Chapter 2
2
CARMEN
D awn filtered through Carmen Ruiz’s Georgetown townhouse windows, throwing golden flecks of sunlight on the papers on her desk. Her coffee had grown cold, forgotten beside urgent intelligence briefs marked with the highest priority that demanded her full attention. Another village burned by Nuevo Amanecer and more indigenous families displaced by corporate interests masquerading as progress. The photos felt personal: children huddled in temporary shelters, elders watching generations of history reduced to ash.
She removed her reading glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose where they'd left small indents. She knew the summit wasn't just about peace treaties and corporate contracts. It was about these faces, these lives caught between power and profit. Twenty-five years of diplomatic service experience had taught her that real change happened in the spaces between official agreements.
Her phone buzzed. Gerard from the UN Security Council. She answered while scanning satellite imagery of Bogotá, mentally taking notes while she processed his concerns about summit security.
"The corporate representatives are demanding closed-door sessions," he said, his French accent thickening with frustration. "They're threatening to withdraw support if we include indigenous observers."
"Let them threaten." Carmen's voice remained steady despite the early hour. "They need this treaty more than they'll admit. We just need to help them save face while?—"
A quick beep interrupted her, indicating another call. Maria Elena, one of the indigenous leaders she'd worked with in Colombia was on the other line.
"I'll call you back, Gerard. Keep the pressure on their PR team."
She pressed a button, switching over to the other call, and seamlessly switched to Maria Elena's native dialect, one she'd learned during previous negotiations. The woman's voice carried decades of struggle beneath its courage.
"The oil companies are pushing harder," Maria Elena said. "Three more families lost their homes last night."
Carmen studied the latest surveillance photos, noting the precision of the destruction. "They're escalating on purpose and using humanitarian corridors as leverage."
"Our people can't wait much longer." Fear crept into Maria Elena's usually stoic tone. "The children are sick from contaminated water, and the aid trucks can't get through. We’re at a crossroads right now and need to take action."
"I'm bringing in our best security team for the summit," Carmen assured her. "Captain Smith's unit has experience with exactly this kind of situation."
She thought of Jude's service record: Yemen, Caracas, Kabul. The way she'd assessed the briefing room yesterday with tactical precision that went beyond mere security protocols. Something in her gaze had suggested she understood high stakes beyond just protecting a diplomat.
The DSS agent stationed outside her study did his usual check, a polite knock and brief sweep. Carmen barely noticed anymore; twenty years of protective details had made it routine. But she found herself comparing his methodical movements to Jude's fluid grace yesterday, the way she'd commanded space without dominating it.
Focus , she chided herself. She had displaced families to protect, corruption to expose, and a peace treaty that could prevent more villages from burning to negotiate.
She couldn't afford distractions. Not even ones that came wrapped in quiet competence. The summit briefing would start in an hour, and she needed every diplomatic tool at her disposal.
Her phone buzzed again and kept buzzing all day. Gerard first, then her State Department liaison, then the Colombian ambassador. The morning was filled with the familiar dance of international negotiations, each call a careful balance of pressure and restraint.
But as she prepared to leave for the briefing, Carmen couldn't quite shake the memory of sharp green eyes that saw more than just security risks or of a presence that made her feel simultaneously protected and unsettled. For the first time in her diplomatic career, she wasn't entirely sure how to negotiate her way through what lay ahead.
The DSS team alerted her that her car was ready. She gathered the intelligence briefs, mentally shifting into the role she'd perfected over decades. She had work to do and lives to protect, and there was no room for the strange anticipation that fluttered in her chest at the thought of seeing Captain Jude Smith again.
The State Department's marble halls echoed with her footsteps as Carmen approached the conference room. She could hear voices already—the distinct timbre of corporate lawyers mixing with diplomatic staff. Through the glass walls, she could see the usual pre-summit gathering: State Department officials in conservative suits, CIA analysts clutching their briefing folders, and representatives from Commerce and Energy trying to look less adversarial than they felt. And Jude, standing by the door in her tactical uniform, ramrod straight and quietly alert. The sight shouldn't have made Carmen's pulse quicken.
Inside, the pre-summit tension crackled like static before a storm. Carmen caught fragments of conversations: concerns about American oil investments, whispered intelligence about arms shipments to Nuevo Amanecer, and debates over how much pressure to apply to Colombian officials.
She set her briefing materials on the podium, keenly aware of Jude's positioning without looking directly at her. Years of diplomatic work had taught her to track details in her peripheral vision—which analysts kept checking their phones, whose body language silently communicated interdepartmental rivalries, which senior officials were already forming alliances. But she found her attention repeatedly drawn to the way Jude shifted her stance when voices rose and how she embodied protective readiness without ever appearing threatening.
