by Angel Vane
“Genesis Gallery?” Norman asked.
Lowering the champagne flute from his lips, he absently reached for the table. The crystal tipped in his hand, almost spilling the contents across the tablecloth, before he rested it on the surface.
“We both had the displeasure of working for Priscilla Dumay,” Mena said.
“Priscilla Dumay?” Norman frowned.
“Yes, you know, the diabolical gallery owner turned designer baby-selling criminal,” Mena said, with a nervous laugh.
The color drained from Norman’s face as he looked away. Turning back toward Mena, his lips pressed into a tight line, Norman nodded, then said, “If you’ll excuse me.”
Before Mena could process the change, Norman had darted away from her into the crowd to greet other guests.
Why the hell had she brought up the Genesis Gallery?
She remembered Priscilla clearly saying that Norman had left the gallery on terms that were not amicable. Obviously, he didn’t want to talk about Priscilla Dumay, and after what the woman put Mena through, neither did she.
Mena groaned, lamenting her social and professional faux pas. She tipped the crystal flute to her lips, then paused, arrested by a tingling dancing across her bare skin.
The air in the room had shifted, charged with a presence she would know anywhere. Turning, Mena saw Wangari entering with her husband, Okeyo Lagat, the Director of Public Prosecution. Two serious-looking bodyguards dressed in dark navy suits and sunglasses cleared the way through the crowd as Wangari and her husband proceeded to the center table.
Mena couldn’t take her eyes off the lead bodyguard. Commanding and confident, he scanned the room, assessing the exits and the guests for threats.
She clutched the glass tightly in her hand as a smile played at the corner of her lips. Taking a sip of champagne, Mena tried to disguise her interest, turning slightly to watch the lead bodyguard. Heart pounding in her chest, she strained to see his face more clearly.
It was Julian.
Devastatingly handsome and oozing a magnetic sensuality, Julian controlled the space, getting Wangari and Okeyo settled before stepping back to allow other guests to greet them.
As if drawn by an imperceptible discernment, Julian turned his head in her direction. Behind the dark sunglasses, she knew he was watching her. Mena took another sip of champagne, then tipped her head toward him. He returned the gesture, sending a flurry of butterflies through her body.
Closing her eyes, Mena took a deep breath, trying to calm the desire roaring within her. Thoughts of pulling him into a side room and making love to him with the tinkling of glasses and murmur of polite, elitist conversations in the ballroom as a backdrop to their moans flooded her mind. If she could get close enough to him, Mena knew Julian would never resist the suggestion or her.
Mena opened her eyes again.
Julian and the other bodyguard were gone.
Mena jerked her head around, glancing toward the table where Wangari and Okeyo sat.
He wasn’t there.
A hostess walked around the room, tapping a metal triangle. The chime filled the air, signaling that it was time to be seated at the tables, which had cost a staggering donation of ten million Kenyan shillings to President Thairu’s campaign.
Mena executed a slow pirouette, scanning and scrutinizing the crowd for Julian. It was as if he’d disappeared. Julian had explained that if he was doing his job correctly, she wouldn’t know he was in the same room with her. Was he watching her now as she searched for him? A game of hide and seek? Mena seriously contemplated going on a hunt of her own—
“I can’t believe this,” Grace said, her mouth dropping open.
Mena forced herself to focus on Grace. “What is it?”
“The President is seated at our table with Wangari,” Grace said, her tone bubbling with undisguised glee. “President Thairu will be having dinner with us tonight.”
“What?” Mena asked, shocked as she glanced at the man greeting Okeyo Lagat near their table. “That’s the President of Kenya?”
She’d seen him on television a few times, but not enough to commit his face to memory. Wangari had kept that little detail to herself. If Mena had known she’d be dining with the President tonight, she would have brushed up on her Kenyan history. The last thing she wanted was to look like an uninformed American, oblivious to what was going on in the world outside of U.S. interests. She’d only paid attention to the more salacious stories about corruption in the Kenyan government and political clashes. Fights between tribes with different ideologies and views toward the future of the country were not exactly the topics she wanted to bring up with the President.
