Against Protocol (Protocol Series Book 1)

by Eden Butler

  Bella wanted to make a show of me leaving because I wasn’t Ophelia Baptiste-Harris, First Lady anymore. I was Mrs. Harris, America’s Widow.

  “There’s something I wanted to mention to you, ma’am, before you meet with the First Lady.” Phil stopped short of the entrance to the staircase, standing in front of me so that the light from the chandelier behind him was blocked from my view.

  “You’re retiring early?” I asked, knowing the quick smile he offered at my lame attempt at humor was from politeness and not any real amusement.

  “You understand, I’m sure with the president...” He went quiet and for once I spotted a fracture in his normally stoic expression. Three weeks after my husband’s death and Phil still hadn’t quite adjusted to stop referring to Lincoln as president. It was too soon. We were all still a little raw. He seemed overcome with guilt for not protecting either of us. “With President Harris’s death, you have been assigned new security.”

  “Charlotte mentioned that last week when we went over the move.” It wasn’t a meeting I’d ever forget. The woman cried through most of it. I think Lincoln’s assistant was more broken up over his death than I was.

  “So, you understand that I won’t...”

  “You’re on presidential detail.” Another shift of his features and I understood that Phil was relieved I’d been informed he wouldn’t follow me once I left the White House. The relieved expression tightened a bit when I took a step, grazing his wrist for half a second. “I’ll miss you,” I told him because I meant it.

  “The feeling is...mutual...ma’am.” The large knot at his throat moved and something that looked like as close to sadness as Phil got, hardened the muscles around his mouth before he cleared his throat.

  “So,” I started, following him toward the landing. “They stick me with an ancient old bully or some pea green kid who’ll jump every time I leave for my morning run?”

  “Not exactly,” he said, nodding to several agents that waited for us at the bottom of the stairs. There was a small cluster of housekeepers that came to see me off and Phil guided me, watching close as I exchanged hugs, kisses, and promises of keeping in touch with the staff I’d grown close to over the past six years. I wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not while Bella and her staff waited to see me out of the door.

  Phil stepped ahead of me, pausing before he opened the door. “Ma’am?” he asked, and I knew he gave me a few seconds to breathe, pull myself together before he opened those doors and unleashed me to Bella and the fanfare she’d organized.

  I inhaled, straightening my shoulders as I gripped my purse on one arm and let Millie, the head housekeeper, help me into my peacoat. I’d chosen a charcoal Donna Karan pantsuit with black trim along the lapels. My hair was pulled back in a low bun at the base of my head and the only jewelry I wore was the wedding set on my left hand and the diamond studs Lincoln had given me our first Christmas together.

  “The new agent?” I asked Phil, feeling pitiful for wanting the distraction.

  “Solano,” he said and the breathless feeling in my chest quickened. Phil’s grip on the door handle dropped and I wondered how it was he didn’t know about me and Cruz Solano.

  “Cruz?” I asked, blinking as I watched him.

  “The First Lady thought you’d like a familiar face since you’ll be in the private sector. Since President Gable was adamant about wanting you protected, the director thought it best to take the recommendation.” He stood in front of me and I hated how he stretched his mouth into a line. He wouldn’t know about us, but Bella did. What the hell kind of game was she playing?

  “Is that a...problem, ma’am?”

  “No,” I hurried to say, buttoning my coat before I adjusted a slip of hair that had fallen into my eyes. “No, of course not.”

  “I was under the impression that you were at Loyola together. We were given to believe you were friends.”

  Friends? God, no we weren’t friends, but hell had we been friendly.

  “We...yes,” I said, exhaling once more. “You can...” I licked my lips, shifting my gaze from Phil’s face to the door behind him. “I’m ready now.”

  It was a bigger lie than any I’d had to tell as First Lady and that great big lie was one I’d have to keep telling.