"Latest intelligence confirms Nuevo Amanecer has sophisticated backing," Carmen began, her voice pitched to command attention without demanding it. "They're using humanitarian corridors as leverage and blocking aid to communities near US corporate installations."
"Perhaps if our companies had better access to their private security contractors…" The Commerce Department's liaison let the suggestion hang.
Carmen caught the subtle tightening of Jude's jaw, the barely perceptible shift in her body. It echoed Carmen's own carefully hidden reaction to the man's thinly veiled suggestion of military intervention.
"Those same contractors have been implicated in human rights violations." Carmen kept her tone mild but firm. "That could compromise our entire negotiating position." She smiled, the corners of her lips tight, taking the sting from the words while leaving their truth intact. "We need a more nuanced approach."
She felt Jude watching her work, cataloging her diplomatic maneuvers the same way Carmen tracked Jude’s security protocols. When the CIA's regional director started to argue, his face flushing with frustration, Carmen noticed how Jude's hand shifted minutely closer to her weapon. The movement was so subtle that probably no one else caught it, but Carmen found it oddly steadying.
The morning wore on with Carmen orchestrating the delicate dance between competing US interests. She poured water into her glass, and her hand trembled slightly—exhaustion from too many late nights reviewing intelligence briefs. In the reflection of the wall-mounted screens, she saw Jude notice. Their eyes met briefly in the dark glass, and Carmen felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with security surveillance.
"The summit location presents unique challenges," the state's regional director was saying. "Our intelligence suggests?—"
"That someone's arming both sides?" Carmen kept her tone mild, but she saw Jude's slight nod of confirmation. "Perhaps we should discuss which American interests might benefit from prolonged conflict."
The Commerce representatives shifted uncomfortably. Carmen leveraged their discomfort, building pressure with carefully chosen silences and pointed questions, all while being increasingly aware of Jude's presence behind her—solid, steady, somehow both unsettling and grounding.
When satellite images showed the devastation near American oil installations, Carmen translated the humanitarian crisis into language Washington understood: regional stability, resource security, and investment protection. But she heard the deeper implications beneath their discussions of "acceptable losses," and in the screen's reflection, she saw that Jude did too.
The pre-summit meeting ended with provisional strategies and interagency tensions wrapped in diplomatic courtesy. As the conference room emptied, Carmen gathered her notes, hyperaware of Jude's continued presence by the door. Their eyes met again, this time directly, and Carmen felt that same flutter of connection that both steadied and unnerved her.
The age gap between them should have mattered- Carmen knew from Jude’s file she was 39 years old to Carmen’s own 54. The different worlds they occupied—diplomat and warrior—should have created distance. Instead, Carmen found herself fighting the urge to bridge that distance, to explore why Jude's protective presence affected her so differently than any security detail before.
She broke eye contact and looked away first, focusing on organizing briefing materials instead of analyzing the warmth that bloomed in her chest when Jude stepped closer to quietly discuss the afternoon's security arrangements. She had a peace treaty to negotiate. She couldn't afford to negotiate the complexity of her own reactions to her new security detail.
But as they walked out together, their steps falling into natural synchronization, Carmen wondered if she was already losing that particular negotiation.
After the briefing, Carmen retreated to her State Department office, where warm afternoon light slanted through bulletproof windows. The day's tensions lingered in her shoulders as she reviewed intelligence updates from Bogotá. More villages evacuated, more families displaced. The peace treaty couldn't wait much longer.
A knock at her door made her look up. Jude stood in the doorway, a stack of files under her arm. "Ma'am, do you have time to review the travel itinerary protocols?"
Carmen gestured to the chair across from her desk, noting how Jude chose to keep her guard up and stand instead, always positioning herself to watch both the door and windows, even here in one of the most secure buildings in DC. The tactical awareness should have made Carmen feel watched. Instead, she felt protected in a way that went beyond mere security.
"The advance team's latest report," Jude said, laying out documents with precision. "We'll need to adjust our arrival schedule. Local intelligence suggests increased surveillance of diplomatic vehicles from the airport."
Carmen studied the security diagrams and maps annotated with potential choke points and ambush zones. The familiar geography of Bogotá transformed into a strategic grid under Jude's analysis. Her attention caught on a mission patch illustration in the corner of one report: Third Marine Division, South Pacific operations.
"My father served with them," Carmen said quietly, touching the insignia. "Before he transferred to diplomatic security."
Jude's eyes sharpened with interest. "Your father was in the Marine Corps?"
"Twenty-three years. He actually helped establish some of the first embassy protection protocols in South America." Carmen smiled at the memory. "I spent my childhood moving between bases and embassies. Learned to speak Spanish from the local guards before I learned it in school."
