Valor on the Move (7 page)

In a picture from the White House Easter egg hunt, Rafael held hands with his girlfriend, smiling as they watched children run. She was a pretty girl—blonde and flowery. They looked like the perfect young Republican couple.

Shane closed the app and radioed in another report that all was quiet. It was going to be a long night.
 

It was almost two when a distant crash and shattering of glass echoed down the stairwell.

Shane was moving, taking the stairs two at a time and reaching for his gun, while the sound still rang in the air. He grabbed his walkie. “Breaking glass on third floor. Confirming Valor’s position. Hold.”

He checked his blind spots as he edged around the final flight of stairs and out onto the floor. Center hall was clear. He came around the Linen Room, listening intently. From the direction of the Diet Kitchen, he could hear angry muttering. His shoes silent on the wooden floor, he approached, his gun in his hand. He did a fast peek into the kitchen before exhaling and holstering his weapon.

Rafael leapt to his feet, the shards of a white casserole dish and shattered glass of its lid scattered around the floor, along with the contents, which appeared to be some kind of tomato concoction. “What are you doing up here? This is
my
place! You’re not allowed! We don’t need protection up here!”

Shane raised his hands. “I heard something smash. Just double checking.” He pulled out his radio. “Everything’s ten-four. Valor is safe and sound.”

Rafael scoffed. “Of course I am. What, you think someone dove into the skylight to kidnap me?” His cheeks were flushed, and he was in bare feet and plaid boxer shorts, his white T-shirt splashed with red. His hair, usually slicked back within an inch of its life, was tousled over his forehead. “You can go now. I’m fine.” He jerked his gaze to the floor.

The kid didn’t seem to like looking Shane in the eye, but he’d never been hostile. Perhaps Shane had jinxed it. “I’m sorry to upset you. I’m just doing my job.”

“Well, consider it done. Can you please leave?” He took a tentative step and winced.

“Don’t move. Is there a broom?”

“I can clean up. It’s my mess.”

Shane choked down a swell of frustration. “Yes, but you don’t have shoes on, and there’s broken glass and crockery and tomato goop everywhere. So tell me where the broom is. And the paper towels.”

With a sigh, Rafael nodded to a cupboard. “There’s a dustpan and little broom in the back.” He squatted and started collecting large pieces of the dish.

Crouching beside him, Shane swept up the mess, emptying the pan in the garbage more than once and using paper towels to mop up the oily tomatoes. As he squatted beside Rafael to go after some stubborn shards of glass, the question slipped out. “What were you making? Smells good.”

“Nothing much.”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”

“It’s none of your business,” he muttered.

“You’re right.” Shane swept forcefully. If the kid wanted to be a snotty brat about it, it was no skin off his nose. “Don’t move. I’m not sure I’ve got it all.”

“It’s fine.” Rafael took two steps and then stifled a cry. “Fuck.” He lifted his foot, and a drop of blood hit the checkered floor.

With effort, Shane bit back an
I told you so
and motioned to the counter. “Hop up and let me see.”

This time, Rafael did as he was told. His face was beet red, darkening his freckles as he lifted his foot for Shane. Shane prodded the shard of glass embedded in the sole. “Is there a first aid kit?”

Rafael nodded to the cupboards below the sink.

Shane took off his jacket, hanging it from the handle of one of the cupboards, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He made sure his radio and handcuffs were securely fastened to his belt. His leather holster was snug around him, the pistol a familiar and comforting weight. He quickly washed and dried his hands, and then opened the kit. When he glanced up, Rafael jerked his head away, his gaze returning to his twisting fingers.

“It doesn’t make you nervous, does it?” Shane asked.

“No,” he quickly insisted.

“I’d think you’d be used to guns by now.”

Rafael’s brow furrowed. “Guns? Oh yeah, I don’t even think about them anymore. My parents took us to the gun range before we moved to DC so we could learn how they worked and understand them. You know, since we’re surrounded by armed people all the time. They weren’t encouraging us to, like, get our own guns and shoot things. They just wanted us to be educated.”

