“Your quest?” Something in his look was making her throat go dry.
“I almost found something nice about Frank Adams and Beatrice Belfour…”
“But,” she had to prompt him.
“…but I wasn’t paying close enough attention and I missed it. Something to do with Kee’s kid.”
“Dilya.” Sienna hadn’t met her yet, but had been warned that no warning would prepare her for the meeting.
“Dilya. Something about how Frank and Beat understand the kid better than her mom does. But I didn’t catch what.”
“Surely that’s got to be good enough to—”
“Nope,” Roy cut her off. “I got the ground rules straight from the National Security Advisor herself. Don’t see going back on my word any more than she would.”
Well, the NSA was regretting her challenge at the moment. At first she’d needed to keep Roy at a distance. Her attraction to him was so powerful that she’d needed to blockade it and buy some thinking time. Now she’d had some thinking time—in between the minutes of mayhem that was her life—she was no wiser on the subject of Roy Beaumont.
However, the way she was feeling about him had shifted in that time, shifted to an even stronger draw than she’d first felt. She poked at another too sweet saucy glob of General Tso’s to distract herself, but with Roy Beaumont sitting just across the table, it wasn’t working. Somehow he had gained confidence without gaining arrogance.
“Well,” she glanced at the clock and winced. She had a long night ahead of her no matter what advice Frank Adams had given her. But the clock gave her another idea.
“The way I see it, you have another twenty-five hours to complete your research.”
Roy glanced at his watch, and she was amused to see him spin the outer dial to mark the deadline before glancing back at her. He didn’t ask, he just waited.
She wasn’t going to be that easy, and bit down on her General Tso’s. Life would be so much better if fat and sugar didn’t taste so good.
“Okay, I give. What happens in twenty-five hours?”
“In twenty-five hours I’m attending a reception for the new French ambassador in the Residence.”
“Which means?” She was relieved when he took the last piece of chicken from the white take-out container, because then it would no longer be tempting her. She waited until he’d almost bit down on it.
“Because I’m allowed one guest. And if you want to get lucky, Mr. Sniper Man, you’d better have your answer lined up by the time you escort me to the reception.”
He froze with the ball of chicken just inches from his mouth.
“You want me to be your date at a Residence reception?”
“No. You’re going to do that anyway. You need an answer if you want a chance to get lucky after the reception.”
He continued to stare at her completely goggle-eyed.
He didn’t even flinch when the last piece of General Tso’s slipped out of his chopsticks and landed in his lap.
Sienna didn’t even try to hide her smile as she dropped her final question.
“You do own a suit, don’t you?”
His nod wasn’t all that different from one a bobble-head doll might have made.
# # #
Roy tried to delay getting dressed at the end of the shift. After a day back on the White House roof, he began to understand just how much Kee had taught him. He saw the city through different eyes, even though all she’d taught him was how to shoot better from a moving platform. The city now looked so still and…simple.
Which is exactly what tonight wasn’t going to be. He’d wanted Fernando and Hank to be long gone before he pulled out his suit, but even that one wish wasn’t going to happen. They got into some stupid game of hoop with a balled pair of socks and a small wire garbage bin.
Finally out of time, Roy pulled out the dry cleaning bag he’d smuggled in this morning.
He had their full attention in under three seconds.
“Yo, buddy! What’s up?” Fernando three-pointed his socks into the top shelf of Roy’s locker. “You disappear for two days with your rifles and now you be suiting up. Did you defect to a Protection Detail?” Any sniper worth his salt looked down on the guys in the close protection details. Those guys wore suits and fought with handguns and their bodies. A sniper belonged up in the sky making sure the guys on the ground stayed safe.
“Not a chance,” Roy denied. “I’ve just got a dinner tonight.”
“You sure ain’t going back to Jake’s Hole in that rig,” Fernando plucked at his coat sleeve. Roy smacked his hand away and brushed at the dusty thumbprint on the charcoal gray of his only suit.
“I’m not going back to the Hole this side of ever.” Even if Sienna walked away from him tonight, she’d given him another standard of woman to think about. One he’d never imagined before. Somewhere in the night he’d decided that if a woman the caliber of Sienna Arnson wanted to be seen with him, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to turn away. “It’s just a dinner.”
Hank grabbed the duty roster and scanned down it. “Only event tonight is some fancy over at the Residence. Don’t see your name on the list. What gives, Roy?” Another drawback to having friends who were also in the Secret Service, they’d all been trained to hate unanswered questions. It had been drilled in so deep that it was in their DNA like an unstoppable itch until it was answered.
Roy finished changing and struggled with his tie, ignoring Fernando’s telling him he should have bought a clip-on.
Still, there was no way he was going to besmirch Sienna’s reputation with these jokers and if he had to suffer their questions, fine. But it didn’t mean he was going to answer—
“Wait a darn minute!” Hank was staring too intently at the guest list.
Fernando had retrieved his socks ball and was once again going for the long shot into Roy’s locker.
“The redhead. What was her name?”
“Which redhead?” Fernando wasn’t really paying attention. He’d moved on to going for a bank shot off Roy’s temple.