Something in Jude's posture softened almost imperceptibly. "My father was a Marine too. Second Battalion, First Marines."
"Force Recon?"
Jude's eyebrow lifted slightly at Carmen's knowledge of Marine Corps units. "Yes, ma'am."
"I remember them." Carmen's voice gentled. "They ran joint operations with embassy security when I was growing up. The way they moved, it was like shadows with purpose. I used to watch them train from my bedroom window on the compound."
Their eyes met across the desk, and Carmen saw something crack in Jude's professional mask. "My father died in Afghanistan," Jude said quietly. "2010."
"Helmand Province?" When Jude nodded, Carmen continued, "I was working peace negotiations there that year. Lost three good men from my security detail in an ambush."
Understanding passed between them—the weight of service and sacrifice, of lives given to protect others. Carmen found herself studying the small scar near Jude's temple, wondering which battlefield had left that mark. The sharp line of her jaw alluded to strength held in careful check. But it was her eyes that drew Carmen's attention—green with flecks of brown and gold in the afternoon light, holding depths of experience that belied her younger age.
Jude cleared her throat softly, returning them to the travel briefing. But something had shifted in the air between them, professional distance warmed by shared understanding.
They reviewed evacuation routes and safe house locations, Carmen noting how Jude had already memorized every detail. Their hands brushed as they reached for the same document, and Carmen felt that contact like electricity snaking up her arm. She caught Jude's slight intake of breath, the first hint that she might not be alone in this growing awareness.
"The hotel's security feeds will route through our encrypted channels," Jude continued, her voice steady despite the lingering warmth where their fingers had touched. "My team's already sweeping for surveillance devices."
Carmen found herself observing and noting the way Jude moved as she laid out more tactical maps—the fluid precision that spoke of years of combat training and how she managed to project both lethal capability and careful restraint. She caught herself memorizing details she had no professional need to know: the way Jude's short dark hair curled slightly at her neck, how her tactical uniform stretched taut across strong shoulders, the subtle shifts in her expression as she outlined security measures.
"We'll need to maintain radio contact at all times," Jude was saying. "The pendant I mentioned yesterday?—"
"Will connect directly to your frequency?" Carmen finished, surprised at how much of yesterday's briefing she'd retained. Usually, security details blurred together in her memory.
"Yes, ma'am." Was that approval warming Jude's voice? "Three taps for silent alarm, two to check in."
Their eyes met again, and Carmen felt that same flutter of connection that caught her off guard.
"I should let you get back to your preparations," Jude said finally, gathering the remaining documents. Her movements were precise but unhurried, as if she, too, was reluctant to end this moment.
Carmen watched her walk to the door and noticed the way Jude's hand lingered briefly on the doorframe, the slight pause before she stepped through. Then she was gone, leaving Carmen alone with her thoughts and the lingering awareness that this protection detail had become far more complicated than she'd anticipated.
She turned back to her summit preparations, trying to focus on peace treaties and negotiations instead of the memories of Jude’s eyes that seemed to see right through Carmen’s diplomatic exterior and her steady hands that promised protection, no matter the cost. She shook her head to dislodge the lingering feelings that she didn’t have time to unpack and analyze. Carmen had a job to do; lives depended on her focus and diplomatic skill.
But as she reviewed security protocols she'd seen a hundred times before, Carmen couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. For the first time in her diplomatic career, she wasn't sure which was more dangerous: the threats they were preparing for or this growing attraction to the woman assigned to protect her from them.
Evening settled over Georgetown as Carmen reviewed the day's briefings in her study. The DSS team had completed their usual night sweep, the familiar routine of shift change barely registering after so many years. But tonight, her focus kept drifting from intelligence reports to memories of the afternoon light catching Jude’s eyes and the lingering warmth where their hands had brushed over each other.
Her secure phone buzzed: Maria Elena's number. The indigenous leader's voice carried fresh tension. "Three more trucks stopped at the checkpoints. They're blocking medical supplies now."
Carmen switched to the woman's dialect, noting details. "Military checkpoints or Nuevo Amanecer?"
"Both. They’re working together." Maria Elena's words confirmed Carmen's worst fears about corruption within Colombian security forces. "And, Carmen, the corporate logos on the trucks that got through? They match the ones your intelligence reports warned us about."
Ice settled in Carmen's stomach. “Thank you for informing me.”
She hung up and immediately dialed Jude's number, diplomatic composure warring with urgency.
Jude answered on the first ring. "Captain Smith."
"I need you to see something. There’s new intelligence about corporate involvement with Nuevo Amanecer." Carmen kept her voice steady despite the implications spinning through her mind. "How quickly can you get here?"
