8. Roni

Diego, where are you?

I texted our safe word when I heard the suit stationed at the Residence main entrance fall to the ground in a thud. His head must have bounced off the door, rattling it hard. I'd been sitting in silence, teary eyed, wishing I could talk to Nina one last time. The grunt and thud sent a shot of adrenaline through me that had me dashing for my bedroom. Once inside, I typed the safe word, my fingers tapped the blue send button, and I prayed he was somewhere nearby. He hadn't moved into the room next to mine yet.

I tucked my phone into my bra, hoping that if he managed to pull me out of here, he wouldn't search me beyond my pockets before concluding that I left my phone behind. The Secret Service would be able to track me beyond there. I barely had enough time to straighten my shirt before my bedroom door flew open, smacking the wall behind it.

The intruder was dressed like a Secret Service agent, and the malice in his eyes was terrifying. He gave a frightening grin as he pointed a gun at my chest, and my breath hitched in response. Panic flooded my veins, and my vision clouded at the edges. Was this how Nina felt right before she died? An all-consuming panic and then nothing?

"Take this," he demanded.

"No."

"You can swallow it voluntarily, or I can shove it down your throat. I'll make sure the experience is extra…unpleasant." He turned and shut and locked the door behind him.

I shook my head. I needed more time. Diego needed more time. "What is it?"

"All you need to know is that you'll eventually wake up." The gun shook up and down in his hands as he tried to rush me. He was on a time crunch, and we both knew it.

"How long have you worked here?" I stalled.

"What?" he snapped.

"How long have you been moonlighting as an agent?" I'd ask him what color his underwear was, too, if that bought me enough time for a rescue. There was no way I'd be able to make any more calls or texts for help. Diego was my only shot at survival, assuming he even got my text and could get here in time. Unless another agent came to relieve the one unconscious or dead on the floor. I looked over at the alarm on my bedside table. That wasn't for another fifteen minutes.

Fuck.

He launched himself at me, knocked me off my bed, and slammed me to the floor. My head bounced off the surface, the thin rug doing nothing to lessen the blow. He pressed the pill against my lips, and I struggled to keep my mouth closed. His weight suffocated me, causing a new level of terror. The hand that held the gun pinched my nose closed, and I stared straight down the barrel as he did it. I managed to shove the hand off my nose in our struggle and took a deep breath through my nose, fighting the urge to swallow a gulp of air. He aimed the gun back at my head.

This was where it ended for me, not even safe in my own home. If one wasn't safe in the White House, did the word even have meaning anymore? When the news got wind of my kidnapping, I was sure hundreds of millions of people would be asking themselves the same question.

I felt more weight on top of me, and my vision began to turn black as my lungs screamed at me. Sporadic tiny breaths weren't enough.

A loud thud echoed through the room, and Diego entered like a cowboy entering a saloon. Diego said something, I could hear his voice, but I was beyond comprehension. My brain was starved for oxygen and focused on the gun. I couldn't bring my eyes away from the barrel that was pointed in my direction. I had no idea what was going on except that I was seconds from a darkness that terrified me.

Despite the gun in my face, Diego dove forward, toward us. I felt even more weight on top of me, and then there was nothing. I was freed from the psychopath that tackled me.

I sucked in a desperate, wheezing breath as I heard the sounds of the men wrestling on the ground next to me. I sat up, and everything spun as I tried to get a visual on the fight and see who was winning. The sound of a gunshot echoed around the room, leaving behind a deafening silence. Then the grunts and wrestling started again.

Diego called out for help over and over. The gunshots would have gotten the entire building's attention. I registered the sound of footsteps running down the hall. I looked up and saw five agents, all with their weapons trained on the two men on the floor.

They didn't recognize Diego. Then again, it was hard to see his face as the two men were constantly moving, fighting for their lives. The Secret Service would slap him in cuffs or even worse, kill him. That was the last thing I wanted. He saved my life.

"Wait! The one in the suit was pretending to be Secret Service! He tried to kidnap me. My boyfriend saved me!" I shouted.

Boyfriend.The word sounded so foreign still—especially when referring to Diego.

Diego broke my attacker's wrist, and the gun slid across the floor. The real agents moved in quickly, hauling my attacker up and slapping him in cuffs.

Diego was pulled up off the floor, his hands shoved behind his back so they could handcuff him.

"No, you fucking morons! He saved me! Get those off him!" I shouted at the stupid suits who were nowhere to be found when they were really needed.

"Are you okay?" Diego asked even as he winced in pain at the way he was manhandled.

"I think so, thanks to you." I looked at the suits that were still restraining him. "Get your fucking hands off my boyfriend. If you still want your job tomorrow morning, you will let him go. Now." My voice was as venomous as I could make it. Diego did not deserve the cuffs.

