Chapter Text
The ballroom of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History came alive with polite applause as the President finished her remarks. Olivia Spencer, the first woman President of the United States and the youngest to achieve the highest office in the land, smiled tightly for the cameras, the practiced tilt of her head and measured cadence hiding the exhaustion of the week.
Olivia felt good about her remarks and the attention the crowd gave her, but it didn’t matter. It was Emma’s night, not hers. The annual National Science Fair drew brilliant kids from across the country, and Emma had begged to come.
The President had been kind of shoehorned into the event and asked to make remarks. Olivia had said yes, against her Chief of Staff’s quiet warning that it was one more chance for the press to catch her off guard.
The President had only just begun to recover from the shadow of her ex-husband’s latest scandal. After two national campaigns and countless battles in the public arena, Olivia Spencer was no stranger to scrutiny or the relentless fascination with her private life. What she could never grow accustomed to, however, was the way that attention spilled over onto her daughter.
Now, in the latter half of her second term, with the sunset of her political career in sight, Olivia found her focus narrowing. Two things mattered above all else: protecting Emma and preserving her legacy.
Emma stood off to the side of the stage, clutching a large blue ribbon they would soon award to the winner of the competition. At eight years old, she was still all knees and energy, her eyes scanning the exhibits with the eager impatience of a child who wanted to get on with it.
“Stay close,” the President’s Aide-de-Camp, Greg, whispered leaning toward her. Emma nodded but her gaze had already focused on a table of robotic projects.
Olivia shook hands with donors, smiled for photographs, and laughed easily. Her smile, however, didn’t reach her green eyes; a fact no one noticed except Doris Wolfe, the President’s Chief of Staff and long time friend. Olivia’s personal life had been in the type of turmoil that led to self-reflection and she still hadn’t put it behind her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia caught a flash of movement, her daughter slipping from Greg and her assigned agent’s side and darting into the crowd.
“Emma,” Olivia hissed too late.
For a heartbeat, the crowd swallowed her. Then Olivia saw her again, weaving between tables, reaching out to touch a small mechanical arm waving a flag.
That’s when a man stepped forward. Mid-forties, ball cap pulled low, credentials dangling from his neck. He moved in with an ease that looked practiced. By the time the agent assigned to Emma noticed, the man’s hand was already outstretched and clamping down on Emma’s shoulder.
The response came fast, but not fast enough. Two agents surged, grabbing the man’s arms and wrestling him backward. Emma yelped, spinning, the ribbon fluttering to the floor.
“Frisk him!” one agent barked.
“Nothing,” came the reply, tense. “But the badge is fake.”
After the hollering caused by the commotion subsided, the room had gone dead silent. Reporters’ cameras snapped in rapid bursts. Emma, wide-eyed, was pulled back toward safety. Olivia’s composure cracked. She shoved past her handlers, scooping her daughter into her arms as they were both being ushered backstage.
Olivia stopped as soon as she was out of earshot of the crowd. “This is unacceptable,” she spat, her voice low but seething. “How did he get this close?”
“Ma’am…”
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me.” Her glare cut through the men around her, sparing no one. “You let my daughter slip away in a crowd. You let a stranger get his hand on her!!?”
Frank Cooper, head of the Presidential detail, spoke up. “Madam President, it was a breach, but we have contained it. The man had no weapons…”
“The man had access.” Olivia’s voice carried, sharp as glass. “My daughter is not your training exercise, Frank. I want her whole detail rotated. This is unacceptable.”
Emma buried her face in Olivia’s neck, trembling. Olivia smoothed a hand over her hair and shushed her, still furious but quieter now, protective instincts flooding her tone. “She’s eight years old. She should never have felt afraid tonight. And she did.”
Doris materialized at her shoulder, cool and unflinching. “It looks like the Secret Service dropped the ball, Agent Cooper.” Doris’ eyes flicked to Frank. “Fix it. Today. Upgrade her detail, someone with sharper instincts, not just muscle. If you can’t find that, I will.”
Frank swallowed. He knew what that meant: he needed someone with a clean record, experience protecting kids, and no margin for error.
And that was how, within twenty-four hours, Special Agent Natalia Rivera’s name crossed his desk.
____
The delicious smell of Puerto Rican cuisine filled the kitchen, clinging to the air the way it always did when Natalia cooked on her rare day off. She stirred the pan with practiced rhythm, humming under her breath, when Rafe leaned against the doorway in his green Marines t-shirt and shorts, arms folded and smirk firmly in place.