A pause, then: "Twenty minutes, ma'am."
The time between hanging up and Jude's arrival stretched endlessly, and she checked her watch three times in the first five minutes after hanging up. Carmen organized her thoughts and evidence, deliberately not questioning why her pulse quickened at the prospect of seeing Jude again.
The DSS team announced Jude's arrival through Carmen's security earpiece. Moments later, there was a firm knock at her study door. Jude entered with the coiled tension of a soldier called to action, her movements sharp and precise as she scanned the room: doors, windows, corners, exits.
"Ma'am." Jude's voice carried its usual professional calm, but Carmen caught the underlying tension. "What's happened?"
Carmen gestured to the files spread across her desk. "Maria Elena called. The situation's escalating faster than we anticipated. Those corporate connections we suspected? They're confirmed."
Jude moved closer, studying the surveillance photos and cargo manifests Carmen had arranged. Her presence seemed to fill the room differently after hours when darkness pressed against windows and professional masks wore thinner.
"They're working with corrupt military units," Carmen continued, switching between documents. "Using aid deliveries to control which communities get supplies. But look at these logos."
She reached for the same photo Jude moved to examine. Their hands brushed against each other again, and Carmen felt that same electric spark between them. Jude didn't pull back immediately, their fingers almost but not quite touching on the glossy paper.
"American companies," Jude said softly, her voice carrying dangerous understanding. "The same ones represented at this morning's briefing."
"Which means the summit's compromised before it begins." Carmen moved to her drink cabinet, needing something to do with her hands. "Scotch? This conversation should probably be off the record."
Jude hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you."
Carmen poured two glasses, watching Jude's reflection in the window. Even now, the younger woman maintained her alertness, but something in her posture had softened, the professional distance yielding to shared concern.
"The companies at the briefing," Carmen said, handing Jude a glass, "they already knew. That's why they pushed so hard against indigenous observers at the negotiations."
"It explains their security contractors." Jude's fingers brushed Carmen's as she accepted the scotch. "The ones with military training."
"Former special forces, according to Maria Elena." Carmen leaned against her desk, closer to Jude than was strictly necessary. "They're using humanitarian aid to force concessions. Communities that support corporate interests get supplies. Those that don't..."
She let the sentence fade, emotion threatening her diplomatic composure. These weren't just statistics in an intelligence brief. She knew these communities. She had watched their children grow up during decades of peace negotiations.
"We'll find a way." Jude's voice was soothing and showed a glimpse of the woman beneath the warrior. "Your reputation for impossible victories is well earned."
Carmen looked up, caught by the conviction in Jude's tone. "You've reviewed my service record?"
"Thoroughly." Something flickered in Jude's eyes—professional admiration layered with personal interest she couldn't quite hide. "Your negotiations in Paraguay, Venezuela, even Afghanistan, you see patterns that others miss."
"And you?" Carmen found herself stepping closer, drawn by that carefully controlled heat in Jude's gaze. "The way you read tactical situations, how you anticipate threats before they materialize. Yemen wasn't just luck, was it?"
"No, ma'am." Jude's voice dropped lower, intimate in the lamp-lit study. "In the same way that your negotiation victories aren't luck."
They stood close enough now that Carmen could see the faint scar near Jude's temple and could trace the sharp line of her jaw. Their professional pretense felt tissue-thin, stretched between them like silk ready to tear.
"We should review the security implications," Jude said, but she made no move to step back. Her eyes dropped briefly to Carmen's lips before returning to her gaze, the glimpse of desire so quick Carmen might have missed it if she hadn't been watching for it.
"Of course." Carmen forced herself to move away, gathering documents with hands that wanted to reach for something else entirely. "I'll have my office coordinate with your team first thing tomorrow."
Jude nodded, sliding her professional mask back into place. But as she turned to leave, Carmen caught her reflection in the window and noticed the way her eyes lingered and how her hand gripped the doorknob a moment longer than necessary. The small tells that pointed to proof of mutual attraction hit Carmen like wind before a storm, thrilling and dangerous.
After Jude left, Carmen stood at her study window, watching the younger woman's figure disappear into the Georgetown night. The scotch in her glass caught the lamplight like amber, and she found herself remembering how Jude's fingers had felt against hers, the way her voice changed when the professional distance cracked.
She had a peace treaty to negotiate, communities to protect, and corruption to expose. She couldn't afford complications, couldn't risk distractions when lives hung in the balance.
But alone in her lamp-lit study, Carmen finally admitted what she'd been fighting all day: this protection detail had become more than professional. And judging by the heat in Jude's eyes before she left, the attraction wasn't one-sided.
The realization should have concerned her. Instead, it felt like stepping off a cliff and finding wings.