Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…
Sara had succeeded in finding the liquor cabinet in Catherine's quaint home and was busy pouring her second drink when Catherine came back downstairs dressed in something more appropriate—jeans and a T-shirt. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders and had left wet trails in the cotton covering her shoulders.
Sara knew she was in the room. She could smell her. She had spent less than five minutes in the woman's presence but she was already firmly planted under skin. She knew the type—her type. A woman accustomed to getting her way and never being challenged or questioned. A woman that most men—and women—would do anything to be with for any amount of time. She knew her, but she didn't know her. And as she had made perfectly clear, she never would. Sara cringed as she heard the word dyke in her head again. Few words had quite the impact on her that this one particular word did.
Still, she didn't turn and acknowledge her presence. Instead, she eyed the liquid in her glass and walked toward the window. She relaxed against the frame and stared out into the quickly fading light of the day. She could feel Catherine's eyes on her. More accurately, she could feel Catherine's stare boring holes into her back.
"How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?" Sara asked as she slowly turned to face the buxom blonde.
"Probably until you get your ass out of my house," she responded wryly before turning and walking away.
Sara finished the last of her drink and decided to do a walk-through of the house before it was completely dark. She wanted to know what could be seen from each window and once darkness had fallen, she'd go outside to see what could be seen from there.
She clodded heavily up the stairs to the second floor and entered each room she came to. She walked to each window and took in the view and assessed where the blind spots would be. She secured every window's lock—none of which were previously latched. She tried the next to the last door on the right but found it locked. She noted that she would have to have Catherine unlock it so that she could check the scene from there. She went on to the last room on the left, the master suite.
The walls were painted a rich caramel color and the linens were a deep purple—almost black. The bed was stacked with pillows of varying shades of caramel, purple and black. Shimmering and sheer cream-colored curtains hung loosely along the windows, gathering in bunches on the floor. A king-sized four-poster mahogany bed dominated the space. Sara walked into the bathroom and smiled at the elegance that was Catherine's bathroom. A tiled-shower large enough for several people sat in the left corner. A claw-footed bathtub with silver French fixtures sat to her right under a window. She stepped into the tub and latched the window. She walked back into the bedroom and found a furious blonde standing there glaring at her.
"What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?" Catherine asked as Sara walked to one of the windows in the room and secured the lock. Sara ignored her query and brushed past her to the second window. After it was locked to her satisfaction, she turned and was slapped squarely across the face.
Sara didn't flinch. She just stood stone-faced with the reddened handprint quickly coloring her cheek.
"I don't want you here! I don't want you in my house! I especially don't want you in my bedroom!" She shouted at Sara.
Sara never took her eyes off of Catherine. She stared at her until Catherine's gaze faltered. Satisfied, she spoke. "I realize you don't want me here. And trust me," she rubbed her cheek, "the last place I want to be right now is anywhere near the likes of someone like you. But I was hired to protect you. It's my job. Surely someone like you can appreciate how important it is to do the things you're paid to do."
Sara's meaning didn't go unnoticed by Catherine, but she was unable to quickly formulate an acerbic response before Sara could continue. "If you really want to get rid of me quickly, let me do my fucking job. As soon as your father is convinced you're no longer in danger, my job ends. And then, you'll never have to see me again. Now, there's one room that was locked. I need it unlocked so that I can check the view from the window and secure the lock."
Catherine rolled her eyes and waggled her finger in Sara's face. "That's my…office. I conduct my business in that room. There isn't a window in there. So you have no reason to be in there."
Sara nodded her head, "Fine. I'll check the downstairs in a few minutes. These windows need to stay locked at all times. Curtains need to be drawn. You don't need someone looking in and being able to see what's going on. I'm guessing that there are several vantage points around your house where someone could lay in wait and take a shot at you."
She slid her hands into her pockets and walked toward the door, "Oh, and since I'll be staying here, I'll take the room there at the top of the stairs."
"You're what?" Catherine said in surprise.
Sara turned around and smiled coyly, "I'm staying here. The best way for me to protect you is to be here—to be with you—at all times. We need to sit down and discuss your schedule and cancel appointments with your, uhm, clients, until further notice."
"You listen here," Catherine moved into Sara's space and poked her firmly in the chest with a pointed finger, "my life isn't going to change just because you say it is. I'm not cancelling appointments with clients and you're not going to dictate my schedule. You'll have to figure out how to protect me without disrupting my life. And if you can't do that," she poked again even harder, "maybe Sam can find a real man to do the job."
Catherine had managed to deliver another blow to Sara's ego. Somewhat deflated, but not defeated, she descended the stairs and checked the downstairs windows.
