Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…
A/N: AU is not my thing, but Immi asked for it. Who am I to deny a leprechaun her wish?
Rest and rehab had been the strict orders given to her by her doctor. Neither were viable options when the Commander-in-Chief said he needed her to do this favor for a friend. She really wasn't interested in the job. A favor, he had said, for a friend. What he should have said was that his largest campaign contributor needed a hired gun. It's not like she could have said no in either instance.
She had been relieved of duty and had plenty of time on her hands. No, it's not like she could have said no. She had spent five years with the Secret Service and the last two had been spent on the president's detail. To be specific, she was charged with protecting the President's daughter.
It had always been her experience that when the shit hit the fan, she was usually standing right in front of it. Protecting the president's daughter had been no different. She had thought that despite the circumstances, taking two bullets and saving the young woman's life might have garnered her some modicum of dedication. After all, in the 140 year history of the Service only a handful of agents had ever even taken a bullet for someone they were charged with protecting.
That was what she had expected. And that's why she found herself standing outside of the glitzy and brightly lit casino along the Vegas strip. As the valet stuck a ticket in her hand and drove off in her rental car, she studied the people bustling into the entrance of the casino.
She didn't quite fit in among all the tourists that passed by her. In fact, standing there in her dark pants and matching jacket with a button down shirt, she looked like a cop. The Ray-ban glasses that protected her eyes from the desert sun did little to offset the image. If she took this job, the first thing she'd need to do is blend in a bit more.
She took the glasses off and tucked them into an inside pocket of her jacket as she pushed past the revolving door in the lobby of the hotel that adjoined the casino. She approached the front desk and was greeted by a Barbie doll named Gwynne. The Barbie smiled politely, "May I help you?"
Sara tucked a stray lock behind her ear and spoke, "I'm here to see Sam Braun. Sara Sidle."
The Barbie nodded her head and picked up the handset, pressed a few buttons and spoke in hushed tones to whoever was on the other end of the phone. She set it down and pointed toward the elevator. "Top floor. He's expecting you."
Sara just nodded in the Barbie's direction before heading toward the elevator. Once inside, she pressed the button for the top floor and headed slowly up to face Sam Braun.
She had done her homework before boarding a plane and flying to Vegas. She still had some friends in the Service who thought she had gotten a raw deal. Unfortunately, they didn't know all the details. Had they known everything, they might have felt differently.
The name hadn't been entirely foreign to her. Sam Braun was one of the biggest names in Vegas once upon a time. He had a sordid past and was linked to organized crime. He had managed to avoid prosecution in several murders despite solid evidence having existed at one point or another. He had a pair of sons—one of which had been murdered by the other. And then there was the daughter. The illegitimate daughter he had sired with a showgirl.
The list of enemies Braun had was second only to the money he had made over the years. The man indulged in excess. His home was beyond that of opulence. The vehicles, the women, the airplanes—while within his financial means, they were unnecessary and in Sara's opinion, wildly decadent.
What had intrigued her was the amount of information that came to light in relation to the daughter, Catherine Flynn. Although her parentage was apparently the worst kept secret in Vegas, she had never taken her father's last name. She had certainly inherited her looks from her showgirl mother. Sara's contacts had been able to supply a more than ample number of photos. She was always on the arm of a different man and various social gatherings. Little information existed on her professional pursuits. There was, however, according to the files, adequate information and more than enough suspicion that Catherine was little more than a high dollar whore.
The elevator doors opened and Sara stepped into the lavishly decorated penthouse that Sam Braun used as an office. No sooner had she stepped into the room than two hulking specimens of manhood pressed her against the wall and began to pat her down. One quickly removed the gun from her leg holster and the other removed her primary weapon from her shoulder holster. They released their respective grips and she was quick to point out, "You boys missed something." She then produced a knife from her belt buckle and winked as she walked further into the room.
"Ms. Sidle," a graying man said as he swaggered toward her with the confidence that only the rich and powerful possessed. He was both. That didn't intimidate her in the least. He took her hand firmly in his and shook with enough vigor to leave no doubt in her mind that he was the one calling the shots.
"Mr. Braun," she said as she squeezed his hand with enough fervor to relate that his men and his money weren't enough to bully her.
He pointed towards a seat across from his desk and she sat down.
"Would you like something to drink?" He asked as he placed a few cubes of ice in a tumbler and poured amber liquor over them.
She knew she was being tested. "I'll have whatever you're having."
