Invigorated by the initial results, Veronica had recently announced on social media that she and SkyCU Technology were working on an important update that would permit Drain users to see through water ten times deeper. Not only would that have a profound impact on ocean observation, but the application could potentially help inform the response to climate change. Veronica was now considering all her options, including partnering with one of the giant tech companies who had approached her and SkyCU about acquiring the app. She had a meeting with the eight employees of SkyCU tomorrow afternoon in Palo Alto to discuss Drain’s exciting future.
At tonight’s gala, the Society of American Archaeology would announce the winner of the Award for Excellence in Archaeological Analysis. Veronica was one of the nominees, and, if White was to believe all the gossip, she was the top contender. He wasn’t surprised. Thanks to the millennials who represented over three-quarters of Veronica’s followers and who never did anything without their smartphones, suddenly archaeology was cool again. The nomination was a way to acknowledge Veronica for her unique contribution to the field.
And White couldn’t be prouder.
He and Veronica had been friends since their teenage years. When the helicopter his father was traveling in was shot down by enemy fire six years prior, Veronica had flown to Landstuhl, Germany, where White was recuperating from injuries sustained during a rescue operation. He’d asked for and received emergency leave from his unit and, with Veronica, had traveled back to the United States to help his mother plan the funeral. Veronica’s assistance had been godsent, and, even though nothing remotely romantic had happened between them, those precious weeks spent with her were when White had started seeing her as more than just a friend. Three months later, after completing his tour of duty in Iraq and leaving the military, he’d moved into an apartment a few minutes’ walk from her residence in the heart of Westville, a lovely neighborhood in New Haven, Connecticut. From that point on, the dynamic of their relationship had quickly shifted from “just friends” to something much deeper—if still not official.
“XJD-31, this is Vigil-One, over,” White said into the microphone in his sleeve.
A steady voice came through his earbud. “Go ahead for XJD-31.”
“This is Vigil-One, I’m going up to pick up Flower,” White said, using Veronica’s designated code name. As he crossed the marble lobby, White nodded at another agent who was standing close to the main entry. The agent gave him a thumbs-up, letting White know he had heard his last communication with XJD-31, the mobile telecommunications unit parked not far away.
White pressed the elevator call button. The shiny silver doors opened, and he stepped inside. White disliked elevators—small sealed boxes that could become traps in the blink of an eye. And there was no way to know what might be lurking on the other side when the door reopened. Not something you wanted when your job was to protect the daughter of the vice president-elect.
Veronica’s suite was on the fifth floor, with a connecting door linking her room to White’s. It wasn’t an unusual arrangement for a Secret Service detail, but White’s meteoric rise within the United States Secret Service would come to a sudden halt if his boss knew he had shared more than a door with Veronica. Even Alexander Hammond’s direct intervention wouldn’t help him. By becoming romantically involved with Veronica, White was playing a dangerous game. There was no denying that their relationship couldn’t continue in its present form. But for now, being reprimanded or reassigned were risks he was more than willing to take. Never in his life had he remotely felt this close to another person.
The elevator reached the floor, and the doors slid aside. White got off, scanned the hallway, and turned right. Apart from the Secret Service agent standing at the end of the hallway, he didn’t see anyone else. The thick carpet smelled like an odd combination of expensive perfume and cleaner. The walls, painted a dove gray, were decorated with canvases by local artists White didn’t know.
“All good?” he asked the agent guarding Veronica’s room.
“The cleaning lady came, but I told her to come back,” the agent replied.
“All right,” White said. “Get down to the balcony level to relieve Marcus. I’ve got this.”
White fist-bumped his subordinate and watched him walk toward the elevators.
As White raised his hand to knock on Veronica’s door, he noted the time. Six o’clock. The cocktail hour had officially started, but the dinner and speeches wouldn’t begin for another sixty minutes. White knocked on the door. Veronica snatched it open as if she’d been standing there waiting for him. Upon seeing her, White’s heart almost stopped. The sexy tilt of her mouth, combined with the charming glint in her green eyes and the faint but enchanting smell of her perfume, sweet and floral, made him weak in the knees—and the hounding risk of being found out all worth it.