I remained in a silent face-off with a suit twice my size and age for what felt like ages before he broke his gaze. He glanced over Diego once more before he let him go. "We're going to need you to answer some questions. Don't go anywhere," he warned.

Diego took a step toward me, playing the part of the perfect concerned boyfriend, and I met him halfway. I felt so many emotions at once that it was easy to forget this man was once the bane of my existence. That we were faking a relationship. I was relieved he was here, that he saved me. That he was okay.

He wrapped me in a hug. For the first time since I'd known Diego, including the two days we'd been playing our parts, I felt something for him besides disdain, and I wasn't sure how to process that. I felt the tension of his muscles and the way he pulled me tight against his chest. He was relieved. This physical reaction was something that couldn't be faked. His chin came down softly on the top of my head, and I felt a sharp pain. I winced and pulled away to grab the back of my head.

"You aren't okay," Diego said seriously. His chocolate brown eyes met mine. I could see concern in their depths, but frustration pinched his brows together.

"I'm fine." It wasn't a lie. What was a bump to the head when I knew I was safe and not drugged on my way to some hideout for political terrorists?

Another set of footsteps ran down the hallway, followed by a shout. "Mr. President, sir, we need you to remain over here until we remove the threat!"

My dad entered the room, and his eyes immediately found mine.

"Veronica! Are you okay?" He pulled me into a hug. I was only half convinced that the hug was a genuine show of worry and not at least partly acting.

I mumbled into his chest. "Fine, Dad."

"What happened?" he asked as he looked around the room.

"That dickhead impersonated a suit and tried to kidnap me." I pointed at the man being escorted from the room. "Diego saved me."

"Language, Veronica!" he whispered harshly. He held out his hand to Diego. "Thank you." Dad's two words held so much emotion that, for the first time in a long time, it felt as if maybe my dad actually did love me. But I knew better than to take it to heart. He could love a lot of things—for example the headlines this story would create. I couldn't imagine a better publicity stunt. "First Daughter's boyfriend saves her from White House intruder."

"I'm just glad I was close by when you texted," Diego said, turning his attention back to me.

"You had enough time to text?" my dad asked.

"Barely. I heard the guard fall to the ground outside the Residence door and knew something was wrong. I ran to my room and texted Diego. I barely had time to hide my phone before that asshole barged in."

"Language," he warned. "I can't believe this. I can't believe that they'd try something here, in the fucking White House. In your room!" With each syllable, he seemed to be losing his cool a bit more.

"They said something about their boss paying for her capture. It's like they have a hit out, and everyone in this organization is on their own to try to make that happen," Diego commented. I was glad he was able to listen for the both of us.

"So if none of this is organized, they are just going to come at you from all sides. If they have no solid organized plan, it could be to our benefit—but it could also complicate matters, too. Instead of organizing one large effort, we have to dodge a bunch of smaller ones. If one fails, it doesn't matter to Geneva because they have dozens more laying in weight for their shot," Diego said in almost a whisper.

The room filled up with agents, and it was easier to speak in our small circle without being overheard directly. The sounds of other conversations and footsteps masked our words.

"You need to get her out of here," my dad whispered to Diego, his tone lower than before.

"I was supposed to have more time," I protested before Diego even had time to voice his opinion.

I had hoped for one more night in the comfort of my room before being trekked to God only knew where. Why did the group want me so badly? What would my kidnapping actually solve? A political party forged out of terrorism would never have any credibility; they had to know that. Did they think they could force their way in and then take over out of fear? That's not a party; that's a coup.

"You're leaving tonight," Dad said, turning to me.

"But—"

"But nothing," Dad said, cutting me off. "A doctor is going to examine you and take a look at your head, then you and Diego are going to sneak out."

I mashed my lips shut, but that didn't stop me from making a smart-ass comment. "How would I do that?" I asked with a straight face.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that innocent act. I know you've snuck out a number of times," Dad said.

A nervous chuckle escaped me. "I never thought that my dad would give that marching order." If I wasn't so terrified, I might have actually laughed at the irony.

He sighed. "Me neither, yet here we are. Pack a bag, go see the doc, and then leave," he ordered.

I nodded my head and pretended that it didn't hurt. I couldn't believe that I actually felt upset about being forced to leave, yet there I was shocking myself.

He placed a large hand on my shoulder as he looked into my eyes. "I love you, Roni."

"I love you, too, Dad. Stay safe," I told him. He wrapped me in a hug that conveyed the warmth I should have felt all along. It wasn't fair that he actually behaved like this when it was life or death, and I was going to disappear in the middle of the night. It was down-right disappointing…

"You too," he said and then turned to Diego.

