7. Diego

The evening was a blur as I started to prepare for our getaway. I spent most of the time thinking about what was to come and how to get Roni on the path of least resistance. I hoped she was at least a little excited to get away from her dad and his political games. If she was, I could use that to my advantage. I had no doubts she still held a grudge against me, which was fine—I didn't need her to like me. As long as I kept her alive and out of the Geneva Project's hands, then everything else was gravy. I just hoped she disliked her dad more than she did me. How fucked up was that?

I looked down at the expensive black fabric in my hands. I wasn't going to need my suit in Alaska. Martin was going to have it shipped back to my house. I'd ordered a bunch of outdoor gear, which came to my room in boxes this morning. I had a hundred thousand dollars burning a hole in my pocket, and I wasn't sure what else to do with it besides buy supplies to make my mission a little easier.

My phone continued to vibrate with texts from people I hadn't spoken to in years. The same thing happened after we broke up the trafficking rings, but that was nothing compared to this. Even people I knew from high school were reaching out. In their texts, they referred to my and Roni's rivalry as foreplay. The thought of them all high fiving each other and talking about Roni and me got under my skin, I immediately deleted the messages. She might be hot, but she was still spoiled. She had a world of opportunities to explore, and she wasn't going to just to spite her parents. I understood resenting a situation, but I'd never understood wallowing in it. The jaded daughter wasn't a good look for her, nor did it really help in any way.

My phone vibrated with an email, then my screen lit up with an alert from a news reporter requesting to be my friend on social media. Although that felt tame compared to the women who added me and sent me dirty Snapchats. I had to keep my phone on the charger to keep it from dying from all the notifications within hours. How did celebrities put up with the nonsense?

The bombardment of attention was completely overwhelming, but of course I saw right through it. They wanted me to get an inside scoop on the First Family. I was the new shiny thing in the picture. Once I no longer fit into the narrative the press wanted to spin, they would leave me alone or attack me instead of praising me. I had a feeling that the First Family would treat me exactly the same. I wasn't in a situation where I could really come out on top. The only real bonus was the money; I could see that now.

This morning's headlines referred to me as "the perfect boyfriend." They got one good photo of me staring at Roni with concern. They got another with my hand resting softly on her lower back. Of course, they didn't leave out the photos they took of Roni and Ms. Johnson embracing. The press made a funeral into a spectacle.

The suit hanging on the back of the door brought me back to the moment Roni sat in the pew next to me. I watched her out of the corner of my eye—she sat with her back ramrod straight, and her hands softly rubbed the black velvet of her dress. Her dark blazer covered her arms, and her knee bounced nervously beside mine. Every few seconds, her gaze would travel to her friend, who looked like she was sleeping in her casket, then they'd drop back to look at her hands.

Her eyes teared up, and she desperately tried to blink them back, but a tear or two escaped. I handed her my pocket square, and when her eyes met mine, I felt the depth of her sadness. She looked like she was waiting for the earth to swallow her whole or for God to strike her dead right where she sat.

When we got into the vehicle after they lowered Nina's casket into the ground, I could tell just how emotionally drained Roni was. She didn't even have a smart remark for her father when he greeted us on our return. She merely ignored him, quietly thanked me for my support without meeting my eyes, then went upstairs.

As I watched her walk up the stairs, I felt dismayed for Roni despite my opinions of her. Even high school me wouldn't have wished something so bad on her. We engaged in petty tricks and sabotages but never went as far as to try to ruin the other's life, not like her father's presidency had done. Lucky for Roni, it was her father's last term; she only had a couple more years before she could fall out of the limelight.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. This job was going to become too personal, and that wasn't something I liked. It became impossible to slip out of the job at the end of the day. I needed to remember my past with Roni. The Perfect Princess, as I used to refer to her. I needed to concentrate on all the things she used to do to piss me off or screw with me. Somewhere deep down, she was that same person, and I wouldn't be burned by her again because I felt sorry for her.

I pulled all of my shiny new purchases out of the boxes and packed them into new bags. It felt weird ordering and packing women's clothes, but I couldn't take a chance on Roni not being prepared. In the wilderness, you are only as strong as your weakest link. I had no doubt that my survival skills far surpassed hers. So the warm flannels, thermals, and heavy boots and sports bras definitely weren't her style, but they'd keep her warm and alive.

My fingers played with the soft material of one of the flannels, and I imagined what Roni would look like with only it on, half buttoned to expose her chest, and her legs bare. There was no denying the desire that grew despite years apart. It didn't matter that she had a smart mouth or liked to challenge me at every turn. There was an attraction I felt to her, which only made our previous rivalry and current truce worse. It felt way stronger than anything I could recall back in school, even though she was hot then. It was nothing compared to now. She had a sexiness to her that there was no denying.

