Valor on the Move

“And there’s that sunny, optimistic attitude that wins you so many friends and influences so many people.”

“You’re one to talk, Detective Hardass.”

“My ass is nice and juicy, as you well know. Have a good first day, man. You know, I remember when I first met you, when you were in training? And you told me you were going to protect the president one day. I know you’re not quite there yet, but you’ve worked damn hard for this. Try to enjoy it, yeah?”

“I guess. It’s work.” Shane shrugged.

Darnell rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you worked hard for this, so give yourself some credit. You’re allowed to, you know. You might even be proud of yourself or some shit like that.” He hesitated. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but they’d be really proud.”

Shane focused on his chin, pulling the razor over it. He swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

Darnell squeezed Shane’s shoulder, and when he spoke his tone was light again. “And damn, you’ve been hitting the gym harder than ever. Looking good, my friend.”

“Thanks.” Shane pushed aside the thought of his parents. Didn’t do him any good to get sentimental. “Cut way down on the carbs.” He wasn’t too bulky, but he had upped his workouts, and had to admit he was proud of the new ridges in his abs.

“I wish I could, but you know I love my pasta.”

“Good thing you can eat an entire buffet and still look like a gym queen.” He muttered under his breath, “Prick.”

Darnell’s teeth gleamed. “Haters to the left. Or whatever the kids are saying these days.”

“Go catch some bad guys. You should have plenty to choose from in DC.”

When Darnell closed the front door behind him a few minutes later, he shouted, “Go, Orioles!” In the silence, Shane chuckled. Same old Darnell. He was a good friend, and, once in a blue moon, a good fuck. It had never been more than that and never would, and that was exactly the way they wanted it. They were pushing forty and in the prime of their careers, and besides, making their friendship anything more would be a surefire way to fuck it up. They’d kill each other within a week.

Unbidden, Shane heard the distant echo of his mother’s voice the day Darnell had driven Shane and his visiting parents out to Monticello. “Why just friends? He’s so handsome and smart. He has a good job too. What are you waiting for, Shane? Christmas?”

It had been years now, and he’d never met anyone he wanted to wake up beside every day.

As he came into the bedroom, Shane realized Darnell had left something on the bed. He laughed out loud when he picked up the hardcover book, the release like opening a pressure valve. A yellow note was stuck to the front.

Pro tip: No farting or belching. Also, don’t pick your nose.

The book was called United States Protocol: The Guide to Diplomatic Etiquette, and according to the blurb was “the perfect guide to any official event.” Shane breathed deeply as stupid nerves skittered through him. He was actually going to work at the White House. And not just on the grounds at a standing post, manning the perimeter at a state dinner. He was going to be inside Castle, as they called it. Inside Crown, even—the first family residence. Even if the Rafael Castillo detail was going to be boring as hell, it was worth it. He checked his watch and quickly pulled his suit from the closet. After strapping on his holster, he unlocked his Sig Sauer pistol from its metal box and gave it a quick function check. Then he attached his badge to his belt, along with his handcuffs. He could smell the coffee brewing in the narrow kitchen, and went to pour a cup.

He flipped on the TV to distract himself while he choked down a toasted bagel. The furnished apartment had come with the wall-mounted flat-screen TV, which had sold him on it. The paintings framed on the walls were hotel-room style scenes of pastoral life. It wasn’t Shane’s taste, but he didn’t even know what his taste was. There was no point in decorating or putting down roots when he could be transferred anywhere tomorrow. His gaze flicked to the one decoration that was his, sitting on a side table beside the floral couch.

The frame was silver, and as Shane picked it up and ran his fingertips over the edges, he saw it needed polishing. In the photo, he stood between his parents at his college graduation, taller than both of them, especially his mother, who only reached his shoulder. She’d just snatched the black mortar off his head and put it on, the yellow tassel hanging over her face. All three of them laughed. Shane’s father wore a new suit he’d bought just for the occasion, even though Shane had assured him it wasn’t a big deal.