by Jamie Pope
Her mother was the woman behind the man, the person always at his side, helping him to build his empire, cultivating their image as the perfect American family with humble beginnings.
Did she have any idea that their carefully crafted image was crumbling?
Wyn was still in her neighborhood, not far from her town house, but going home didn’t seem to be the right thing either. She felt too choked to be inside, so she stepped out of her car and headed toward the park that she often walked in during the summer. It wasn’t the summer right now.
Heavy winds ripped through her trench coat, but she didn’t care. The wind burned her eyes, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t see, anyway. She was blinded by the news. Her body was moving by instinct alone. She had walked the trails of this park so many times, she could find her way in her sleep. But there was a flash from a photographer. A shouted question. She froze in her tracks as the swarm grew. People were running toward her. How the hell did this happen so quickly?
Her chest grew tighter and she thought she was going to have a panic attack. She lived such a quiet life. She liked her peace, her solitude, after a lifetime of being overscheduled.
She turned in an effort to escape them, the vultures who were screaming questions about a story that she desperately didn’t want to be true.
She felt a large arm wrap around her, leading her in a different direction. “I’ve got you, ma’am.”
It was Cullen, his scent familiar, his accented voice calming. She could barely see; The flash from the photographers and the wind was burning her eyes, so she allowed him to lead her. It was just a little while ago that she’d thought how uncomfortable his presence made her.
But he was there when she needed him; silent, unsmiling. Exactly what he was supposed to be.
He must have had a fit when she made the unexpected detour. But she didn’t care about how angry he would be that she broke protocol. She just wanted to get back home. She trusted him to get her there.
And soon they were there. She fished her keys out of her bag, her hand shaking so much that she couldn’t open the door. Cullen placed his hand over hers and took the keys and opened the door to let them inside.
“Stupid arseholes,” Cullen whispered.
Wyn paused and looked at him. She rarely heard him speak, much less curse. His accent seemed to have thickened when he did.
She had never seen him anything but calm, but right now he was seething as he glanced out of the window at the hordes of photographers waiting in front of her town house.
“I don’t want to stay here,” she managed to croak out. She still felt choked, like all the air had been sucked out of her body. “Not with them all out there.”
“You can’t stay here.” He turned away from the window, removing his sunglasses as he did and faced her.
There was a scowl on his face. He was tall, muscular, but lean. His dark hair was cut ruthlessly short. He looked so damn dangerous in that moment. She knew he had been Special Forces. She knew that he had been shot multiple times fighting in Afghanistan and for a moment she wondered what he had looked like then, in his slightly younger days, all dressed in his uniform.
It was an odd thought for the moment.
She was focusing on him, him who she had seen hundreds of times. But it was taking her mind off the information she had just learned.
She knew it was true and that’s what was bothering her at the moment. How could she, with no confirmation, believe such a thing about her father?
He was very good to her. She knew without a doubt that he loved her, but she believed the tale of the affair. What did that say about her feelings about her father?
“Sit down,” he ordered as walked toward her. “You’re trembling like a leaf.” He shook his head. “Arseholes,” he said to himself again. “The story must have broken overnight. It’s the only way they could have found you so quickly.”
“I need to call my mother.” Her mother never had a bad thing to say about her father, even though he spent most of their marriage traveling the world in the search of more prestige, more power.
But now Wyn wondered if that were true. Maybe when he was gone he was in the beds of other women.
“Sit down first.” He stripped off his gloves and led her to the couch, his hand on her back again. She felt the warmth permeate her coat. It was then she realized that she was frozen, so stiff she felt as if her limbs would crumble and blow away. “You can’t go marching through the park like that. You don’t want me to drive you, then you can’t make any sudden moves like that. You could have frozen to death. Someone could have snatched you. You need to be careful.” He softened his tone. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize the media was trailing us until we were halfway down the street. I couldn’t stop them.”
“I didn’t realize you could speak so much.”
He frowned at her, his annoyance showing. She had never seen him annoyed before. Or happy or sad or anything in between.
It was refreshing and it had only taken a major scandal to reveal it.
* * *
Cullen Whelan had taken this assignment against his better judgment. The last thing he had wanted to do was protect some rich man’s daughter. But he figured the job would be easier than his last assignment. There wouldn’t be multiple attempts to end her life, as was the case of his last principal. No cars rigged with explosives. No snipers hiding in buildings hundreds of feet away.
Protecting a quiet woman with a peaceful life wouldn’t leave him feeling like he had blood on his hands.
Wynter’s father had been the bigger target. Billionaire-turned-politician. He wondered where the man was now. Probably tucked away in some secret place while his daughter was swarmed with reporters.
It wasn’t his job to pass judgment on the people who employed him, but this arsehole had the nerve to announce his run for public office when he knew he had this skeleton in his closet. Cullen didn’t know exactly what the scandal was, but he knew by the shouted questions from the reporters that another woman was involved. Not just an affair, but something much deeper. He’d never forget the look on Wynter’s face as the reporters swarmed her. It was the first time he had seen any cracks in her serene mask.