He nodded and his blue eyes twinkled as he handed the tumbler to her and poured another for himself before sitting down opposite her behind the massive desk.
"I suppose George told you what I needed?"
"He was very vague, Sir. He only said that a friend needed a favor," she explained as she finished off the last of her drink and sat the now empty glass down on a table beside her.
"A favor for a friend, eh?" He laughed at the idea of him actually being friends with the president. "I do need a favor. And I need this to be handled discreetly. The men I usually use aren't in a position to really carry out this particular job. I need someone with a ….softer…..touch."
"Specifically a woman?" Sara asked.
"Specifically a woman who could take a man down and do so without my little girl getting hurt," he corrected her. He took note of the change in her expression. "I did my homework on you, Sidle. I know all about the attempted kidnapping and the fact that you took two bullets to keep Jenna safe. I know it's your job to do that, but most people in the Secret Service never have to worry about pulling their gun, much less take two to the chest. You're made of the stuff I need."
She boldly stood, grabbed her glass and walked over and poured herself another drink. "Tell me what the job is—specifically."
"You're here to protect Catherine. I've been receiving threats lately. Normally, I just dismiss them because I have enough men around me that I don't need to worry. These last threats mention her. I've already lost two sons. I'm not going to lose my daughter as well."
"What types of threats have you received? How were they delivered? Have you told any of the local law enforcement?"
He picked up his tumbler and swished the ice around in the remaining liquid while he shook his head. "Ms. Sidle, you'll find that the fewer questions you ask, the better off we'll both be."
"I guess we're done here," she stood and walked toward the two men who had taken her guns and held her hands out expectantly. They stood stone-faced with their arms crossed over their chests.
A loud cackling behind her drew her attention. She turned back towards Braun. "Muggs is going to love you. You won't take any shit off of her. Come on back over here and let's talk details."
Reluctantly, Sara walked back and sat down.
"There have been phone calls—all made from disposable cell phones. There have been emails—all untraceable because they've used public access points to send them. There have been actual pieces of mail—untraceable as well. A ghost is threatening my daughter and I want you to protect her. You name your price and I'll pay it."
She chewed on her lip for a moment, considering the possible dangers and problems associated with working for Sam Braun. Protecting his daughter would likely be the easiest paycheck she'd ever earned. Chances were that some crazy lunatics were just after a quick score and thought the easiest way to accomplish that would be to threaten his daughter—thinking that because he has more money than God he'd pay up to keep her out of any possible harm.
"Does she know about the threats? Does she know you're hiring me to protect her?"
He shook his head. "She knows and she's less than thrilled. She's afraid you'll cramp her style. My daughter, well, she has a line of business that calls for and demands discretion. I don't approve, mind you, but she's happy and that's all that matters."
"In other words, she's a whore?" Sara asked bluntly.
"That's certainly one way of looking at it, Ms. Sidle. She—and I—prefer to think of it as the service industry. She provides a service that certain gentleman of influence—and affluence—seek," he attempted to paint his daughter as a woman who merely clung to the arm of distinguished gentlemen.
Her curiosity not quite sated, she couldn't help but ask, "Why me? Why not one of your goons?" She hitched her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the men who had frisked her when she walked off the elevator. "Why not some off-duty cop? Or someone from a private security company?"
He stood up and walked toward her, holding his hand out to help her from her seat. They walked toward the elevator. He slid a piece of paper into her hand and said, "Because you're the right person for the job. That's her address. She's not expecting you. See Cleo downstairs. She'll set you up with a credit card, a room and whatever else you need."
The two men she had previously referenced as goons handed her guns and knife back to her. As the doors were shutting, he simply said, "Don't let me down, Ms. Sidle."
During the quick descent to the lobby, her mind worked furiously to understand the situation she had just gotten herself into. She basically knew nothing of what the job entailed other than she was to make sure no harm befell Sam Braun's daughter.
When she stepped off the elevator and into the lobby she was quickly escorted behind closed doors and into the office of the woman she assumed to be Cleo.
The ebony skinned woman with blonde hair (obviously not natural) handed an American Express card to Sara. "This is yours to use while in Mr. Braun's employment. Use it at your discretion to pay for any expenses related to your job. That includes clothing, food, and other purchases."
She pulled out a bundle of cash and slid across the desk to Sara. "See me weekly for cash. We'll start out with a thousand dollars, but if you need more, just let me know."