“Makes sense. Up,” Shane said quietly, and Rafael lifted his foot. Holding Rafael’s ankle with his left hand, Shane eased out the glass with his right, pressing a bandage to it quickly to stem any further bleeding. “Didn’t go too deep, I don’t think.” He held the bandage firmly in place. “We’ll just wait a minute to stop the worst of it.”

“Uh-huh.” Rafael nodded. “So anyway, it’s fine. I realize you guys totally know what you’re doing. With guns, I mean.”

“We do. We have to re-qualify every month with our firearms.”

“You must be a great shot. You guys do so much training. Seems like it never stops.”

“Yeah, it’s ongoing. We have to stay sharp. Run drills for all the possible scenarios.” He shifted his grip on Rafael’s foot and pressed harder against the wound.

Rafael laughed weakly. “Yeah, all the ways some wackos might kidnap us. I guess there are plenty.”

In the silence of the kitchen, Shane could hear the anxious little hitches in Rafael’s breathing. He cleared his throat. “I hope you weren’t too shaken up after that false alarm the first day. I know it wasn’t the most auspicious beginning. It seems like I make you nervous. If you’re having trouble trusting me—”

“What? No. I’m not. I’m just…I’m sorry I snapped at you when you came up here. It was totally out of line.”

“It’s not a problem.” Impatient or pissed-off protectees were a hazard of the job. Shane lifted the bandage for a moment, and then pressed it back into place. There was dark hair scattered on Rafael’s arms and lower legs, and it tickled Shane’s palm where he held Rafael’s ankle aloft. He had the absurd urge to run his hand up Rafael’s leg, and he almost dropped the kid’s ankle like it was a hot potato.

“It’s that I’m not supposed to be in here. My mom’s away for a week. I shouldn’t be cooking, but I figured she’d never find out if I was careful.” His laugh was sardonic. “As you can see, it’s working out really well.”

Shane chuckled, and Rafael gave him a tentative smile. “Don’t worry about it,” Shane said. “You can try it again tomorrow. And you know your secret’s safe with me.”

“It’s stupid anyway.”

“What is? Cooking?” Shane knew he should finish the first aid and get back downstairs, but what was the harm in putting the kid at ease? After that false alarm their very first day, he wanted his protectee to feel safe with him. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

Rafael met his gaze, his eyes dark and luminous. “You don’t?”

“No. Especially not when you make things that smell this good.” Shane lifted the bandage again and lowered his head to inspect the cut. He ran his fingertips over the sole of Rafael’s foot, making sure there was no more glass. Rafael gasped softly, trembling under Shane’s touch. When Shane met his gaze, Rafael smiled shakily.

“Ticklish,” he muttered.

Shane unpeeled a Band-Aid. “Well, at least this injury wasn’t my fault.”

“That was nothing. And thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.” Shane smoothed on the bandage, aware of Rafael’s gaze on him. Maybe it was the stillness of the late hour and their proximity, but the moment suddenly felt unnervingly intimate. He let go of Rafael’s foot and stepped back, rolling down his sleeves. “Good as new.”

“Thanks.” Rafael didn’t move from the counter, and he stared at the floor beneath his dangling feet.

“Let me just give it another sweep to be sure.” Shane busied himself with the dustpan and broom.

After a few moments, Rafael said, “It was roasted grape tomatoes with basil and goat cheese. I was just about to add the cheese and put it back in the oven when I dropped it.”

“Sounds delicious.” Shane put away the dustpan and medical kit before shrugging on his suit jacket. He’d lingered long enough.

“If I make it again tomorrow night, will you try it?”

Shane paused in straightening his collar. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Please? It would help me out so much to get your opinion. Besides, that way you’ll know exactly where I am, and that I’m not being kidnapped.”

It was probably a bad idea, but Rafael’s eyes were so imploring. The kid was clearly lonely. “Okay. I’ll come up around midnight for a taste. Only for a few minutes.”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

Shane hurried downstairs, but all was quiet and still. When he checked in with the command office, everything was in order, and the night went on as if he’d never gone upstairs at all.

