his arm to focus his attention on the layer of clammy sweat that had broken across her pale face. She whispered miserably, “I think I need to throw up, Cruz. I can’t stay here.”

  Nodding slowly to Sukovich, he said, “Set it up. We’ll be ready to go as soon as the car gets here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  They left DC with nothing except a few personal items from her third floor bedroom, a couple of backpacks filled with toiletries and spa
re clothes provided by the FBI, and five thousand dollars in cash that her father had slipped to Cruz in a plain brown envelope. Darkness had taken firm control of the city, but DC was the kind of place that never truly fell asleep. Cruz passed quite a few cars crossing the Bay Bridge, but the dull gray sedan blended them into the light traffic, and an extra heavy tint on the windows kept her secrets from the sleepy nighttime public.

  On the Maryland side of the Chesapeake, the bright lights of the busy commercial district quickly gave way to heavy black shadows on two-lane roads that defined the middle of nowhere. The occasional porch lights complemented the dark houses filled with sleeping families waiting for sunrise to return to their daily routines, but everything had changed; they just didn’t know it. Twenty-four-hour news stations were already broadcasting details of the attack, and tomorrow would bring a new round of journalistic investigations, taking the invasion of her family’s privacy to a whole new level.

  She needed to move, but the car was too small, too stifling, to allow the random pacing she’d done for hours in the White House. She’d changed into comfortable jeans and a soft sweatshirt before they’d left, but nothing was calming her nerves. Pulling her knees to her chin, she constricted her muscles and curled herself into the tiniest ball possible, allowing the blood to rush through her ears.

  “Keep breathing,” he said, patting her hand. “We’ve only got another few hours before you can get to bed, and they’ll have the grounds secure enough to bring you back to DC in no time.”

  She nodded, but couldn’t form any questions despite her need to understand what was going on. The minutes before and after the blast still came in bits and pieces without any clear timeline or continuity. The blood on her father’s forehead and the memory of the rubble that used to be his bedroom wall had left her rattled, but it was the loss of a life, the beautiful, quiet woman that was truly crushing. Cruz had shielded her as best as he could, but the finality of death was so powerful that you didn’t need to see all of the evidence to feel the horror.