The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(10)

“This is Vigil-One, I’m going up to pick up Flower,” White said, using Veronica’s designated code name. As he crossed the marble lobby, White nodded at another agent who was standing close to the main entry. The agent gave him a thumbs-up, letting White know he had heard his last communication with XJD-31, the mobile telecommunications unit parked not far away.

White pressed the elevator call button. The shiny silver doors opened, and he stepped inside. White disliked elevators—small sealed boxes that could become traps in the blink of an eye. And there was no way to know what might be lurking on the other side when the door reopened. Not something you wanted when your job was to protect the daughter of the vice president-elect.

Veronica’s suite was on the fifth floor, with a connecting door linking her room to White’s. It wasn’t an unusual arrangement for a Secret Service detail, but White’s meteoric rise within the United States Secret Service would come to a sudden halt if his boss knew he had shared more than a door with Veronica. Even Alexander Hammond’s direct intervention wouldn’t help him. By becoming romantically involved with Veronica, White was playing a dangerous game. There was no denying that their relationship couldn’t continue in its present form. But for now, being reprimanded or reassigned were risks he was more than willing to take. Never in his life had he remotely felt this close to another person.

The elevator reached the floor, and the doors slid aside. White got off, scanned the hallway, and turned right. Apart from the Secret Service agent standing at the end of the hallway, he didn’t see anyone else. The thick carpet smelled like an odd combination of expensive perfume and cleaner. The walls, painted a dove gray, were decorated with canvases by local artists White didn’t know.

“All good?” he asked the agent guarding Veronica’s room.

“The cleaning lady came, but I told her to come back,” the agent replied.

“All right,” White said. “Get down to the balcony level to relieve Marcus. I’ve got this.”

White fist-bumped his subordinate and watched him walk toward the elevators.

As White raised his hand to knock on Veronica’s door, he noted the time. Six o’clock. The cocktail hour had officially started, but the dinner and speeches wouldn’t begin for another sixty minutes. White knocked on the door. Veronica snatched it open as if she’d been standing there waiting for him. Upon seeing her, White’s heart almost stopped. The sexy tilt of her mouth, combined with the charming glint in her green eyes and the faint but enchanting smell of her perfume, sweet and floral, made him weak in the knees—and the hounding risk of being found out all worth it.

“Come in, Clay,” Veronica said, stepping out of the way to let him in. “If it’s okay, I’d like to discuss tomorrow’s schedule.”

“There’s no need to pretend,” White replied with a smile, closing the door behind him. “I’ve sent the other agent downstairs to relieve Marcus.”

Veronica was dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans, dark ankle boots, and a cream-colored sweater that showed off her curves. With her brown hair pulled back into a messy bun and her face devoid of cosmetics, she looked a decade younger than her thirty-six years. She grabbed him by the tie and pulled him close as she stood on tiptoe. Her lips, so giving and so soft, found his. Her hands brushed his face. A shiver rolled down his spine as his fingers curled around the back of her neck.

“How much time do we have?” she asked, her voice a soft growl.

“Depends if you want to skip the cocktails or not,” he replied, kissing her bottom lip.

“I’d skip the whole damned thing if it meant we could be alone for two hours,” she said under her breath.

White smiled and placed a silencing finger on her lips.

“XJD-31, this is Vigil-One,” White said.

“Go ahead, Vigil-One.”

“I’ll be off comms for a few minutes,” White said. “Call me on my cell if you need anything.”

“Ten-four, Vigil-One.”

Veronica grabbed at his belt, and in two fast, aggressive flicks she had the buckle undone. Her hands continued to move together as she undid the button at the waistband of his trousers. With nothing left to support them, the weight of White’s portable radio, his pistol, and the two extra magazines took over, and his pants fell to his ankles, bunching around his feet. Veronica removed his suit jacket and began to roughly pull his tie apart. Soon, all her clothes along with his tie, shirt, and soft body armor lay in a heap on the floor next to the bed.

Veronica ran her fingers over his bare chest and down his flat stomach. He kicked off his shoes and let her push him onto the bed, unaware of the danger swiftly closing in.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Oxley Vineyards


Kommetjie, South Africa

Roy Oxley knew it was going to be a long, stressful, and probably sleepless night. It wasn’t every day one ordered the assassination of the vice president-elect’s daughter. Oxley didn’t mind the lack of sleep. He was used to it, and he expected the staff on his payroll to deal with pressure the same way he did. So, he felt no shame in having Pierre Sarazin, the newly hired general manager of Oxley Vineyards, stand almost at attention in front of his desk at five minutes to midnight, long after the man’s normal working hours.

Oxley’s hands were locked behind his head and his ankles crossed atop the large mahogany desk behind which he sat as he considered the two wine bottles presented to him by Pierre. The first one was a sauvignon blanc, while the second was a pinotage, South Africa’s signature variety.