"Take her somewhere safe. Keep her safe," Dad ordered.

"I will, sir," Diego said with a quick nod.

Dad stood back, and I held back tears as he hesitantly walked out of the room.

Everyone left with him, and the silence that remained in his wake was deafening. I heard my own blood rush through my head. I focused on pulling in a deep breath so I wouldn't hyperventilate. Everything was happening too fast.

Diego stared at me for a moment. I didn't know if it was kindness or necessity that caused him to distract me. "Here, let me help you pack. You can't take a large bag or people might get suspicious. I already packed a bag of gear for you anyways." He grabbed the three bags I packed, dumped them out, and then began sorting through the pile.

"You won't need this," he said, tossing a dress aside.

He picked up a pair of jeans out of another bag and stuffed them into the largest backpack. He stuffed six t-shirts, three hoodies, four jeans, and one pair of shorts into the bag. "It's cold where we are going," he commented as he tossed the other three pairs of shorts onto the bed.

"Here, throw on these," he said, handing me a fourth sweatshirt and a pair of jeans with warm socks.

"Turn around," I told him after making sure the bedroom door was closed. Neither he nor anyone else needed a peep show.

"Just do it," he said as he continued to expertly stuff the small bag. I didn't even have time to blush at how he handled my bras and panties with skilled speed and delicacy.

"Put these on," he said, tossing a pair of boots to the floor in front of me.

They had only been worn once to an event where we hiked through a trail with a conservation group. They weren't even broken in yet.

We weren't going anywhere tropical, but I wished we were. I was not a fan of the cold. Trying to blend in while wearing a bikini on a crowded beach seemed a little better than hiding in mountains or trees.

I buttoned my jeans and cleared my throat. Diego closed up the backpack, then turned around and stared.

"That's a good look for you," he said on his way to the door.

"Leave your phone. Your dad will take care of it," he ordered.

I felt uneasy about leaving it behind.

"Can I at least take a book?" I asked and then looked longingly over at my shelves.

"There's no more room in the bag, but you can take what you can comfortably carry in your winter jacket," he said.

Thank God.

I half expected him to tell me no, and the books would only slow us down. He didn't even limit me to one; he limited me to what I could carry.

Challenge accepted.

I hurried over to my shelves and grabbed several of my favorite books. I opened the inside of my long winter jacket and stuffed the books into the pockets inside. When all was said and done, I had two books stuffed into each pocket and another stuffed into the waistband of my jeans.

Diego shook his head, realizing his mistake. He'd given me the opportunity to push my boundaries. He silently motioned for me to follow him. I took one final look around the room, determined to commit it to memory. It could be my last time in this room before the end of my dad's final term. It was a moment I'd been waiting for, but not like this. Not under duress.

"If we get stopped, we are going on a casual stroll to look at monuments. You felt bad that my tour was interrupted when you texted me," Diego directed.

Bossy pants.I was more than capable of coming up with a lame cover story like that.

"Got it."

He grabbed my hand and began to tug me down the hallway as my heart began to race—even though I didn't want it to. I tried not to look like the cat who stole the canary as we made our way through the most highly guarded building in the world. I tugged on his hand, pulling him into a little used hallway and to the staircase located at the end. I knew exactly where to go to not be seen. I knew when the shift changes where and when agents were expected where. It took forty-five minutes, but we got out unseen.

We walked quickly and caught up with a crowd of staffers who were leaving for the evening. They provided cover for us to leave the grounds through the gate unseen.

"Where are we going?" I whispered as we distanced ourselves from the group and walked up Pennsylvania Avenue.

He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. "Alaska, but first to my hotel. I have equipment we are going to need."

I followed him into the swanky hotel he had been staying at. "My dad put you up here?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm more of a low-budget hotel kind of guy personally. All I typically do in a hotel is sleep a few hours and then I'm on my way."

We rode the elevator up to his floor, and then he unlocked the room door. I took a breath, because it felt weird to be following him up to his hotel room. He had been my enemy, and while this was all innocent, it didn't feel that way. My cheeks heated at the thought of him pushing me against the door and kissing me. Grabbing my hips with those large, calloused hands of his.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts as he closed and locked the door behind us. His bags were packed and ready by the door. He grabbed a backpack and two large duffels.

"That's it, this is all we are taking to Alaska? Isn't it going to be winter there?" I asked.

"It's not quite winter yet, definitely a chilly autumn—but yes, this is it. We'll get more later, but this is all I can take on a plane. I can't take weapons on a plane." I watched his hands as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and then the ones in his hands.

"To Alaska it is," I said regretfully. I was going to freeze my ass off—I could just tell.

"Don't sound so excited," he said sarcastically while wearing a smirk.

I wasn't.