  The door opened, and Bella came at me with her arms extended. “Oh, Lia, sweetheart.” She wore perfume that was thick and lots of it, the brush of her hair making my eyes burn when she held me in a tight hug. “You know,” she said, pulling back enough to hold my elbows as Gable’s photographer circled around us snapping pictures. “Joe wanted to be here to see you off, but that situation with the terrorist cell in the Pacific has all of his attention.”

  “Of course.” I kept my tone serious, but not unfriendly. In six years, I’d garnered a damn doctorate in diplomacy. I could smile and not mean it, hold an entire conversation that was engaging, involved and be thinking of the dozens of other things more important, more interesting than whoever the hell it was I’d been forced to entertain. Bella was new at this. She couldn’t compete with me when I was challenged to force sympathy or understanding. “It’s good of you to see me off,” I countered, shifting out of her reach to pull her to my side, slipping my arm into the crook of her elbow as I walked through the lobby leading to the south portico.

  “Now, you be sure to ask the chef to fix whatever it is Joe or your kids like best but pay careful attention to what you need as well.” She looked nervous as I smiled, keeping my features even, measured. “We planted peonies last spring and they can be a little finnicky if you don’t mind them, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.” One look at me and Bella or anyone else looking wouldn’t be able to tell how nervous I was to walk to the car waiting for me. “Of course, you’re at liberty to plant whatever you feel is appropriate.”

  I didn’t let my small smile lower, not even when I glanced toward the car, near the doors and caught Cruz’s profile through the glass. He’d hold the door open for me. We’d likely be alone in the ride across the city. We’d be alone in the townhouse Roni had decorated and furnished for me.

  No one would stop us from anything we might want to do.

  Hell.

  All around us the agents watched, studied the onlooking faces as the cameras clicked and the staff stood watching me take one final walk through the White House. It had been my crypt more than my home and it took more strength than I thought I had to keep the mix of emotions from making me tremble. That well-practice composure of mine slipped only a fracture but it was enough for Bella to notice. She caught the tremor in my fingers and she paused, glancing down at my fingers when I stretched them, then to the small crowd around us before she leaned close enough to whisper in my ear.

  “Steady now, lady...almost done.”

  Head lifted, I gave her a half smile that I hoped she took as flippant and gripped her arm when she pulled me through the crowd. “Of course,” I offered, careful not to smile too much. It had been less than a month since Lincoln’s death. I couldn’t look too relieved to be done with this place.

  Phil caught my gaze, nodding quickly before he opened the door. The cold early December breeze whipped through the doors and blew my hair against my forehead. Despite the temperature, there was heat pulsing from the car. It was something dark, something that would ignite an inferno if left unchecked. It was the same blazing heat I’d felt at twenty when I met Cruz Solano at a Phi Beta Sig party and he convinced me to leave with him. We’d been together just a few months, but he’d left an impression. My father liked him because Cruz helped me improve the self-defense skills he thought I needed living in the city. They both wanted me safe but then Cruz left. There was a career waiting for him, a life to live outside of Loyola and away from me.

  He’d left and hadn’t come back. He’d promised he would. He asked me to wait, but I didn’t see him again until I was married to the man that would be president. Even then, there had been heat working between us. That heat grew with every instance of us being togethe
r. It continued even after he left New Orleans, like a pulse of memory that would never leave, then again when we became different people, living very different lives.

  That heat was real, as was the man responsible for it and in less than five minutes he’d wrap me completely in his warmth, searing my skin with one long look that I’d be unable to ignore.

  Cruz stood as century next to the limo that sat idling under the portico but then a group of cameramen crowded, then quiet, somber reporters stared, inching closer toward the door, taking Cruz’s handsome face from my view.

  “Lia, my friend,” Bella started, turning me so we faced each other on the outdoor landing. “You have the sympathies and prayers of a grateful nation, and the friendship of our family.” She hugged me, pressing her cheek against mine before she nodded toward her agents. Then Bella spoke above the clicking of cameras and the frigid wind. “This home will always welcome you and protect you and I speak for my husband and our administration when I say we will not rest until President Harris’s murderer is found and brought to justice.”

