Good question.
“I’m a lucky guy,” Julian responded, readjusting his earpiece.
Now that the President was in the building, Kenyan Secret Service had taken over. He and Enzo had been commanded to stay out of the way.
Not that Julian cared.
Having a break from protecting Wangari and her husband gave him the perfect opportunity to watch Mena for the rest of the night. The quick exchange and acknowledgment of each other as she sipped her champagne had sent a jolt of electricity through him. He wondered if she could feel his eyes on her now? Was she thinking about him as she shook the President’s hand?
“TIDES to perimeter delta exit.” The command emanated from Julian’s earbuds.
“Damn it. They’re moving us again. We’re going to miss all the fancy entertainment. Fucking bastards. Let’s go.” Leaving the nook, Enzo headed down the service hallway. Dubbed the delta exit, the emergency stairwell at the end of the hallway led down to the loading dock.
If shit hit the fan and all preferred exit routes were blocked, the president would be ushered through the delta exist as a last resort. Shepherded down three flights of stairs, the President would be ushered into an unmarked van waiting in the loading dock of the museum. Julian and Enzo would remain in the hallway to fight off anyone hoping to hurt the Kenyan leader.
Julian stole one last glance at Mena. Her smile was effervescent as she engaged in conversation with the people at her table. This was the last time he’d miss out on being by her side for an important event. Turning, he followed Enzo, proceeding along the passageway that ran parallel to the ballroom.
“Secret Service is doing our job for us. No way they’ll need the delta exit. You think I’m gonna complain that I’m getting paid to sit on my ass? Nope, I’m going to take a fucking nap,” Enzo said, chuckling as he plopped into the orange plastic chair lined against the wall near the door to the emergency stairwell.
Julian slid into the chair next to Enzo, disappointed. Not because he was eager to protect Wangari Irungu or her husband. He wasn’t. What he wanted was a front-row seat to stare at Mena tonight as she enjoyed her first fundraising dinner with the top echelon of Kenya’s social and political scene. Instead, he was in a dingy gray passageway listening to Enzo sleep. Not exactly how he wanted to spend the evening.
Hours later, Julian finally heard a command through his earpiece. He glanced at Enzo, slumped in the chair next to him snoring.
“Enzo, wake up,” Julian said. “The President has left the building. They want us to take over security in the ballroom.”
Enzo said, “Yeah, now the fuckers need us. Let’s go.”
Julian followed Enzo back to the nook in the corner of the ballroom.
“What’s next?” Julian asked.
“Primary focus is on Ms. Irungu and her husband, but of course, they want us to keep an eye out for the remaining guests as well,” Enzo explained, then glanced down at a lambskin card he’d pulled from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Looks like everyone will be moving out to the rooftop garden to enjoy a live band and more cocktails with a dessert sampler.”
Enzo extended the card toward him, and Julian took it, scanning the schedule of events for the evening.
“Let’s get this over with,” Julian said and folded the card, placing it in his jacket pocket.
“I got a better idea,” Enzo said, with a hint of mischief. “How about I escort Ms. Irungu and her hubby to the rooftop so you can get a moment to say hi to your lady.”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had all night,” Julian said.
“You’re welcome, bitch,” Enzo said, resting a hand against the gun hidden in his waistband as he exited the nook.
Julian watched Enzo approaching the center table where Wangari and Okeyo still sat. Mena engaged in polite conversation with two other guests, but he could tell she was stalling. She wanted a moment alone with him as much as he did. Stepping out into the ballroom, Julian turned toward Mena. A waiter carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres slammed into Julian, sending the tray crashing to the floor.
“Watch where you’re going, buddy,” Julian said, reaching a hand out to help. The waiter recoiled from his grasp, staring back at Julian. Fear clouded the man’s eyes as he mumbled quick apologies. He was young, probably barely eighteen, and obviously contrite about the mistake he’d made. His white waiter’s jacket and black pants were about two sizes too big for his skinny frame, making him look more disheveled than the other polished waiters working that evening.
Julian kept his eyes on the waiter as the kid backed away slowly toward the corner of the room. Resting a hand on his Beretta, Julian felt the hair on his skin rise as he watched the kid waiter being berated by one of the head caterers. Damn shame the kid was getting yelled at for a simple mistake. Turning away from that scene, he headed toward Mena, who stood next to the oversized table.
“Is this against protocol?” she asked.
Julian’s body ached from the close proximity of Mena. A sliver of distance separated them, triggering a longing within him to reach out and wrap his arm around her. A move he couldn’t do in front of this crowd. She was an Irungu Family guest, and tonight, he was just the help. A trained and paid servant of Wangari Irungu.
“It is most definitely against protocol for a beautiful woman to distract me from my security duties,” Julian responded as they followed the rest of the guests toward the doors leading to the rooftop garden. They slowed their pace, allowing the other guests to pass them.
“I hear you’re a bit of a rebel. A rule breaker,” Mena said.
“Only when inspired,” Julian responded, turning to check for any unusual activity. His eyes scanned the crowd even as he focused on Mena. “And you are as good as inspiration can get.”
