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CHAPTER1
Rachel Payne shutthe door of her room in the back of the Colonial-style home where Senator Grayson Mitchell lived and headed toward the stairs. While the house might be considered small in terms of other high-ranking officials in the Washington DC area, the multi-million dollar house and land still made Rachel uncomfortable, as if she were a visitor rather than an occupant for the past month.
She’d been assigned to Senator Mitchell as his bodyguard after an incident several months ago, when he’d been injured. As he lay in the hospital bed glaring at her, she’d nodded to her boss, Shadow Ops leader Kane Reynolds, when he told her the Senator’s life was more important than both of their own. Now, as she learned more of the reason he’d been a target, she couldn’t agree more. When she’d taken part in the sting operation to catch and arrest a man who’d possibly killed the Senator’s son, she’d not expected to become a part of his security detail. Now, she accompanied him everywhere, night and day, except to his bedroom and the bath.
Senator Mitchell, a former General in the Army, had lost a son to a drug cartel and, in his grief, had been injured when, in his own words, he’d let his guard down. An outspoken supporter of the military and an active member of the Armed Services Subcommittee, he had a target on his back from several groups. His stabbing had been attributed to an unstable constituent, but Rachel’s boss and several other security experts were convinced the incident was connected with the drug cartel.
Now, Senator Mitchell worked out every morning in his gym at the rear of the house, went into his office and spent the next ten or twelve hours addressing both his senatorial duties and researching the military connection in the drug distribution ring that still hadn’t been totally fractured. Rachel straightened her jacket over her sidearm and headed toward the kitchen, where she was sure she’d find the Senator.
Sure enough, he was seated at the table, drinking coffee from a large mug. An empty bowl had been pushed away to accommodate a tablet and he was busy reading one of what Rachel knew were several news feeds he kept track of every day. She accepted a cup of coffee, creamed and sugared, from the Senator’s housekeeper, Mrs. Finch.
“Breakfast smoothie?” the housekeeper nodded toward the large food processor/drink machine on the counter.
“Thanks,” Rachel smiled and waited until the drink was poured and offered to her. She still felt odd around the woman. Used to opening a can of premixed shake or tossing in powder over milk and shaking it as she ran to her car, Rachel had refused to sit at a table and wait for the woman to serve her.
She took her coffee and shake to the table and sat opposite the Senator. He didn’t look up as she sipped at her liquid breakfast but muttered. “Need some eggs and bacon. Put some meat on your bones.”
“My bones are padded enough, thanks.” She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. She’d been lax on her eating schedule since she’d signed on with the Senator. While he may be fit and active, he still liked his meals and insisted she, or any other staff member present, participate in the meal. She’d gained at least five pounds in the past month, despite running and workout sessions. She’d have to bump up the intensity.
He pushed the home button on the tablet and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got an early appointment this morning. We’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes.”
She nodded and continued her drink, secure in the knowledge she had enough time to finish the shake and brush her teeth before leaving. If he said fifteen minutes, it’d be fifteen minutes on the dot.
Fourteen minutes later, she stood at the door, ready to open it and scan the area before they headed to the SUV waiting in the circular driveway. The Senator, his dark blue suit jacket buttoned over a white shirt and maroon tie, looked every bit the beltway businessman, with the exception of the glint in his blue eyes. Anyone who took the time to examine him closely would see the intense, almost militant look in his expression. After his son’s death, he’d become even more driven to bring the drug cartel responsible to justice. For Rachel, that meant she had to work harder to make sure the man survived long enough to do just that.
The Senator sat in the rear seat, a ream of paper on his lap and his nose firmly planted in the report he was reviewing. Rachel sat beside him, watching the suburbs turn quickly into interstate and then the congested streets of the greater Washington DC area. She scanned the lanes beside them and left the rearview to the driver, also a security agent. The Senator may grouse at the extra protection, but he'd been convinced after his stabbing that it was necessary.
By the time they turned off I 395, the Senator had made notes in the margin of his report, sent an email on his phone, and taken three calls from staffers. All with the summer sun coming over the horizon. Rachel stifled a yawn, wishing for another jolt of caffeine before she started the tedium that was part of being security for a duly elected senator of the United States. Meetings, lunch, more meetings, and then office time before he left in the late evening hours. Unless he had a dinner meeting, then it'd be even later before they returned to the DC suburbs in Maryland. By the end of the day, her stomach would be roiling with too much caffeine, her body buzzing from too little activity, and her mind numb with facts she inadvertently would take in during the interminable meetings.
The Senate Office Building complex consisted of the grand and the mundane. The Russell and Dirkson buildings held a regality that the newer buildings lacked, yet all of the structures blended in with the DC façade of brick and mortar, columns and steps to covered porticos. Rachel straightened and readied herself as they pulled into the parking area, close to the entrance. Senator Mitchell had replaced his paperwork in a briefcase and had it ready when he started to open the door to exit. Rachel raised her hand. “Senator—”
“Fine. Just get going,” he rasped, exasperation clear in his tone. He hated depending on anyone for his security and Rachel suspected it rankled him worse that it was a woman who was in charge of his security team. She hid a smile and left the car then rounded it. As she did, she scanned the area; no sign of anyone other than another staffer rushing toward the side entrance.
Rachel opened the rear passenger door and the Senator emerged, his briefcase first, followed by his tall, elegant frame. His short gray hair glinted in the sun, along with the sunglasses he’d put on before leaving the car. As she started to close the door, Rachel spied a glint in one dark lens and lunged.
She pushed the senator to the ground in time to hear a ping off the open door of the car. Another shot, this time closer, ripped through the upholstered door, just above their bodies.
"Stay down," barked Rankin as he threw open the front passenger door. He lay on the floorboard, his gun drawn.
Rachel didn’t reply. Her immediate thought was, “no kidding,” but her eyes were darting to and fro as she splayed over the Senator’s body. He hadn’t been hit, she was certain, but his breathing was rapid and shallow, as was hers.
“Roll under the car,” she said as she inched over his body.
“What?” his outrage clear.
"Roll under the car, or slide under it, if you can't roll. The sightlines aren't as good." She continued inching over his body, trying to get to the end of the vehicle and block the shooter's aim at the same time.
“I can’t. You’re weighing me down.” He bit out.
She twisted her body until her pants-covered legs were all that remained on him. "Go," she hissed.
She felt him move and inch away from her. As he did, he muttered curses she hadn’t heard since she’d left the military and she almost grinned. He’d never forget this.
She felt the shards of tarmac hit her face before she realized another shot had been fired. Good, now she had an idea of where it had originated. There, at the edge of the parking area, was a clump of bushes.
“Payne?” Rankin was on the other side of the car, his voice lowered.
“Fifty yards, behind the bushes.” She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and dialed the office security number. Even as she did, three security agents ran from the entrance and headed toward the car. She gestured for them to get down even as another shot rang out and hit a parked vehicle nearby. All three hit the pavement and inched in three different directions.