She paused briefly and when Sara didn't say anything, she added, "Good luck."
Sara put the cash and credit card into her jacket pocket. As she slipped the sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose and stepped out into desert sun, a valet promptly took her ticket and left to retrieve her car.
She listened to the hum of the city and wondered how she had fallen so quickly into this slum. She had gone from being a Secret Service agent charged with protecting the family of the President of the United States to protecting some lowly whoring daughter of a mobster.
She handed the valet a twenty dollar bill from the stack that Cleo had just given her and sank into the seat. She punched in the address on the GPS that was in her car and pulled into the early evening traffic of Vegas.
XXXX
After battling traffic for an hour, she found herself pulling up outside the gaited home of Catherine Flynn. She considered driving up to the gait and buzzing the homeowner to gain access, but quickly decided against that. This would give her an opportunity to seek out vulnerabilities in the security system.
She parked her car on the street and walked up to the gait. There were no security cameras in plain sight. There were no trees that hung over the gait and no other landscaping that would hide a security camera. They would definitely need to have some of those installed around the perimeter of the home. She walked along the fencing and found that it would be easy to scale it. Sara came to the far end of the fence and hefted herself over it, landing softly on the grass that sprawled in all directions around the home.
She stood and waited—anticipating dogs or an alarm to sound. When none did, she finally approached the home. She was able to walk along the outside of the house, peering into windows at will without any neighbors or the inhabitant contacting the local authorities or security company.
Satisfied that there were gaping security holes which would need to be addressed immediately, she walked up to the front door and knocked. She had given little heed to the cars parked in the driveway.
When polite knocking had failed to draw the attention of the woman who was surely inside, Sara leaned against the doorbell. When no one immediately appeared at the door, she tried the knob and found it unlocked. She opened the door and stepped inside.
While opulence had been the theme in Braun's office, everything was understated in Catherine's home—or workplace. Sara was unsure what label to apply at this point. A brothel wasn't appropriate since there was only one employee. Maybe there was a specific room that she worked out of—her home office.
She wandered into the living room that was decorated with warm colors and oversized furniture. The room looked like the offspring of Martha Stewart and Southern Living after a one night stand.
As she was admiring a collection of books on a shelf at the far end of the room, she heard the padding of feet on the stairs. Normally, she'd draw her gun—just in case. Given the lax security and what she already knew of the woman, Sara didn't feel the slightest bit of fear.
Wearing little more than a black satin robe that barely covered her ass, Catherine Flynn froze at the bottom of the stairs. Sara could clearly make out every asset the woman possessed. The material clung to full breasts and curves that were the definition of womanhood. "Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?"
Sara sat down on the couch that had obviously seen very few asses in its day. She bounced around a bit, looking for a comfortable position and trying to break-in the cushion she was planted on.
Catherine appeared incensed and walked into the living room. "I asked you a question. Who are you?"
"I'm Sara Sidle." Sara was never one for arrogance, but in this instance she made an exception. The way she stated who she was left no doubt in Catherine that she was expected to know just who she was and why she was there.
Catherine's body language clearly alerted her to the fact that she did.
"I told him I didn't need protection. And I certainly don't need someone breaking into my home like some common criminal."
"You obviously need protection," she said cockily as she rested her ankle on her knee. "I was able to climb your fence, wander all over your property, and walk through the front door without so much as a nosey neighbor—or even you—realizing what I was doing. You have no video surveillance and multiple points of access. You're a victim waiting for an assailant. And that's why I'm here. Mr. Braun wants me to protect you. And he made it very clear that he didn't care one way or the other about your feelings on the matter. I suggest you get accustomed to seeing my pretty face because until the threats stop or the guys making the threats are caught, I'm going to be your new best friend."
Catherine rolled her eyes and stomped back up the stairs. A few minutes later, she came down accompanied by a man who, by all estimations was one of her clients. Departing pleasantries were exchanged and Catherine walked back into the den and sat down on a chair across from Sara.
Sara realized that this assignment—though she was sure she would be successful—would be the most difficult and trying she had undertaken.
Their eyes were locked on one another's. It didn't take long for Sara's stare to falter and drift to the exposed creamy thighs that were just begging to be touched.
Sara was swiftly brought back to reality by the blonde standing as she said, "Great. Just what I need—a fucking dyke following me around."
When Catherine was no longer in the same room as Sara, she leaned back on the sofa and covered her face with her hands. "What have I gotten myself into?"