Valor on the Move

Shaking his head, Shane whistled softly. “Guess I’m lucky I don’t have a wife and kids. I can go anywhere.” But the thought of moving again and leaving Rafa filled him with unmistakable dread.

“Sometimes I think they try to drum us out so we can’t get our pensions. Use us up and spit us out. After everything I’ve sacrificed for this job, I deserve more.”

Shane blinked. It was normal for agents to bitch to each other, but Harris’s bitterness gave him pause. As the detail leader, it was unprofessional for him to complain to an underling. Not wanting to encourage it, Shane said, “I hear you. But we should probably cut the chatter. I’m heading to the east vantage.”

Harris raised his hands. “You’re right. Geez, don’t listen to me, Kendrick. Like I said, I’m in a mood today.”

“No problem. We all have those days, right?”

“Yeah.” Harris was quiet for a few moments, his gaze focused across the hall. “You and Pearce are doing a great job with Valor. But how’s Pearce doing? Insists he’s fine, but he’s looking rough around the edges. Understandably, what with his family situation.”

Shane looked over to Alan’s position. It was true that the circles under Alan’s eyes were only getting darker. He’d been increasingly distracted and distant at times, but Shane kept that to himself. “He’s good. He won’t let us down.”

“Okay. If anything changes on that front, let me know.”

“Will do.”

As he walked the perimeter of the entrance hall, he nodded to Alan, who maintained his position. Shane stood near a pinky-white marble column, surveying the crowd. Like I’m one to criticize Harris for unprofessionalism, or Alan for being distracted. Watching Rafa fiddle with his cufflinks and look like he wanted to be anywhere else, Shane wished he could take him far away.

Chapter Eleven

“Why do you always get the hot ones?” Adriana mock pouted as she peered at Shane and Alan standing in the corner of the grand East Room. Around the perimeter between golden drapes, wall sconces, and oil portraits, agents in tuxes stood every few feet. More in black tie and gowns were dispersed through the crowd.

Rafa tried not to stare at Shane, who looked amazing in regular suits, and in a tux was out of this world sexy. He gave himself a mental shake as he started imagining Shane out of the tux. “Because the Secret Service knows you too well,” he answered, adjusting the cuffs on his jacket to make sure his wrists were covered. His arms had always been a little too long, and even though the tux had been tailored, he double checked self-consciously.

Adriana only smiled, flipping back a lock of her dark hair, which had been gently curled just so. “Touché.”

Champagne flute in hand, Christian appeared and knocked Rafa’s shoulder lightly. “Are we having fun yet?” They were just about the same height, and Rafa bumped him back.

“We’re about to witness Celine Dion’s first live appearance in almost a decade,” Adriana said. “What could be more enjoyable?”

“What indeed.” When Chris smiled, his cheeks dimpled perfectly. His short dark hair was thick and neat, with nary a curl in sight. “I’d say watching the Knicks game in my underwear with a cold beer and a bowl of pretzels.”

Rafa looked around for Chris’s wife, Hadley, spotting her blonde up-do near the stage. Beneath the huge chandeliers, her hair glittered with several embedded jewels that managed to be glitzy, yet tasteful. “Don’t tell me Hadley would rather be on the couch.”

Chris laughed. “No, no. This is her idea of heaven. Where’s our brother?”

Adriana huffed. “That little prick’s nowhere to be found. He appeared for about five fucking minutes before vanishing. Mom will have his balls for breakfast if he’s not back here for the cake. Of course it’s not like the agents don’t know where he is, so I’m sure he’ll be hunted down shortly.” She sipped her champagne. “I wonder if Mom and Dad will take permanent protection once it’s all over.”

Rafa frowned. “Of course they will. You think Mom would let Dad say no? Too dangerous.”

She shrugged. “If someone really wants to trade their life to kill the president—or an ex-president—there’s only so much the agents can do. I can’t wait to finally be free.”

“You already are,” Rafa scoffed. “LA’s a million miles from DC.”

“I still have agents watching me take a dump.”

“Adriana, stop it,” Chris hissed, glancing around. “You know the press is here.”

“Yeah, yeah. They’re occupied with your wife, don’t worry. Sometimes I just wish we could sing happy birthday to Dad without hundreds of strangers and Celine freaking Dion on hand.”

“We’re almost there. Not many months left now.” Chris squinted across the room. “Is Uncle Juan already tipsy?”

“Yup,” Rafa answered. “Mom will love it.” They’d had a big breakfast with his aunts and uncles, and it was nice to see them again, but they were little more than strangers.