XXXXXXX
Several hours later, after she had walked the perimeter of the house and made notations about weak points in security and she had brought her one lone bag up to her room, Sara walked into the kitchen, the smell of food drawing her in like metal to a magnet.
She sat on a stool at the bar leaving several feet of space and counter between herself and Catherine. In the Secret Service, you were trained to be visibly invisible. You weren't supposed to hamper the movements of your charge unless you sensed a dangerous situation. But you were supposed to be visible enough to prevent anyone from conceiving of posing a threat to your charge. The situation Sara found herself in with Catherine was very different. She was on foreign soil and she didn't know the language here.
"That smells good," she decided that attempting civility instead of hostility might be the best way to win this woman over. She smiled warmly at Catherine. "Do you cook often?"
Catherine looked at her over her shoulder, rolling her eyes and snorting. Then she turned around with a wooden spoon in her hand. Before she could respond curtly (as she had planned), she saw the tired, worn look on Sara's face and thought better of it. She sighed heavily, "I don't cook as often as I'd like. I seldom have company." She attempted a smile and the gesture wasn't entirely lost on Sara.
"I really think we got off on the wrong foot here, Ms. Flynn."
"Catherine—or Cath—not Ms. Flynn. That's my mother. And you're right, we did." She turned around from stirring the contents of the wok in front of her and pointed toward the wine collect she had, "How about you pick out a wine for dinner and set the table?"
Sara was quick to comply, moving to the end of the counter and opening the door to the wine chiller. There were at least a dozen bottles and despite her attendance at innumerable dinners with the president's family, she'd never been asked to choose a wine before. Not wanting to reveal how very unsophisticated she was and ask Catherine for a suggestion, she just grabbed a bottle and set it on the table.
"Where are the plates?" she asked as she moved toward Catherine.
She used the spoon in her hand to point, "Up there."
"And the wine glasses?" Sara inquired.
"Right here," she gestured above the stove.
Sara stood behind Catherine and reached over her to pull two wine glasses from the cabinet. As she reached over the blonde's head, her body pressed ever so lightly against hers. Sara briefly closed her eyes at the sensation.
"Go ahead and open that bottle so that it can breathe." Sara was comfortable with instructions. One thing she learned in the Secret Service was how to take orders and do what she was told. As long as the orders Catherine was barking out didn't interfere with the job Sara was being paid to do, she'd handily accept them.
Sara had just finished setting the table and laying out the silverware when Catherine announced that dinner was done. She plated the rice and chicken stir-fry and brought it to the table.
Catherine eyed her as she poured each of them a glass of wine. They ate in relative silence until Catherine couldn't stand it anymore.
"You obviously know a lot about me. Enough to have these preconceived notions about who I am and what I do. But I know nothing about you. And that doesn't quite seem fair if you're going to live under my roof."
Sara finished her glass of wine and adjusted the napkin in her lap nervously. "What do you want to know?"
Catherine just smiled and cocked her head to side, "Everything."
"Wow. Well, let's see. Where do I start? I'm 32 years old. Originally from California. I was with the Secret Service for five years. Spent the last couple of those on the detail protecting the president's daughter. I was shot twice in the chest while trying to prevent Jenna from being kidnapped. I was relieved of duty after the shooting. Now, I'm here." She hadn't taken a single breath while rattling off the details that were pretty much public knowledge.
"There's more to you than that. I mean, is that all you are—the job? Tell me something about yourself that I couldn't find out by Googling you."
Sara thought for a moment. Was there really anything else to her other than her job? She obviously took too long to respond as Catherine rose to her feet, "Forget I asked. I don't know what I was thinking trying to friendly and make the best of a bad situation."
Sara grabbed Catherine's wrist firmly as she reached across the table to take her plate. "Wait. It's just…I'm not…I'm not comfortable talking about myself. I'm a cop—more or less—it doesn't make much sense for me to let people close to me—to let them know things about me because there's always a chance I'm going to be shot."
Catherine jerked her hand away, leaving the Sara's plate still on the table in front of her. "I bet you're a real doll in relationships then."
Sara hung her head briefly before gathering her dirty dishes and walking into the kitchen. "I'll do the dishes since you cooked," she offered.
Catherine didn't say anything as she dropped the dishrag back in the water and walked out of the kitchen. Sara was busy drying the dishes when she heard the chime of the call button from the gait at the end of the driveway.
She heard Catherine come bounding down the stairs and open the door a moment later, followed by muffled voices (one of them the distinctive bass of a male). She rolled her eyes as she realized that Catherine obviously had a client tonight.
She put the last of the dishes away and did one last check of the locks on the doors and windows before climbing the stairs to her room. Luckily, she was several rooms away from Catherine. The last thing she wanted to hear all night was the blonde being fucked senseless by some well-to-do businessman.