He had been protecting her for nearly a year now. She was different from what he had expected. She was no party-girl heiress. There was no stumbling out of nightclubs. No rubbing shoulders with celebrities. In fact, she rarely left the house unless it was out of necessity. Work consumed her, just as it had this morning when he walked in. She hadn’t heard him enter. She hadn’t noticed his presence with her in the kitchen, even though he was there for nearly fifteen minutes.
She was fascinated by whatever document she was reading, her forehead scrunched as she wrote furiously on a pad of paper. It wasn’t the first time he had been in the room with her without her noticing. He wondered if it was due to the fact she had spent her entire life being guarded by someone. She must be used to large men in black hovering over her shoulder. It must be easier to block their presence out.
He would hate a life like that. There wasn’t much freedom in it.
She could have spent her life on vacation. Traveling the world. Never working. But she volunteered in jails, community centers, and courthouses. She translated during interrogations. She taught English as a Second Language courses in the summer when her college classes were over. She worked with prisoners and poor people, without fear. She didn’t treat them like she was better than them, even though anyone who looked at her could see she was.
There wasn’t much excitement in his job, but it was one of the ones he took the most pride in after having served his country.
She was a good person. That was all. And he liked that, for once, he got to keep someone safe who was completely innocent.
“Sit down,” he told her again. This time he physically moved her toward the couch. Her body felt frozen. He had almost had an aneurysm when she parked her car and headed toward the park. She wa
s wearing a thin coat. Only good for getting in and out of warm cars. Not for mind-clearing walks on frigid days.
He hadn’t noticed the news vans at first. They had been parked further down the street, but in D.C., where a scandal a week happens, he wasn’t surprised to see them. He just never thought that she would be their target.
“You’re frozen.”
He removed her coat, before he gently pushed her down on the couch and dropped a throw blanket over her. He turned on her gas fireplace before heading to the kitchen to start a kettle and he cursed himself. He had gotten too comfortable, so used to her routine that he had become complacent. He had never thought she would take off on him, but then again, how could he blame her? She must have had the shock of her life.
He discreetly followed her in his car because she had wanted more freedom and he had never thought she would be in danger going to and from work, but now that was all going to change. He wouldn’t be able to let her out of his sight until whatever just exploded had blown over.
He looked outside of her kitchen window to see the reporters back there too. They were on private property. They knew better. But the story must be too big, too juicy for them to care about something as minor as the law.
He swore again.
“Your accent gets thicker when you curse.” He turned to see her standing in the doorway. Her voice was quiet and controlled, just like it had been every other time he had heard her speak, but he could tell she was still shell-shocked. Despite her professional clothing and sensible black heels, she looked much younger than her twenty-eight years. “They’re in the back of the house, aren’t they?”
He nodded.
Even though she was ruffled, she looked like a modern-day princess. She carried herself like one too. With grace. Her hair was long, jet-black and bone-straight. Most days she kept it tucked behind her ears or neatly pinned back. Today the wind had blown it, giving it a wild quality that softened her.
Her clothes were clearly well-made and her style classic American. No ostentatious brands. Nothing flashy. She wore a cream-colored sweater that looked like it was made to go with her brown skin.
She didn’t wear much makeup, just a light touch, so as not to cover up, but to enhance. She was beautiful. Unobjectively beautiful, but in all the time he had been with her, he had never seen her with a man. There were no dates she had gone on. No men who called at her house. He had never known her to go anywhere. She was a private person, but when she came home at night she stayed there. He lived just across the street in a tiny apartment provided to him by her father. His job wasn’t around the clock, but he kept an eye on her anyway. Her father might be dirty, but his daughter was the most important gift to him. And he paid Cullen a hell of a lot to keep her safe.
“I’m surprised they haven’t started digging through the garbage.”
“They will.”
“All they’ll find is takeout containers and tea bags.”
“I know, ma’am.”
“I’m incredibly boring.”
Her serenity had slipped. He could see her trying to keep it there, but he could feel a change come over her. He had been with her for a year. He studied her closely. Sometimes he felt as if he knew her mannerisms better than he knew those of his closest friends.
She looked lost. Her eyes were wider than normal. Her body trembled slightly. There was an edge to her. It wasn’t what he was used to from her, but he was glad to see she was having a reaction, because it seemed impossibly hard to go through life always being so perfect.
“You aren’t going to ask me why they’re here?”
“No, ma’am.”
The kettle went off. Cullen turned around and fixed her a large mug. “Are we back to two-word answers? You know I study linguistics for a living and it drives me crazy that I spend most of my time with a man who barely speaks. I thought the only good part of this whole thing was being able to hear you speak more.”