  “Thank you, Bella.” I took her last hug, then dipped my head one last time at Phil. The reporters muttered into their microphones and across the lawn, out on the street, a massive crowd had formed. They’d gone still, quiet and the sight, combined with the brisk wind made my eyes burn. Perfect, I thought when that burn wetted my eyes and a tear leaked down my cheek. Part of the role.

  Phil was not my agent anymore, but that didn’t stop him from taking my elbow when I started down the steps, back straight, chin lifted as I dabbed at the moisture on my face.

  “Cruz will protect you,” he said, keeping step with me as several staff members offered me their sympathies and wished me well.

  Six steps away, the man in question waited. That heat grew heavier the closer I came to the car.

  Phil seemed unaware of my nervousness or maybe he didn’t realize why I was nervous in the first place. “He’s a good man,” he tried, sounding mollifying.

  “So are you.”

  We stopped near the door and I faced Phil, offering him my hand. He clenched his jaw but didn’t otherwise let what he felt shift his features. Instead, the older man took my hand with his left, cupping his right over my fingers. “It’s been an honor to serve you, ma’am.”

  Then Phil turned me toward the car and I stood face-to-face with my first love, Cruz Solano.

  “Mrs. Harris,” he greeted, that deep, thick cadence like sugar on my tongue.

  “Mr. Solano,” I said, my body tensing when he opened the door and I held it, my bare fingers grazing against his knuckle. “Thank you.” His face was smooth, lineless, and I hated that the shades he wore kept those black eyes from me. They’d always been so expressive. I ached to see them now.

  “After you,” he said, waving me into the limo and as we drove away, and the thick crowd lessened, as the cab of that luxury vehicle got heavy with the smell of his skin, I knew I’d been freed. The crypt had opened, and I’d been given away to the most dangerous man I’d ever known.

  TWO

  Cruz

  She was the job. For shit’s sake, I knew that, had to keep telling myself that.

  She’s just the job.

  Thing about this gig? You aren’t allowed a lot of emotion. That was something I was sure got squeezed from me the day I walked away from my home, from New Orleans, from my family...

  From Lia.

  She looked uncomfortable sitting across from me, back board-straight, profile flawless as she stared out of the window. Hadn’t spoken a single word. She hadn’t given me anything more than a perfunctory greeting and I knew why.

  She hated me. Lia probably always would.

  Hated myself for forgetting that. Hated myself even more for wondering if she’d been this beautiful six years ago. What was I thinking? Of course she had, which went against every damn bit of sense and reason I knew about the gig her late husband held.

  “How...long is the ride?” she asked, her body still stiff, legs crossed at her ankles as she watched the city pass by out of the tinted window. She hadn’t looked at me directly, but then, I didn’t figure she would.

  “Your assistant, Ms. Sanchez,” I started, making sure to keep my tone professional, a little sharp. It was old habit, something I knew she’d liked. Always had. Ophelia Baptiste, the girl she’d been when we met in college, was in control, independent, but damn if she didn’t love to be around strong men. She liked a commanding voice. She liked power.

  Guess that’s why she ended up with Harris.

  The thought had me checking myself, clearing my throat so that deep rasp of my natural voice was softer, the clip gone. It didn’t matter what Lia had liked. I wasn’t here to do shit she liked. She was the gig. Only the gig.

  “Ms. Sanchez thought it best to secure a property that can be easily protected so you’ll be settling in Waterford until the...perpetrator is apprehended.”

  That bit of information had Lia jerking her attention to me and I had to push back the lick of satisfaction I got watching the small patches of pink coloring her cheeks. I lived in Waterford, she knew it. She’d been to my place once when the president was away, under the pretense of my hosting a Loyola reunion with a few of our mutual friends. God, how often had I replayed that night? How many times had I wished I could go back and change everything about it?

