Page 13 of Protecting Her

When the first light of dawn crept across Carmen’s suite, she had already been awake for hours, reviewing her opening speech notes without really seeing them. The words blurred together, replaced by memories of last night's kiss—the softness of Jude's lips, the brief moment of surrender before Carmen had retreated.

"Stop," she whispered to her reflection as she adjusted her silk blouse. Silver threads in her dark hair caught the morning light, and she wondered if Jude noticed them, if they reminded her of their age difference. Then she pushed that thought away too. She had a peace treaty to negotiate. Lives depended on her unwavering focus and diplomatic skill.

Her phone buzzed with another intelligence update. Three more indigenous families displaced overnight, their homes mysteriously burning after refusing corporate "protection." The photos made her hands clench: children huddled in temporary shelters, elders watching generations of history reduced to ash. She'd seen too many villages burn in her career, too many lives sacrificed to corporate greed masquerading as progress.

Movement from just beyond the connecting door made her pulse quicken. She heard Jude's voice, low and professional, coordinating with her team. The sound shouldn't have affected her so strongly, shouldn't have made her remember how that voice had roughened when Carmen touched her.

Before Carmen could avert her gaze and pretend to busy herself, the adjoining door opened, and Jude stood in the doorway.

"Security sweep complete," Jude said, her voice perfectly controlled. "Ready when you are, ma'am."

Ma'am. Back to formality, as if last night on the balcony had never happened. Carmen straightened her shoulders, sliding into her diplomatic armor for an ounce of protection. "Thank you, Captain. Just a moment."

She gathered her briefing materials, each movement precise and practiced. Twenty-five years of diplomatic service had taught her how to maintain composure while her world shifted. She'd negotiated peace treaties during coups and mediated between warlords, and she never before lost her focus.

But she'd never had to negotiate her way through falling for her security detail.

She stole a glance at the woman still standing in the doorway. Jude stood like a sentinel in her tactical gear, all controlled power and careful distance. Their eyes met briefly, and Carmen caught the slight hitch in Jude's breathing, the only tell that she wasn't as unaffected and detached as she pretended. The thought filled Carmen with warmth.

"The summit security teams are in position," Jude reported, falling into step beside her as left the hotel room and walked through the hotel's secured corridors. "But those police patrols from last night are still showing unusual patterns."

Carmen nodded, letting their conversation stay professional while her security detail flanked them. Their footsteps echoedon marble as they descended to the hotel's private garage, the air growing cooler with each level. She noted how Jude's body unconsciously oriented toward her, tracking her movements while scanning for threats as they left the hotel. The protective instinct should have felt stifling. Instead, it made her feel seen in more ways than just security.

Marcus held the armored BMW's door open, and Carmen slid inside. Jude took the front passenger seat, her posture alert as she coordinated with the convoy through her radio. The familiar scent of leather and gun oil filled the vehicle—an odd comfort after decades of diplomatic protection.

Bogotá's morning traffic flowed around them like a river, streams of motorcycles weaving between lanes while street vendors set up their carts. The Andes loomed against the pale sky, their peaks catching early sunlight. Through the bulletproof glass, Carmen watched the city wake up: business people hurrying to offices, children in school uniforms, and the constant dance of vehicles navigating narrow streets.

"Two motorcycles approaching fast," Sarah's voice crackled through the comms.

Carmen caught Jude's subtle shift, her hand moving closer to her weapon. They'd both seen too many assassinations start exactly like this. But the motorcycles passed without incident, just commuters running late.

The historic Palacio de San Carlos rose before them, its colonial architecture a stark contrast to the modern city growing around it. Carmen had negotiated peace treaties in buildings like this across three continents, each one carrying the weight ofhistory in its stone walls. But something felt different today, like it was charged with more than just diplomatic tension.

Their convoy circled to the private entrance, where additional security teams waited. Carmen recognized the formation Jude had designed: overlapping fields of coverage, no blind spots, every angle protected. The precision would have impressed her professionally, even if she wasn't already aware of the woman who had orchestrated it.

Inside, the building's grandeur took her breath away despite having been here before. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, painting patterns on marble floors that had witnessed centuries of politics and power. Their footsteps echoed off walls adorned with artwork depicting Colombia's history, each piece carefully chosen to remind visitors of the stakes when peace hung in the balance.

They walked through the corridors, and the grand ballroom hummed with pre-summit tension as they approached. Carmen cataloged the players through practiced eyes: corporate lawyers in expensive suits, humanitarian observers trying to look neutral, and local officials whose allegiances shifted like sand when it suited them. She caught fragments of conversations about resource rights and profit margins, about peace treaties and bottom lines.

"Two new security contractors by the west entrance," Jude murmured, close enough that her breath brushed Carmen's ear. "They're carrying themselves like Special Operations Forces."

"Former Navy SEALs, probably," Carmen replied softly, pretending to review her notes. "The same corporate security firm from Venezuela. Watch how they position themselves near the indigenous representatives."

Through the ballroom's towering windows, morning light caught the gilded details of colonial medallions and made the crystal chandeliers sparkle like ice. Carmen watched MariaElena and her fellow indigenous leaders enter, their traditional dress a proud contrast to the corporate suits. The corporate security contractors shifted subtly, their movements carrying silent threats that made Carmen's jaw tighten.

She caught her reflection in one of the ancient mirrors that lined the walls: elegant, composed, every hair in place. The diplomat they all expected. But in the same reflection, she saw Jude positioning herself with tactical precision, and the memory of their kiss flooded back with physical force that almost knocked her down.

"Two minutes, ma'am," Sarah said as she approached with final security confirmations. "The room's secure."

Carmen nodded, but her attention caught on how Jude's hand rested near her concealed weapon, how her eyes never stopped scanning the crowd. The soldier and the diplomat, both dedicated to protection through different means. Both fighting battles between duty and desire.

The podium stood on a raised dais, its polished wood bearing the scars of hundreds of historic speeches. As Carmen took her position, she felt the weight of all those who had stood here before, trying to forge peace from chaos. The weight of the peace treaty seemed to press down on her shoulders, along with the eyes of every faction in the room.

When she began speaking, her voice carried the authority of decades of service, every careful phrase designed to build bridges while exposing corruption. Her words flowed with practiced ease: welcome speeches in three languages, acknowledgments of each delegation, and subtle diplomatic signals woven through formal protocols.

"We stand at a crossroads," she said, her voice reaching the furthest corners of the historic chamber. "Where corporate interests and indigenous rights must find common ground,where profit and protection must become partners rather than adversaries."

But part of her remained acutely aware of Jude's presence and of how she moved through the crowd with lethal grace. Their eyes met briefly during a pause in her speech, and the silent connection felt electric, charged with everything they couldn't say but wanted to. Carmen forced her focus back to the speech and the carefully crafted words that could save lives or condemn communities if she faltered.

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