“You know, most people relax on their day off,” he said.
“I am relaxing,” Natalia replied without looking up. “This is what relaxing looks like when you actually know how to cook.”
“Please.” Rafe scoffed. “You’re just trying to bribe me into doing laundry again.”
She glanced at him, dimples flashing. “If bribery works, why change the system?”
Rafe grabbed a piece of sweet bread from the basket on the table, ignoring her swat, and tore it in half. “One of these days, Tía, I’m going to stop showing up for free food, and then what?”
“Then you’ll starve, because ramen and takeout don’t count as nutrition,” Natalia shot back. “I swear, If it wasn’t for the dining facility on base, you’d get no nutrition at all.’
For a moment it was easy, the rhythm of two people who had been through enough together that they didn’t need to explain themselves. Natalia had grown up in a close-knit Puerto Rican family on Chicago’s South Side, where her Catholic upbringing kept her focused on her studies and out of trouble.
Still, responsibility found her early. Her older sister, Marisol, had a son, Rafe, at a young age and struggled to provide him with stability. While Natalia was serving overseas with the Army, she sent money home, trusting things were under control. But when she returned, it was clear Marisol’s life had unraveled. When the Department of Children and Family Services intervened, Natalia didn’t hesitate, she petitioned for guardianship and, at thirteen, Rafe became as much her son as her nephew.
Balancing a demanding career with the Chicago PD while raising a teenager was never easy, and her Catholic conscience reminded her often of the moments she fell short. Yet Rafe thrived under her steady hand, supported by the wider family network. Now at twenty, he had forged his own path, enlisting in the Marines and carrying with him both her influence and her unshakable belief in him. By a stroke of fortune, Natalia’s financial investigations and her first protective assignment both kept her in Chicago. She had first guarded a former First Lady, then her daughter, still in the very city she loved and where Rafe had just begun his military career.
She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “How’s your shift schedule this week?”
“Long.” he said with a shrug, chewing. “But I don’t mind. Beats deployment and at least I get to see my favorite nag a lot.”
Her phone buzzed on the counter before she could fire back. The display read: SAIC Cooper.
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not a social call,” she muttered, swiping to answer and wondering why the Special-Agent-in-Charge and head of the current Presidential detail wanted to speak to her.
“Rivera,” she said crisply.
On the other end, Frank’s voice was clipped. “I need you in D.C. by morning. High priority reassignment. You’re being moved to the Presidential protection detail.”
Natalia’s stomach tightened. “Yes, sir,” she answered without hesitation, though she caught the way Rafe’s brows shot up across the kitchen.
Frank continued, “Your official orders are being cut now. They’ll be emailed to you. I will brief you when you arrive.”
The line went dead. Natalia lowered the phone slowly, already shifting into the quiet focus that Rafe knew too well.
“What’s up?” he asked, holding what was left of the bread.
She drew a breath, straightening her shoulders. “I’m being assigned to the White House to provide protection for the First Family.”
Rafe blinked, then gave a low whistle, “Damn, Tía. From Chicago streets to guarding the President? That’s a big deal.”
Natalia smirked faintly, but there was a weight in her eyes he didn’t miss. “It is,” is all she said. It is also the kind of job that brings about a great deal of scrutiny. She briefly wondered what had happened that led to her being called up.
Natalia knew little about President Spencer beyond the broad strokes of the public record. A second-term leader with an estranged ex-husband who resided elsewhere and a young daughter she had physical custody of.
Natalia had only set foot at the White House once since joining the Service, and as the newest face on the detail, she had been posted to the outer perimeter. She had caught only the briefest glimpse of the President as she walked past her. What she knew about her came from the headlines, televised speeches, and the kind of half-truths that float through campaigns and presidencies: the scandals, the hard-fought victories, the bruising defeats, the mark she had carved on the global stage. And, of course, Olivia Spencer’s striking good looks didn’t escape Natalia.
Inside the detail itself, Natalia’s ties were even thinner. Aside from SAIC Cooper, who had once drilled her mercilessly at the Academy, she knew no one. Walking into this assignment felt like stepping onto a battlefield without a map. She didn’t like going in blind, and she liked even less the thought that the lives of the President and her child might depend on her finding her bearings fast.
Rafe raised his cup in a mock toast. “Then it’s perfect for you. You’ve never backed down from a challenge.”
Natalia just nodded, her expression unreadable. She really hoped this wouldn’t be the one challenge she couldn’t rise up to meet.