  “I’m not...staying with you?” she asked. Her expression was blank, no telltale indicators that would give away what she thought, but Lia wasn’t simple. She knew me. She knew how I navigated people and situations to get to the result I wanted. If she knew what I was planning, where all this was leading, she’d never stop hating me.

  There was something in her eyes I didn’t recognize. Fear? No, that couldn’t be it. Worry? Defiance. Yep, that was it exactly. It hurt like hell not to smile. Pissed me off that only Lia was capable of getting some spark of emotion from me. I only flinched when she was around and my way of doing that very thing was a smile.

  Job, asshole. Remember the job.

  But that didn’t mean I could keep myself from teasing just a little. “Well...ma’am,” I said, bringing back the gravel to my voice, leaning forward to rest my arms on my knees to get myself close enough to her that I caught a whiff of her delicious perfume. “You’re my responsibility. I...ah...” Lia moved her thighs together, leaning closer to the window when I hesitated. It was the command, the snap in my tone. Fuck me, she might hate me, but she still liked that snap. “My job is to protect you. Can’t do that if we’re not under the same roof.”

  She glared at me then, pressing her lips together as she moved her gaze over my face like she needed to see if I was laughing. I wouldn’t. She knew that, but Lia seemed unable to help herself from gauging my reaction.

  “Let me rephrase that. I am not staying with you, Mr. Solano.”

  Oh, defiant Lia, how I’ve missed you.

  This was a game I remembered. I directed, she refused. I wanted, she teased. She begged, I made her beg harder. For the smallest second, we stared at each other. Watching. Testing. Waiting. The only sound that moved in the car was the slow, constant thump of the tires against the pavement, the quiet clink of ice melting in the bucket and Johnson and Nelson, two agents assigned to Lia’s detail, muttering to each other in the front of the car.

  Despite the responsibility she held for the past six years, Lia hadn’t changed much at all. She was older, but still didn’t look a day older than thirty. She was more confident, that much I could tell from how she handled the First Lady, how she’d handled herself the past month, in fact. But behind the stoic, in-command expression she wore, a glimmer of the girl I’d known all those years ago at Loyola shined through. There was a light in her eyes I hadn’t seen on any of the interviews she’d done as Harris’s wife or any of the photos taken of her in the course of her job.

  Now, though, that defiant streak and challenge she silently laid in front of me splintered away the carefully constructed veneer she wore over
herself like a second skin.

  I knew this woman. I knew what a challenge she could be.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am.” I leaned back, looking away from her as I spoke. “I wouldn’t subject you to my home and all the...” I waved a finger, blinking long and slow as a particular memory swept through me, “ghosts that live there.” Lia snorted a quiet laugh that brought my attention back to her and I dropped my voice, hoping she knew I wasn’t joking. “I will, however, be staying with you in your new townhouse.”

  “No,” she tried, voice cracking.

  When she inhaled, as though she needed a calming breath to get out what she wanted to say, I waved my hand to keep her from speaking. “Forgive me, Mrs. Harris, but the arrangements were made by my superiors who, as you know, take direction from the Oval.” Lia leaned back against the seat, a little deflated and I had to squash the quick slap of guilt I felt watching her. “President Gable was insistent that someone be with you at all times.”

  “Why does it...have to be you?”

  That question shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the gut. It shouldn’t have filled me with disappointment. Seven words from her could do me in and in that moment, I felt something old and restless begin to surface. Only Lia could do this—make me want and need; make me ache for something that would never be mine again.

  I was trained to be calm, to endure and tolerate whatever came at me. I was taught to protect and control any situation that would endanger whomever I’d been sent to safeguard. But Ophelia Harris had been different. She still was and as the miles grew shorter to Waterford, as her question hung between us like a challenge, like a threat I should have heeded, realization fought for space inside my head. If she hated me, I could handle it. But her not wanting me around? Her not wanting me to do my job—the job I chose over her? That shit hurt like a sucker punch to my jaw.