Mena hesitated. Her mind raced with jumbled thoughts as she prepared to meet the leader of the country.
“I’m never going to forget this for as long as I live,” Grace shrieked as they approached the table. “How many people get to say that they’ve met the President of their country? And I will be sitting with him sharing a meal. Thairu should be a lock for re-election as long as Kipsang Rono doesn’t decide to run against him.”
“Isn’t Rono the vice president?” Mena asked.
“Deputy President,” Grace corrected, wagging a playful finger at Mena. “And yes, he is currently, but the union was strategic and has been tenuous at best over the past four years. The only man who can give Thairu a real challenge for the presidency is Rono and rumor has it that’s exactly what Rono plans to do.”
“I suppose that’s why Thairu is trying to solidify his base of wealthy supporters at this fundraiser,” Mena said.
“Exactly, and we must do everything we can to keep scum like Rono from becoming the president of Kenya,” Grace said.
“Welcome, ladies,” Wangari said, giving them a warm smile. “President Thairu, I’d like to introduce you to two of the talented art conservators at the museum. Grace Kadenge has been with the museum since it’s opening and has restored most of the Maasai warrior art pieces. Mena Nix is this year’s recipient of the prestigious fellowship and brings a wealth of knowledge on cutting edge laser restoration techniques.”
“Very pleased to meet both of you,” President Thairu said, reaching out to shake Grace’s hand. Then he turned to Mena and gave her a practiced smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mena said, as she shook the President’s hand.
Chapter Eleven
“That’s her?” Enzo asked, lowering the dark sunglasses to peer at the table where Wangari Irungu, President Thairu, and their guests were seated.
Standing in a nook near the front of the ballroom, hidden from view by the guests, Julian removed his sunglasses as he leaned against the wall.
“That’s her,” Julian said, his tone wistful. Mena was seated next to President Thairu. Julian should have been by her side tonight, instead of babysitting the Irungu Flower Princess and her DPP husband. Mena was stunning in a cream-colored strapless column gown. She was one of the most beautiful women in the room. He’d watched men appraise her as the cocktail hour ended and wanted to rip their eyeballs from the sockets.
“Damn! That is one sexy lady. No disrespect my friend, but how’d you snag her?” Enzo asked.
Good question.
“I’m a lucky guy,” Julian responded, readjusting his earpiece.
Now that the President was in the building, Kenyan Secret Service had taken over. He and Enzo had been commanded to stay out of the way.
Not that Julian cared.
Having a break from protecting Wangari and her husband gave him the perfect opportunity to watch Mena for the rest of the night. The quick exchange and acknowledgment of each other as she sipped her champagne had sent a jolt of electricity through him. He wondered if she could feel his eyes on her now? Was she thinking about him as she shook the President’s hand?
“TIDES to perimeter delta exit.” The command emanated from Julian’s earbuds.
“Damn it. They’re moving us again. We’re going to miss all the fancy ente
rtainment. Fucking bastards. Let’s go.” Leaving the nook, Enzo headed down the service hallway. Dubbed the delta exit, the emergency stairwell at the end of the hallway led down to the loading dock.
If shit hit the fan and all preferred exit routes were blocked, the president would be ushered through the delta exist as a last resort. Shepherded down three flights of stairs, the President would be ushered into an unmarked van waiting in the loading dock of the museum. Julian and Enzo would remain in the hallway to fight off anyone hoping to hurt the Kenyan leader.
Julian stole one last glance at Mena. Her smile was effervescent as she engaged in conversation with the people at her table. This was the last time he’d miss out on being by her side for an important event. Turning, he followed Enzo, proceeding along the passageway that ran parallel to the ballroom.
“Secret Service is doing our job for us. No way they’ll need the delta exit. You think I’m gonna complain that I’m getting paid to sit on my ass? Nope, I’m going to take a fucking nap,” Enzo said, chuckling as he plopped into the orange plastic chair lined against the wall near the door to the emergency stairwell.