Rafa had a serious problem.

No one else had seemed to notice that time had slowed to the approximate rate of a sloth crawling on its belly through a vat of molasses. The aides and staff all bustled about like it was any other day, when it clearly wasn’t. He was going to cook tonight, and Shane was going to taste it. This was happening in real life and not just his head.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said the words out loud, asking Shane to come back. And although he knew Shane was only being nice, excitement still simmered through him. Since his parents were out of town, Magda only made a quick appearance in the kitchen, and she was nice enough to load him up with supplies and even give him a quick lesson on the proper way to chiffonade herbs.

Then Marissa called to talk about an upcoming foundation event his mother wanted him to chair, and Rafa forced himself to jot down notes, knowing he wouldn’t remember a freaking word later. It was a good distraction for fifteen minutes, at least.

It was late afternoon when his phone buzzed. Rafa was flopped on his bed naked after another jerk-off session starring Shane and his thick cock, which alternated being cut and uncut in Rafa’s imagination. Of course he had no idea what Shane’s cock really looked like and never would, but in his head it was spectacular. He reached for his phone, expecting Ashleigh and hoping it wasn’t Marissa again. Instead, a text from his brother stared back at him.

How’s it going?

That was Matthew—a man of few words. Affection and longing surged through Rafa. He realized he hadn’t seen Matty since Christmas. His thumbs flew.

Okay. Mom’s making me work with her foundation, but it’s good experience, I guess. How’s life in the pool?

Wet.

Rafa smiled fleetingly. Matthew had always loved swimming, but by his senior year of high school it had become an obsession. Even now, Rafa couldn’t help but resent it just a little. With only two years between them, they’d been inseparable as kids. Now they saw each other on holidays when Matty couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to stay away.

Rafa asked:
Are you working on your backstroke?

Mostly butterfly. Dude, why didn’t you go to Paris with your girl? That way Mom at least has to cross the Atlantic to meddle.

Nausea waved through him. Not only did he barely see or talk to Matty—his brother didn’t even
know
him anymore. But by the time Rafa had been ready to actually say it out loud in senior year, Matthew had been long gone to California. Adriana too, and Chris had really never lived at the White House. It hadn’t been until Rafa had met Ashleigh that he’d been able to say the words.

Rafa typed out:
It hasn’t been too bad.

Matthew replied:
She’s dropping by here on her way back to DC next week. Even more suits around. Just what I need.

Of all of them, Matthew had rebelled most against the constant protection. Rafa could remember staring at his plate and spearing peas with the tines of his fork as Matty and their parents had argued about having agents at prom. Of course their parents had won. They always did. He typed again.

At least it’ll be over in January. Not much longer.

The reply was:
LOL, always the optimist. You’ll probably miss it all, you freak.

Even though he knew Matty was kidding, it still hurt. He wanted to write back:
Just because I didn’t scream and stomp my feet doesn’t mean I like it.
Instead he typed:
Yeah. Probably.

Later. My session’s starting. Don’t drink too much Kool-Aid.

Rafa wanted to reply, but he tossed his phone on the mattress. What was the point? He choked down his resentment. Matty had never understood why Rafa played by the rules and didn’t make waves. Besides, he was breaking the rules now, wasn’t he? Asking Shane up to the third floor was…well, he supposed it wasn’t against the
rules
, per se. And could Shane really say no? He was probably afraid Rafa would call his dad and get him in trouble if he didn’t do as he asked.

Ugh. Was he, like, sexually harassing Shane?

No. It wasn’t as if Rafa was hitting on him, or expecting anything other than a few opinions about his food. That was okay. It wouldn’t even take long. It wasn’t as if Shane was—

His phone buzzed, and he snatched it up. Maybe Matty had written more. But as he stared at the picture of his father, laughing on a hike they’d taken the last time they’d all been at Camp David, Rafa’s stomach swooped. He hit the screen. “Dad?”