“Does anyone here—besides Cortez—have an IPS detail?” Leo asks.
“Rafael. He is the campaign manager. He worked for President Garcia until last year. And Omar. He is Manuel’s Chief of Staff.”
Leo rubs circles on my lower back, and the motion calms me. Or maybe talking—answering questions—gives me a purpose amid all the chaos.
“Are either one of them here? Now?” His eyes cut to the door. Footsteps pass back and forth, the bustle of a campaign in the final days. Until today, I loved every minute I spent at my job. Even the stressful ones. Now, I wonder if I will ever find joy in it again.
“Domina? Are you still with me?”
Am I with him? I’m sitting in his lap. But…I know so little about him.
With a shake of my head, I shove my errant thoughts aside. “I am so tired, Leo.”
“I know, baby.” He threads his fingers through my hair, and I sink against him, wishing we were alone—truly alone—so I could kiss him again. “Cortez told me not to leave until he vetted me, but as soon as he’s done, I’m taking you home so you can rest.”
I want that. So much. But can I really sleep knowing someone might be after me? Ever since the attack, I’ve jumped at every person walking down the hall, every gust of wind, every little creak the building made.
A dozen times, I picked up the phone to text Leo, but I did not know what to say.
His words finally permeate the haze of my exhaustion.
“Wait…vetting you?” I rub my eyes and blink hard. “Shit. But then he’ll know—”
Before I can ask Leo how bad this is going to be for him, someone raps on the door. “The Vice President wants to see the American in his office! Now!”
I scramble up, rushing to flip the locks. In the hall, two of Manuel’s IPS detail stand with their hands clasped behind them. Black wires trail from the small communications units in their left ears down their necks. “Mr. Basher? Come with us.”
“Not without Domina,” Leo says, stepping in front of me, drawing up to his full height and filling the doorway.
The taller agent taps his ear and speaks into a microphone at his wrist. “Basher wants to bring Ms. Sanchez.”
After a beat, the agent nods. “Fine. Both of you.”
* * *
Leo
With Domina’s hand in mine, the second trip to Cortez’s office is much calmer than the first. She’s definitelynotokay, but at least she’s safe. And she didn’t protest when I linked our fingers.
Cortez stands when we enter, his gaze pinging between the two of us and the IPS agent behind us. “Chavez, we are going out to the courtyard. Wait here.”
“Sir—”
“Wait here,” he snaps. The man’s orders carry weight. Not only that of his position, but of his very presence. No wonder he’s the front runner. He exudes charisma, power, and command.
We follow Cortez down the hall, around a corner, and through a heavy, wooden door with another agent stationed just inside.
A gentle breeze carries the memory of rain. Cortez gestures to one of the benches, and I sit with Domina at my side. Hands clasped behind his back, the vice president stares us down.
“Leo Francis Basher. Twenty-two years of dedicated service to the United States Central Intelligence Agency. Awarded the Distinguished Intelligence Medal, twice. Missing and presumed dead for over a week until one of your colleagues went rogue on an extraction mission and found you in an abandoned warehouse at the edge of Caracas. Despite serious and debilitating injuries, you refused to return to the United States and take a desk job, choosing to remain in Venezuela, where you had a hand in the ousting of President Farías.”
Domina gapes at me, and I offer her a weary smile. “Most of that is classified. I would have told you, eventually. If we’d—”
Cortez clears his throat. “Mr. Basher, I am a busy man. Tomorrow, I have a campaign rally at Pacifica Stadium. More than ten thousand people are expected to attend, and it will be broadcast across the country. Today was supposed to be a day of preparation—for me and my staff. But with this morning’s events, I am sending everyone home after the press conference. May I continue? You and Domina can discuss yourbusinesslater.”
Domina drops her gaze to her hands folded in her lap, and I stare up at the man who would be king—or close to it.
“You’re well connected. All that classified information in less than ten minutes? Did you find out my shoe size too? My high school GPA?”