Julian slid into the chair next to Enzo, disappointed. Not because he was eager to protect Wangari Irungu or her husband. He wasn’t. What he wanted was a front-row seat to stare at Mena tonight as she enjoyed her first fundraising dinner with the top echelon of Kenya’s social and political scene. Instead, he was in a dingy gray passageway listening to Enzo sleep. Not exactly how he wanted to spend the evening.
Hours later, Julian finally heard a command through his earpiece. He glanced at Enzo, slumped in the chair next to him snoring.
“Enzo, wake up,” Julian said. “The President has left the building. They want us to take over security in the ballroom.”
Enzo said, “Yeah, now the fuckers need us. Let’s go.”
Julian followed Enzo back to the nook in the corner of the ballroom.
“What’s next?” Julian asked.
“Primary focus is on Ms. Irungu and her husband, but of course, they want us to keep an eye out for the remaining guests as well,” Enzo explained, then glanced down at a lambskin card he’d pulled from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Looks like everyone will be moving out to the rooftop garden to enjoy a live band and more cocktails with a dessert sampler.”
Enzo extended the card toward him, and Julian took it, scanning the schedule of events for the evening.
“Let’s get this over with,” Julian said and folded the card, placing it in his jacket pocket.
“I got a better idea,” Enzo said, with a hint of mischief. “How about I escort Ms. Irungu and her hubby to the rooftop so you can get a moment to say hi to your lady.”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had all night,” Julian said.
“You’re welcome, bitch,” Enzo said, resting a hand against the gun hidden in his waistband as he exited the nook.
Julian watched Enzo approaching the center table where Wangari and Okeyo still sat. Mena engaged in polite conversation with two other guests, but he could tell she was stalling. She wanted a moment alone with him as much as he did. Stepping out into the ballroom, Julian turned toward Mena. A waiter carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres slammed into Julian, sending the tray crashing to the floor.
“Watch where you’re going, buddy,” Julian said, reaching a hand out to help. The waiter recoiled from his grasp, staring back at Julian. Fear clouded the man’s eyes as he mumbled quick apologies. He was young, probably barely eighteen, and obviously contrite about the mistake he’d made. His white waiter’s jacket and black pants were about two sizes too big for his skinny frame, making him look more disheveled than the other polished waiters working that evening.
Julian kept his eyes on the waiter as the kid backed away slowly toward the corner of the room. Resting a hand on his Beretta, Julian felt the hair on his skin rise as he watched the kid waiter being berated by one of the head caterers. Damn shame the kid was getting yelled at for a simple mistake. Turning away from that scene, he headed toward Mena, who stood next to the oversized table.
“Is this against protocol?” she asked.
Julian’s body ached from the close proximity of Mena. A sliver of distance separated them, triggering a longing within him to reach out and wrap his arm around her. A move he couldn’t do in front of this crowd. She was an Irungu Family guest, and tonight, he was just the help. A trained and paid servant of Wangari Irungu.
“It is most definitely against protocol for a beautiful woman to distract me from my security duties,” Julian responded as they followed the rest of the guests toward the doors leading to the rooftop garden. They slowed their pace, allowing the other guests to pass them.
“I hear you’re a bit of a rebel. A rule breaker,” Mena said.
“Only when inspired,” Julian responded, turning to check for any unusual activity. His eyes scanned the crowd even as he focused on Mena. “And you are as good as inspiration can get.”
“Glad to hear that,” Mena whispered. “Try to meet me outside near the bushes in the corner. I’ll be waiting.”
Julian watched as Mena was beckoned by the woman she’d been hanging out with for most of the night. The sight of her tight ass in the white dress stirred a fierce desire that would need to be alleviated … soon.
Thirty minutes later, Julian had secured the empty ballroom and reported the “all clear” to Enzo through the wireless communication packs they wore underneath the dark suits.
