“I’ll be happy because I’ll choose to be. There are worse things in life than marrying a successful man, Malcolm.”
“That’s true. There are worse things. But there are better things, too. Like marrying a man you love. I know how much you want to be a wife and a mother, and if that is what makes you happy, that’s what I want for you. But I want you to have it with a man you choose, who chooses you back, and who cherishes the wonderful woman you are. Corey is not that man. Just think about it, okay?”
“I don’t really have a choice, Malcolm. What else would I do?” She whispered it like if she said it out loud, a bolt of lightning would shoot from the sky and strike her down.
“You could come with me,” I said.
She looked at me, brow furrowed. “Come with you where?”
“Becca Bug, what I’m about to say has to stay between us. Can I trust you?”
“Of course, you can trust me,” she said, holding up her little finger so we could pinky swear our silence like we did when we were little. It should’ve been ridiculous. Two grown adults pinky swearing, but somehow instead, it brought me comfort. Maybe, just maybe, there was enough of the old Becca in there for me to reach her. I moved to the edge of the window seat and leaned forward so I could reach and locked our fingers together.
“I’m not back here for good. I only came back to buy some time to figure out my next step. I’m leaving here. I don’t know where I’m going yet, or what job I’ll get, but it won’t be for the office of Senator Malcolm Coben.”
She bit her lower lip, glanced down at our entwined fingers, and then back up at me. “Daddy will be furious.”
“I know. But I can’t work for him. I don’t support the same things he supports. No.” I shook my head. “It’s more than that. It isn’t just that I don’t support them, I’m against them, and I have to go. You can come with me.”
She let go of my finger and slid back. “I can’t. I’m not as brave as you are, Malcolm. Mother says it will work out. She says she’s heard from God, and my marrying Corey is his will. That’s his plan for my life. I can’t go against that. I just can’t.” Her breath hitched. There was a knock at my door, and it opened. Becca spun to face away from it, hiding her face as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Rebecca, Corey and your father are done talking. You need to get back downstairs where he is instead of hiding up here.” I gave her a little nod letting her know she looked fine.
She stood and said, “Yes, Mother,” as she slipped past her out the door.
I expected my mother to follow her, but she didn’t. She just stood there watching me. Finally, she spoke. “I’m doing a radio program to promote my next book in a couple of weeks. I’ll expect you to be there.”
“Of course, Mother.”
“And I will expect you to act in an appropriate manner,” she said, like I’d ever acted any other way. Something was going on with her. It was almost like she knew I wasn’t the same obedient little boy she sent off to college and was just waiting for me to embarrass the perfect family image she had carefully crafted.
“Naturally.”
“I think it’s wonderful that Corey and Rebecca are getting married. I always hoped you would find a nice girl at school and settle down. Maybe after Rebecca’s wedding is over, we can find a nice match for you. Now, come downstairs. It’s only proper while we have guests.”
Roman
I pulled up in front of the gate at the Senator’s estate and pushed the button on the speaker.
“Can I help you?” a voice asked.
“Yes, this is Roman Barnes from Hart Security. I’m here to see the Senator.”
“Yes, Mr. Barnes. The Senator is expecting you. Pull through. You can park to the left of the house.”
The gates swung open, and I drove forward towards the massive house. Everyone knew Senator Coben’s story. He’d started out as pastor of a small independent church that grew into one of the largest churches on the East Coast. The services for his church had been broadcasted on television, and while he never reached actual televangelist levels, he was extremely popular in this area.
His wife had capitalized on his fame and used it to launch a series of books on being a godly wife and raising a godly family. Before long, she was being interviewed by the morning talk shows, talking about homeschooling, and how it was a parent's job to protect their children from the influences of the world. I glanced out over the expansive backyard that sloped down to the river. It looks like that was a lucrative career choice. Especially since most people credited her for the success of her husband's political career. He talked a good game, but she made it look tangible to the American people. The sweet homemaker who had her interviews interrupted by her children’s math questions and the oven timer had resonated.
I parked my car to the left as instructed and got out. I scoped out the area to see how easy it would be to protect. The security gate had given me hope the residence was secure, but the more I looked, the less that appeared to be the case. It had a scalable fence that ran around the property on three sides and stopped at the sandy beach area on the bank of the river. The river made the fourth side. So basically, that meant the property wasn’t secure at all, and was quite easily accessible, making the gate pointless and for nothing but show.
This was going to be a pain in the ass, and I blamed Rand. He was up in the rotation for the next high-profile security detail, but because of the stunt he’d pulled, we couldn’t send him. Everyone else was on assignment, and that left me. So here I was ready to play babysitter to the Senator’s son. The information on Malcolm Coben III was pretty straight forward. The guy was squeaky clean. There was a lot of information about him. He was in the public eye too much for there to not be, but no dirt. He’d graduated top of his class with a master’s degree in political science and immediately returned home to work on his father’s campaign—no drunken college pics, no arrest records, no sexual assault accusations. Hell, there weren’t even any pictures of him anywhere near a girlfriend. The Senator’s head of security had sent over copies of the letters, so I’d expected to find stories about a wild child in the file. Not so.
I walked around to the front of the house, noting the light-activated flood lights on the house. That was good, at least. I rang the bell, and a middle-aged Latino woman opened the door. “Mr. Barnes, welcome. The Senator is waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” I said, following her through the foyer and down a hallway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes. I’m Alejandra Morales, the Cobens’ housekeeper.”
“Ah, well, nice to meet you, Alejandra. And please call me Roman,” I said, being careful to soften my voice. I knew my size and appearance could be intimidating. That was part of what made me a good bodyguard, but I tried not to walk around putting everyone on edge.
That earned me a smile, and she said, “The Senator’s head of security, Fredrick March, is in his office with him. Once I have you situated, I’m going to fetch Malcolm.”
“Great, thank you.”