He wanted to ask her if hearing him talk would give her any more insight into who she thought he was. But he didn’t. It wasn’t his place to ask.
“I don’t get paid to chat, ma’am.” He handed her the mug and motioned for her to sit.
“I know. I’m being ridiculous right now.” She slid into the chair and looked up at him. “I apologize for how I spoke to you earlier. I was rude.”
He almost laughed. She thought she had been rude.
“Did I say something amusing? I must be hallucinating, because I think you nearly smiled.”
He shook his head. “You’ve had the shock of your life and yet you’re apologizing to me. You don’t have to apologize to me. I work for you.”
“You work for my father, but even if you worked for me that doesn’t mean I have the right to be rude to you.”
He sat in the chair across from her. She had never been rude to him. She never ordered him about. It was within her rights to do so. But she had always been unfailingly polite; kind, even. It wasn’t what he was used to.
His last principal, an arms dealer, lived like a spoiled king and treated the world like his servant. Screaming, cursing, ranting. Cullen hadn’t been surprised that multiple people were trying to kill him. The only reason most of his staff had stayed on was because of the high pay. Cullen had planned to retire early after a few years with this man, but his death had brought him to Wynter and retirement no longer was at the forefront of his mind all the time. She was that easy.
“Drink your tea, ma’am.”
“Please, don’t call me ma’am. I hate it. Call me anything but that.”
“Is lass better?”
“I quite like that. Do Irish people really say that?”
“Not as much as Americans think.”
“The tea is very good. Did you put an entire cup of sugar or just a half?” She gave him a wobbly smile and he knew she was about to break. Her eyes were too bright and Cullen felt deep discomfort, which he wasn’t used to.
“What are your plans, ma—”
“Wyn. Call me Wyn or lass. Just not ma’am.” She shut her eyes for a moment. “I’m trying to focus on anything else, so I don’t have to think about what just happened. Like if I ignore it, it will go away.”
He knew how to whisk her away from a horde of reporters, how to protect her from assassins, to keep her safe in a world that could be very dangerous, but he didn’t know how to deal with emotions. He had never been trained to do that.
“You said you wanted to call your mum.” He took out his phone and handed it to her. “I don’t think you should be using your own phone right now. Just as a precaution.”
She put her mug down and took the phone from his hand. Her fingers brushed his and he couldn’t help but notice how icy they still were. Her hand trembled as she attempted to dial.
He took the phone from her. He knew her mother’s number. He dialed for her and handed the phone back. The discomfort was growing stronger. He didn’t like to see her in pain, knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
He had been in war zones. He had seen people’s heads blown off in front of his face, but this woman was making him want to break out of this room.
“I’ll leave you to your phone call.” He started to get up and walk away, but she grabbed his wrist. Her icy fingers holding on to him.
“Stay,” she whispered. The tremble in her voice made him freeze in his tracks. She didn’t want to be alone right then. It wasn’t a feeling he had often, but he understood it.
He nodded, but she didn’t let go of him right away. She put the phone on speaker and waited while it rang. He could feel her anxiety. He could almost see her heart racing.
“Mother?”
“Oh, Wynter. You have to leave Washington. As soon as you can. They will not stop bothering you.” The panic was evident in Mrs. Bates’s breathless voice.
“Why would they be bothering me? I don’t know anything.”
“They are going to keep digging for answers until everything is revealed.”
/> “But, Mother . . . Are you saying that there’s truth to the reports? The letters are real?”
“I—” Her mother’s voice broke. “I love you very much. I loved you from the moment I saw you.”
Wynter shook her head, her bewilderment clear. “What are you saying?”
“I’ll be going overseas this afternoon. I’m not sure when I’ll be back or if I’ll be back.”
“What do you mean, If you’ll be back? Where are you going?” Wyn’s eyes filled with tears. “It can’t be that bad. I’ll come with you.”
“No. You cannot. If the FBI comes to speak to you, tell them you know nothing.”
“But I don’t know anything. Why would the FBI be involved? Tell me what’s going on!”
“Only your father can do that. It’s not my story to tell. I love you, princess.” The phone went dead and Wynter looked up at him, pure devastation mixed with confusion crossing her face.
She opened her mouth, but no words escaped. He felt as frozen as she was in that moment. He had never seen her this way and right now he’d rather be with the bloated blowhard who didn’t know his name than the devastated woman before him. He knew how to deal with assholes. He couldn’t begin to think of what to do with a hurt woman.
“She not denying it. She’s not defending it.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it, but when I heard it on the radio this morning, I didn’t disbelieve it. But I wanted her to say it wasn’t true.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say to her, but he wasn’t surprised. He had been around his share of rich men, the power seekers. Bates was the worst kind: sanctimonious, preaching to others about values and wanting to change the world for the better when he couldn’t lead by example. It was almost disgusting.
She blinked up at him, looking almost childlike in that moment. “I don’t know what to do now, Cullen.”
He got this odd feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.