“Roy’s redhead.”
Maybe Roy would have been better off protecting Sienna’s reputation if he’d just walked out of the locker room straight from his shower and attended the reception naked.
“Roy’s redhead?” Fernando stopped and looked at Hank with a puzzled expression.
“Yeah. You know—”
Roy could see that Fernando didn’t know, but the light of dawning comprehension on his face told Roy that making it two for two was too much to hope for.
“Roy’s redhead?” Fernando said one last time looking at Roy aghast. “The new National Security Advisor?”
Hank looked down at the roster he still held in his hands, “Yep, she’s on the list, as a plus one guest. Wait! You met the redhead?”
Fernando beaned Hank in the face with his socks. “No, doofus. How did you ever make the Service, huh? He didn’t meet the redhead; he is her date. This dog is the ‘plus one’ of the National Security Advisor.”
“Huh,” Hank grunted as he processed the fact.
Question answered. Check. Next. Roy cringed and waited for it.
“Is she as hot in person as she is through the scope?”
Roy could barely remember the “hot redhead” walking up to begin her first day as the NSA, because she was so much more than that. But he had to rub it in the guys’ face a little.
“Way, way, wa-ay hotter.”
Fernando groaned as if he’d been stabbed in the gut.
Hank held up a hand to deliver a high five.
Roy raised his hand to receive his triumphant slap.
Someone at the end of the row of lockers cleared his throat.
Roy glanced over to see Frank Adams watching him with a look that said he’d better not be celebrating what he look
ed to be celebrating.
Shit!
He just couldn’t catch a break in this outfit.
# # #
Sienna had fussed and worried about her dress. First she’d worried about overdressing, then about underdressing for the occasion. It was her first official White House reception for a foreign dignitary. Not being a head of state, the French Ambassador didn’t rate a state dinner, but ambassadors did deserve formality.
If she’d been able to go in one of her business suits, she’d have been fine. But she’d invited a date. And that had started her down the path of dressing up for the occasion. Then a call to the First Lady’s social secretary for any guiding tips—which Sienna had thought to be an utterly humiliating act to do, but had been very graciously answered. She told Sienna that dressing up would be very appropriate in no uncertain terms.
But she hadn’t help clarify how dressed up.
Right before she melted down, a young voice said from the door of her office, “That’s nice.”
Sienna spun to look at who had spoken. And then looked again. The girl standing in the doorway deserved a second look. She was in her mid-teens. She had dark skin and an elegant face. She had jet black hair that cascaded past her shoulders in a smooth ripple.
There was a friendly openness to her face, but the captivating feature was her eyes, they were the oldest eyes Sienna had ever seen. They were hazel and appeared to leap out of her face. She was defined by those eyes. They changed a very pretty teen into a gorgeous young woman. She was dressed in a simple black dress that left her long in the leg down to her black, ankle-high boots.
“You,” Sienna smoothed her own dress for the hundredth time, “don’t think it’s too much?” It was discreet at the neck with an asymmetric draped collar, short-sleeved, and high at the knee. But she hadn’t anticipated quite how well the forest green jersey clung.
“Are you bringing a date?”
“I am,” Sienna said cautiously.
“Two thumbs up. You’ll cook his brain but still be elegant. It’s a win-win.”
“Thanks.” Now that Sienna had taken fashion advice from her, it seemed awkward to ask the girl’s name, as if they were already past that.
“Kee said you might be melting down right about now.”
“Kee sent you?”
The girl’s shrug explained it wasn’t that simple.
And that told Sienna exactly who this was. Kee’s adoptive daughter, Dilya Stevenson, the First Child’s nanny.
“You need this,” Dilya came into the room, undoing a small silver brooch she had pinned by her left shoulder. Without even asking permission, she came up and added it to Sienna’s dress.
“What is it?” A four-footed animal with a big snout of some sort.
“A honey badger.”
Dilya waited for a reaction, but Sienna didn’t know what it was supposed to be.
“It’s a symbol of strength—small but fierce. Just remember, ‘Honey badger don’t care.’ If the nerves get you, just remember that. You can look it up on the internet later, but you’re out of time right now.” And she headed for the door just as Sienna heard approaching steps.
“Dilya?” Sienna called out and the girl turned. “Thanks,” she rested her hand over the tiny pin.
“Sure thing,” then Dilya whispered across the room. “Remember, ‘Honey badger don’t care.’ Got it?”
Sienna shot her a thumbs up just the moment before Roy strode into her office as if he was out walking his grand Northeast Kingdom. He was…astonishing. Some men looked better in a suit, some worse. Some suits wore the man, so that the man disappeared behind the impression of fine tailoring. Not this one. Roy Beaumont absolutely wore the suit. His ruggedness wasn’t transformed, rather it was counterpointed, making him look twice the man she’d thought him.
He strode right past Dilya as if he didn’t even see her. He stopped only inches away from her.
“You,” Roy spoke barely above a whisper, “are absolutely, knock-me-down gorgeous in that dress, Sienna.”