I needed to get my mind off of Roni and her body. The president made it pretty clear that there were certain boundaries I needed to abide by. Fucking his daughter wasn't within them.

I was supposed to check out of the room tonight and discreetly move into a room in the White House Residences until our trip to remain close to Roni, but I still had hours until I was supposed to arrive. With nothing else to do, I opted to take a walk outside and explore some of the monuments. I grabbed a warm sweater and a beanie and then left the room. I'd thought about texting Yates and Natalia but decided against it. They'd only bombard me with questions about my stay in D.C. and Roni.

I'd been to the capital several times through the years and had been here as recently as the award ceremony last year, when my friends and I received a presidential award. Several spots always captured my attention, the Lincoln Memorial, the fountain in the Mall, and the Washington Monument. I set out with no real destination in mind, but as if my thoughts carried me there, I found myself standing at the base of the Washington Monument. It towered over everything nearby, its long, skinny shape reminding me of a pencil. There were tourists spread out on the circular path that surrounded the monument, taking photos. Despite all the publicity I recently received, no one seemed to recognize me—and if they did, they didn't approach me. I turned my back to the monument and did something so touristy that I'd never admit it to another soul. I took a damn selfie.

My phone vibrated in my hand, and Roni's name popped up on my screen. It was very rare that she'd text me. Mainly she'd just text at dinner to suggest a topic of discussion that I could bring up. It helped keep the dinners from becoming more awkward than they already were.

Her text was far from a table topic.

Roni: MANGOS!

"Fuck," I damn near shouted as I sprinted in the direction of the White House. I knew she was there, because her secretary would send me Roni's daily schedule. She had nothing on her schedule today in preparation for us leaving in a few days. Not even her secretary knew of her upcoming trip.

A crowd stared as I sprinted across the lawn of the monument and then crossed Constitution Avenue. I didn't even bother to look for oncoming traffic. I just hoped the cars would see me coming and stop.

Horns blared as I crossed the street without injury. I winced as I heard the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass. I didn't bother to turn around to see if the occupants of the vehicles were okay; I had no time. I ran up 15th Street and made it to the White House, a sweaty, panting mess. At the entrance, I pulled my identification and booked it past security. As I raced through the hall to the Residence, I received all kinds of looks. Expressions ranged from eye rolls to curious glances to angry stares.

The seconds passed in a blur, and before I knew it, I was outside the Residence. An agent laid unconscious on the floor, bleeding from his head. His chest rose and fell, so at least he was alive.

I heard shouts from the other side of the door. With a heavy, well-placed kick to the door, I busted into the room, using the element of surprise to my advantage. My blood turned ice cold. A man wrestled with Roni, his gun aimed at Roni's head. With his free hand, he kept trying to force his hand over her mouth. He looked like a Secret Service agent, earpiece and all. She kept a hand over her own lips. He must have been trying to force her to take a pill. They squirmed on the ground as they fought. She was pinned beneath him in such a compromising position that I wanted to reach around and snap his neck. Rage consumed me, and I prepared to launch myself at him.

The sound of my intrusion caused Roni's attacker to look up in surprise. He pushed the gun closer to her head, and she whimpered in response. Tears filled her eyes as she swallowed hard and stared at the barrel of the gun.

"No nonsense, lover-boy. Veronica was just telling me she wanted to go for a drive, but you can go with us. I'll make sure to dispose of you properly," he taunted.

I slowly shook my head and cautiously raised my open hands. I swallowed hard as I tried to come up with a way out of this situation. If the gun was trained on me, I wouldn't hesitate to try to disarm him, but I wasn't stupid—I wasn't faster than a bullet. Especially a bullet that's only inches from Roni's head. "There's no need to do anything hasty." I paused to take in our surroundings. I didn't want to be taken by surprise by an accomplice of his. "What exactly are you after?" I asked.

"Her," he said, staring at me like I was stupid. The gun shook in his hand slightly. He was nervous.

Duh."But why?" I continued to try to buy us time.

"Because the boss man said to—and we get a lot of money to do what we are told," the attacker said, shifting his weight. The boss man, so this confirmed the guy was a Geneva thug.

My eyes studied his shaking hand. Nervous people made mistakes.

Then I spotted it, his mistake. Roni's attacker was surely anticipating that I was going to hurt him. His eyes studied me, waiting for the second I'd pounce so he could pull the trigger. But he didn't realize that pulling the trigger would do nothing. The safety was still on, and I was going to make my move before that changed.