“All clear outside,” Enzo responded.
Julian slipped his dark sunglasses into the inner pocket of his jacket, then headed toward the marble ivory steps of the ballroom leading out onto the rooftop garden.
Stepping out into the night, Julian immediately saw Mena. She stood alone, sipping a glass of wine as she looked over the edge of the building toward the twinkling lights of the Nairobi skyline.
Tucked away behind a series of artistic box bushes next to a crystal pedestal with overflowing forget-me-nots, she was hidden from view of the other guests. Tendrils of her hair danced softly in the breeze against her skin. She rubbed her arms absently.
In the distance, the crowd huddled on the designated dance floor, an area surrounded by velvet ropes, swaying and dancing to the music from the six-person live band. Cocktail tables dotted the rest of the rooftop, with groups of guests lingering around each of them, drinking and talking.
Walking up behind Mena, Julian slipped his arms around her and kissed her softly on the neck.
“I missed you tonight,” Mena said.
“Me too,” Julian murmured. He inhaled slowly, delighted by the scent of sandalwood and orange wafting from her skin. His hands slid down the length of her dress, caressing her hips. Julian wanted to pause time right then and there, never leaving this moment.
Mena gripped the wine glass tighter, lacing her fingers around the stem. Julian noticed a shift in the air, a seriousness infecting her mood.
“What are you thinking right now?” Julian asked.
Mena shrugged, then sighed. “You ever think about how we met? If Ella hadn’t kidnapped me and if I wasn’t with you when her dead body was found, I doubt we would have spent enough time together to fall in love. Kind of feels wrong to be so happy when we were brought together from tragedy. Makes me wonder if we’re on borrowed time …”
Mena faced him. Julian looked down into her beautiful eyes. He wasn’t sure what had brought on this somber mood, but he was glad she was opening up to him. Instead of pretending everything was fine like she probably wanted to, she was sharing her honest feelings.
Julian shrugged and admitted, “I’ve been living on borrowed time since my SEAL team was massacred. I don’t deserve any of this—“
“Don’t say that,” Mena interrupted, placing a finger against his lips. “Your actions back then were heroic. You risked your life trying to save your team. It’s not about doing the perfect thing or never making a mistake. Julian, you are always willing to put your own lif
e on the line to save others. That’s why you deserve all the happiness that you have right now.”
“So why don’t you think you deserve this happiness?” Julian asked. He could see the worry in her eyes, but he couldn’t understand what drove her fears. He knew she’d gone through a bad divorce, and maybe that experience made her anxious about their future. But Julian would never let anything break them apart. He’d fight whoever and whatever to be with Mena.
“I don’t know,” Mena said, shaking her head. “I’m not sure why I even brought it up.”
“I’m glad you did. We’re no different than any other couple. We’re going to have our fair share of fights, disagreements, challenges, and obstacles. But, you know what?” Julian asked.
Mena looked up at him, her eyes filled with hope. “What?”
“We’re strong enough to overcome them all. Nothing is going to break us up. I won’t let it. So, don’t worry, okay,” Julian said.
“Even if I’m not sure I want to get married again?” Mena whispered. “Would you still want to be in a relationship with me?”
“Is that what this is about?” Julian asked, a heaviness seeping into his bones.
Mena looked away.
“Excuse me. Would you like champagne?” The frumpy, kid waiter interrupted. Julian detected a slight tremble in the boy’s voice and glanced over his shoulder. An older waiter stood on the other side of the garden, watching and scrutinizing the kid’s every move. A thin sheen of sweat coated the boy’s face.
“No, we’re good,” Julian said, waving the waiter away.
The boy nodded, then looked down, eyes darting before he stepped toward the red carpet leading to the dance floor. His steps were cautious and hesitant.
Julian tensed, his eyes locked on the kid’s movements as he approached the dancing guests. A stilted, stiff gait. Head turned left, right, then left again. The arms of his oversized white jacket damp with sweat.
Only the arms damp with sweat?