Sienna could see Dilya’s smile and two-thumbs-up gesture before she slipped out of the room.
She wasn’t sure how he could judge her dress, because his eyes had been riveted on her face the whole way across her office. Now he stood so close that his face filled almost her entire field of vision. She wondered if she was about to have the crap kissed out of her, which would totally screw up what little makeup she’d applied.
His look said it was a very close thing and she figured it would be worth the price and then some.
Then he glanced down every so briefly and burst out laughing.
“Can’t even compliment a girl and keep a straight face?” Her pride came prickling to life like—
“First, you left girl way behind. Hell, you look so amazing that you left woman behind too, except then I don’t know what you are. I do know you’re scaring the crap out of me, that’s why the pin is so damned funny. ‘Honey badger don’t give a shit!’ Indeed.”
“I,” Sienna swallowed hard trying to process the compliments, “I heard it differently.”
“There’s this video—”
“So, I’ve been told.”
“Watch it and you’ll get even more why you scare the crap out of me.”
Sienna rather liked the idea of scaring the crap out of a man like Roy. “Are you planning to kiss me?”
“Haven’t found the answer to your question yet or you bet your ass I would be. Sorry,” Roy glanced aside for the first time. “I’m not really drawing room material.”
“Are you trying to bow out?”
“Not if you’re going to be wearing that dress the rest of the evening. I want a chance to look at you in it some more.”
“How about if I offered you one-time, special dispensation on that kiss?”
“Nope. Lady set a challenge. Besides, the way I figure it, the night is still young. Give me something to do while all of you head cases are doing whatever it is you do at these things.”
As if she knew. Again Sienna fought against being charmed and barely managed to hold ground. “Maybe you should have just asked Dilya yourself.”
“Kee’s kid?”
Sienna nodded.
“All I know is her name and that she was some starving orphan from Uzbekistan who now has full clearance all the way to the Oval.”
“Really?” That pretty teen could just walk into the Oval Office?
“Buddies with the Main Man himself, according to the briefing docs.”
“She was just here.”
“She was?” And Roy looked about the room in bewilderment. He’d been so focused on Sienna that he hadn’t even seen someone else was in the room when he arrived. That tipped Sienna right over the mush line.
“It’s time for us to go,” or she was going to kiss the crap out of him no matter what he said. As she turned for the door, he rested his hand ever so lightly on her arm.
“Just one thing first.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small plastic container. “I figured a corsage might be excessive, but I hope you like this.”
It was a single, miniature, yellow rosebud, on the verge of opening.
“Do you always give flowers to your dates?”
Roy harrumphed in thought. “Can’t say as I do. Guess you’re a special occasion.”
“Well, free tip for you: Don’t stop,” she couldn’t remember the last man to bring her flowers.
He reached out to pin it to her dress, hesitated, cursed, and then tried again.
She left him to be totally flummoxed by how to pin it in place.
He finally slipped the fingers of one hand inside the neckline of her blouse. His knuckles brushing along her collarbone stole her breath with the power of the simple contact. He quickly pinned the rose close beside the honey badger, then slid his
hand free as if it had been burned.
“Best I can do,” he said roughly.
She looked down to see that he’d pinned the rose so that the honey badger appeared to be sniffing it. Or maybe it was about to eat it.
“It’s perfect, Roy. Thank you.”
Then he offered his arm. She slid her fingers around his elbow, felt the strength there of a man who trained hard. She felt safer than she expected, than she’d ever thought possible for her first visit to the Residence.
She didn’t need a honey badger or a rose, she had Roy Beaumont at her side.
# # #
Roy had done the math.
He’d been with the White House Counter Sniper Team for just over a year. Call it fifty weeks because of the two weeks he’d taken off to join his dad for the opening of hunting season and several weeks for periodic refresher training. He’d spent approximately half of that time on the roof and the other half on the unending daily crap work of being in the Secret Service (or trying to get warm between the winter watches). Roy had laid atop the Residence for roughly a thousand hours.
For the first time he was standing precisely twenty-seven feet below his normal post. And that twenty-seven foot decrease in altitude was one of the most terrifying things he’d ever done.
He knew most of the people in the room, either because he’d been briefed on them and watched them from his perch as they transited the White House grounds or he’d seen them on television just like the rest of America. He knew a total of three people in the room: Frank Adams, Beat Belfour, and his date. He’d been introduced to the White House Chief of Staff once, but that didn’t count because the man wouldn’t remember—
“Hello, Roy. Glad to see you again.” Daniel Drake Darlington III held out a hand and Roy shook it out of pure relief. The Chief of Staff’s hand was strong. He sported weightlifter calluses which was more than most of these soft, political men. It definitely counted toward Daniel’s credit.
“Very kind of you to remember, sir.” It was stiff and awkward, but it was all he could muster.
“A bit of a change from overwatch.”
Roy looked for any hint of an insult, as if Roy was an unwelcome intruder from some lower class, but everything about Daniel appeared genuine. Rumor stated that he was a genius and one of the kindest people in D.C. Maybe both were true. “Takes my breath away, a bit, sir.”
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