Page 1 of Protecting Her

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JUDE

Blood mixed with sweat on the training mat, the metallic scent a familiar companion. Captain Jude Smith’s muscles burned from two hours of close-quarters combat drills, but she pushed through another set. Her opponent—a fresh-faced SEAL who'd made the mistake of hesitating—was learning that Jude’s reputation wasn't exaggerated. She moved with controlled precision, each strike calculated. When he telegraphed a right cross, she slipped inside his guard and had him on the mat before he registered the movement. Training fights weren't about winning; they were about staying alive when it mattered.

"You telegraph your attacks," she said, offering him a hand up. "In the field, that gets people killed."

The young SEAL nodded, respect replacing his earlier skepticism about training with a woman in his face. Jude had stopped noticing those looks years ago. BUD/S had taught her that respect was earned in blood and sweat, and she'd earned it one brutal evolution at a time.

The call to Command came as she was wrapping her split knuckles, her body humming with familiar pain—the kind that reminded her she was still alive when others weren’t.

Dawn blanketed Virginia Beach in shades of steely shadows, the ocean a dark line against the horizon. Her phone vibrated again, a reminder that this summons wasn't routine.

The Naval Special Warfare Command building rose ahead, its modernized exterior at odds with the weight of history it contained. Jude's boots echoed on the polished floor as she made her way to the briefing room, cataloging the changes since her last deployment. New faces in the halls, fresh unit citations on the walls, another gold star added to the memorial display.

Once inside, Jude scanned the briefing room's walls covered with satellite imagery of Bogotá. The sprawling city looked like a nightmarish tactical maze—narrow streets and blind corners perfect for ambush. Captain Richards stood at the head of the table, his expression grave enough to set off warning bells.

"At ease," he said, though Jude's posture remained rigid. "How's the training going with the new teams?"

"They're learning." She kept her voice neutral, professional. "Some faster than others."

He nodded, understanding the unspoken assessment. Then he slid a diplomatic security file across the table—unusual enough to sharpen her focus. The Department of State seal seemed out of place among their usual military briefings.

"High-stakes summit coming up," Richards said, watching her reaction. "Senior Diplomat Carmen Ruiz has been getting death threats from the Nuevo Amanecer terrorist group.Intelligence suggests they're not just making noise this time. I want you on personal bodyguard duty. Protecting her.”

Jude's fingers traced the edge of the file, remembering Yemen. Another diplomat, another threat. They'd gotten lucky then when her instincts triggered an evacuation hours before the attack. The memory of embassy buildings burning still haunted her.

She opened the folder, and her breath caught for a fraction of a second. The photo of Senior Diplomat Carmen Ruiz showed a woman with diplomatic corps perfection: tailored suit, silver-streaked dark hair falling perfectly to her shoulders, and big brown eyes that had seen too much and gave away nothing. It struck Jude for just a second that Carmen Ruiz was very beautiful.

Stop it.

Jude forced her focus to the intelligence briefs instead: three credible assassination threats in the past month, escalating tensions over oil rights and indigenous territories, and corrupt local officials with cartel connections. The more she read, the more the knot in her stomach tightened.

"Why me?" She kept her voice steady, though her mind was already running tactical scenarios. Her file was full of successful protection details, but this felt different.

"Because the last time someone tried to take out a US diplomat in South America, you were the only one who saw it coming." Richards tapped the photo. "She's too important to lose. The entire peace treaty's riding on this one."

He pulled up additional satellite imagery on the screens. "Nuevo Amanecer's activities have been escalating. Two car bombs in the last month and one assassination of a local official. They've got backing from someone with resources—military-grade equipment, professional training."

Jude studied the explosion patterns, recognizing signatures she'd seen in Baghdad. "They've recruited ex-military. These aren't amateur attacks."

"Exactly." Richards pulled up personnel files. "I'm giving you full pick of your team. Whatever resources you need. State Department's made this top priority."

Jude nodded, already calculating team composition. She'd need Sarah as second; her Delta Force background would be crucial. Marcus for local intel, Kate for tech. The pieces started falling into place as she reviewed the summit location specs.

"One more thing." Richards' tone made her look up. "There might be internal threats. Watch the local security forces. We've got reports of cartel bribes reaching high levels."

"Understood." Jude gathered the files, her mind already shifting to operational planning. But as she stood to leave, her eyes caught on Carmen's photo again. Something about those eyes, about the quiet strength in her expression, made this assignment feel heavier than usual.

"Smith." Richards' voice stopped her at the door. "Keep her alive. Whatever it takes."

She nodded once, sharply, and headed out. The weight of the files in her hands felt like prophecy. Her knuckles stung as she gripped the folder tighter, the pain a reminder to stay focused.

This wasn't just another protection detail. She could feel it in her bones, the same way she'd felt the ambush coming in Yemen. Something about this assignment was different.

And Jude had learned long ago to trust those instincts.

Her office felt colder than usual as evening shadows crept across the office walls, bare except for unit citations and her BUD/S class photo. The sight of her graduating class always brought a familiar ache. Three faces would never age past their service photos, forever young in dress whites. She'd stopped counting the ghosts years ago.

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