Dark Protocol

Chapter 2

Genevieve

Exactly nine minutes and forty seconds later, the heavy carved oak door to the bedroom opened without a sound, and the President stepped into the dimly lit sitting room of the residence.

I was already in position beside Director Vance. Through my earpiece, I had confirmed movement with the motorcade below and the sniper teams stationed on the roof. The white dress shirt that had hung wrinkled and half-unbuttoned from his body only minutes ago was now hidden beneath a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit and a midnight-black silk tie. His dark brown hair had been neatly combed back, although one stubborn lock had already fallen across his forehead.

The mask was perfect.

The illusion of the charismatic, untouchable President had been restored.

But as he walked past me, I caught the scent lingering beneath the expensive cologne and menthol aftershave. Bourbon. And something darker. Something dangerous.

The emptiness in his blue eyes hadn’t changed.

He didn’t even acknowledge me as he headed for the elevator.

“Diamond formation. I’m on his right shoulder,” I said quietly into my microphone before stepping into position exactly one pace behind and to his right, inside his blind spot.

As we moved through the White House corridors, I could feel the tension radiating from the staff. Secretaries, analysts, and advisors lowered their eyes and pressed themselves against the walls whenever Roman passed.

It wasn’t respect.

It was fear.

He moved like a starving predator that had escaped its cage, and no one knew when he might strike or who he would tear apart simply for his own amusement.

Outside, the presidential motorcade was already waiting.

At its center stood The Beast, the eight-ton armored limousine built to survive everything from explosives to chemical attacks.

To everyone else, it represented safety.

To me…

It was a box.

The rear door opened, and Roman climbed inside without hesitation.

I followed, taking the seat directly across from him with my back facing the direction of travel. The armored door slammed shut behind us with a deep metallic thud. The locking mechanism echoed through the cabin like the closing of a prison cell, sealing every sound of the outside world away.

The air disappeared instantly.

My stomach tightened.

The thick tinted windows, the reinforced walls, the impossibly confined space… everything closed in around me. Sitting only a few feet away was a man whose sheer physical presence seemed to make the cabin even smaller.

Claustrophobia wrapped icy fingers around my throat.

My hand curled into a fist against my thigh as my fingernails dug so deeply into my palm that sharp pain shot through my hand.

Control your body.

You’re in command.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Pain became my anchor, dragging my attention away from the panic rising inside me while my face remained the same expressionless porcelain mask I’d perfected over the years.

Roman leaned comfortably against the leather seat, stretching out his long legs until his knee came within inches of mine. He didn’t speak as the convoy pulled away.

He simply watched me.

With those cold blue eyes.

He had noticed.

No matter how carefully I’d hidden my breathing, a predator always sensed a racing heartbeat.

“You don’t blink, Girl Scout.”

His deep voice vibrated through the enclosed cabin, almost brushing across my skin.

“I’m observing, sir,” I answered.

My voice remained perfectly steady despite the fact that my heart was pounding in my throat.

“And what exactly do you see?”

He leaned forward, resting an elbow on one knee. That faint, cruel smile returned to his lips.

He was close enough for me to see the tiny flecks of icy gray hidden within his blue irises.

“Afraid of something, Shaw?” he murmured. “Don’t tell me it’s enclosed spaces.”

The question struck its target with surgical precision.

My expression never changed.

I looked him directly in the eye.

“My focus is solely on external threats, sir.”

Roman laughed.

It was dry.

Dark.

Completely devoid of humor.

He leaned back again and turned toward the tinted window, watching the blurred city slide past outside.

“Then you’re looking in the wrong place.”

His voice remained quiet.

“The biggest threat is already inside.”

The silence that followed was so heavy it felt almost solid.

When we finally arrived and the door opened, nothing in my expression betrayed what I’d just endured, but my lungs gratefully filled with the cold outside air.

The National Security Council meeting was held inside the underground Situation Room.

The air carried the sterile scent of electronics, fresh paper, and the sweat of powerful men. Senior generals, intelligence directors, cabinet officials, and presidential advisors filled the room.

I stood beside the door like another piece of the architecture.

Motionless.

My hands rested loosely in front of me, ready to react at a fraction of a second’s notice. My suit jacket remained unbuttoned so I could reach my sidearm instantly if necessary.

Roman sat at the head of the table.

And for the first time…

I understood why they feared him.

He wasn’t merely a broken alcoholic drowning in grief.

He was brilliant.

As General Hackett presented a lengthy briefing on a proposed tactical strike, Roman listened in silence for barely two minutes before cutting him off.

Not by raising his voice.

Just one cold sentence.

Then he dismantled weeks of planning in less than five minutes, exposing flawed logistics, inaccurate intelligence, and tactical weaknesses with ruthless precision. He humiliated people almost casually, taking obvious satisfaction in tearing apart anyone who hadn’t met his impossible standards.

All while wearing the same exhausted expression.

To him…

Everyone was disposable.

More than once, I caught him watching me while another official was speaking.

He was testing me.

I never gave him the satisfaction.

My eyes continued their mechanical sweep of the room, checking every door handle, every movement, every nervous hand gripping a pen.

Yet every time my gaze returned to the center of the room…

Those predatory blue eyes were already waiting.

As though an invisible wire had been stretched tightly between us.

By the time the meeting ended, the generals looked eager to escape.

Roman rose slowly, adjusted his jacket with effortless elegance, and headed toward the exit.

According to protocol, we were supposed to take the secure elevator directly back to the Oval Office.

I moved two steps ahead, clearing the hallway.

But Roman Crawford hated rules.

The moment we reached the intersection, he abruptly left the designated route and turned toward the staff staircase leading into a quieter section of the West Wing with far less security coverage.

My instincts reacted before conscious thought.

In one smooth movement, I stepped directly into his path, planting myself in front of the heavy stairwell door.

Roman nearly collided with me before stopping.

Only a foot separated us.

“Move, Shaw,” he growled.

His voice came from somewhere deep inside his chest, thick with restrained menace.

“Negative, sir.”

I blocked the doorway without yielding an inch.

“This area hasn’t been secured. We’re proceeding to the Oval Office.”

His entire body went rigid.

His chest rose and fell beneath the white shirt as he slowly leaned down until his face was only inches from mine.

His expensive cologne mixed with the unmistakable scent of restrained male fury.

“You think that little badge gives you the right to order me around?” he whispered.

His words felt hot enough to burn against my skin.

“If I wanted to, I could have you removed with a snap of my fingers, Girl Scout.”

I looked straight into that frozen blue storm.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t blink.

I didn’t give him fear.

“Then snap your fingers, Mr. President,” I replied in an icy voice. “But as long as I wear this badge, and as long as I’m responsible for keeping you alive, you are not going through that door.”

A long, unbearable silence followed.

Something changed in his eyes.

It wasn’t simply anger anymore.

Perhaps surprise.

Perhaps the thrill of a challenge he hadn’t felt in over a year.

He had expected me to break.

He had expected the weight of his authority and his physical presence to crush me the way it crushed everyone else.

But I was made of steel.

Slowly… very slowly… he straightened to his full height.

The muscles in his jaw tightened as he gave me one last murderous look before muttering a quiet curse.

Then he turned on his heel and walked back toward the secure elevator.

I drew one slow, invisible breath, buried the pounding of my heart where no one could hear it, and silently followed my President.