I stand at the huge window in the Senator’s office, hands in my pockets, looking down at the flower garden as Ruby and Kyle slowly walk along the brick paths. They keep at least a foot apart, her hands clasped in front of her, his hands behind him.

Even from here I can tell the conversation is one-sided. Ruby’s just been smiling and nodding along for as long as I’ve been watching, and while I haven’t been waiting for the Senator all that long yet, if they were having a real conversation she’d have said something by now.

I want to go down there and give Kyle a piece of my mind, let him know that maybe, every once in awhile, you ask the other person in a conversation a question. That it’s a back and forth, not a lecture, and maybe he’d get more than that empty, fake smile from her if he gave even a half-assed try.

But just the thought tightens my stomach, the shadow of something ugly and black snaking through me, because I’m lying to myself.

I don’t want to go give that dumb asshole advice on talking to girls. I want to go down there, send him packing, and walk Ruby through the garden myself. I want her real smile. I want to see the way her pretty eyes flash when I say something she likes.

I want —

The door opens, and I turn. The Senator walks through, trailing Mason behind him, the poor boy hurriedly taking notes.

“Write Mrs. Witherson on letterhead and express deep sorrow over the loss of her nephew,” he instructs Mason. “For good measure, have some flowers sent to the funeral. After Murphy’s gaffe last week, we can really consolidate our hold on the rural vote out in hill country, so go in with both barrels blazing. Next week is all stump speeches and kissing babies. Hi, Gabriel, thanks for waiting.”

“Not a problem, sir,” I answer.

Mason heads back next door, and the Senator walks over to me, jacket unbuttoned, hands in his pockets. For a fifty-five year old man, he’s still physically imposing, tall and broad, still in good shape. I could take him in a fight, but I could take most people in a fight, so that doesn’t count.

No, it’s the way he carries himself, coupled with his reputation, that makes him a presence in any room he’s in. Whenever you talk to him, there’s an unspoken expectation that you, too, want nothing more than to please the Senator and remain in his good graces.

And that’s the problem: most people do. He’s been in the Senate for nearly twenty years, and despite being on the fringe politically, he’s accrued plenty of power. He comes from money. He belongs to a church that believes a man is the absolute head of his household, that his authority over his wife and children should be total.

From everything I’ve seen, it is. Or at least it’s very, very close.

We stand at the window, looking down at Ruby and Kyle in the garden.

“You don’t have children, correct?” he asks.

“No, sir.”

He nods once, brusquely.

“I didn’t truly know worry until the day Ruby was born,” he says. “It’s a cliché, son, but it’s a cliché because it’s true. They really do change everything.”

“I have no doubt, sir.”

I feel a little like he’s giving me a stump speech.

“Gabriel, I would do anything to protect my daughter. I would walk through a burning building. I would swim across the ocean. I would run through a war zone.”

“Of course.”

“That’s why I hired you, obviously. I can’t be by her side twenty-four/seven, and even if I could, I’m getting old. Even if I’d give up my life in an instant, I’m not trained in protection. Sometimes the best thing a man can do is step aside and let a professional do his job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I don’t think it matters what I say.

“So far I’ve entrusted Ruby’s physical wellbeing to you,” he says. “But now that you’ve been here for another day, I need to alert you to a danger I believe is far greater than any stalker could possibly be.”

He turns to me, his face dark and serious.

“I have grave concerns about Ruby’s spiritual well being. Are you a religious man, Gabriel?”

I clear my throat. The answer is no, but that’s definitely the wrong answer right now.

“I’m not as devout as I should be,” I say.

He walks, hands in pockets, to a huge gold cross that’s hanging on one wall, lit from behind. It’s not a crucifix — there’s no Jesus on it — just a cross.

“This household is at war,” he says solemnly. “We are all fighting against Satan for Ruby’s soul, and every day, I fear we’re losing.”

I have absolutely no answer for this. I went to church growing up, but we were never at war with Satan for anything. We had potlucks, held clothing drives for the homeless, sang hymns, that kind of thing.

“She has abandoned her husband,” he goes on. “Women are like children, Gabriel. They need to be kept in hand, led gently. A woman without a husband, particularly at her age, is a dangerous thing indeed. I’m sure that Satan sees her as a tear in the fabric of this family, and he plans on slipping into our midst, using Ruby as a vessel.”

I clench my hands behind my back, my fingernails digging into my palms.

Children? Kept in hand?

The Senator’s a fucking lunatic, but I need this job. Dear God do I need this job.

“That’s why I’m asking you to guard her spiritually as well as physically,” he says, finally turning to me, the cross on the wall now behind him. It’s very dramatic. He’s a very good politician, that’s for damn sure. “I’m afraid that my daughter is lost, confused, open to sin. She needs my strong, steady hand to guide her back to the light, and I cannot guide her away from the darkness if I don’t know what darkness she’s facing.”

“I see,” I say.

I do not see.

“Part of your duties here are to join in our spiritual warfare,” he goes on, spreading his hands in front of himself. “If you see Ruby stumble along the path to righteousness, tell me, so I may guide her back. If she is led astray by sin, tell me, and I will help her sin no more.”

Finally, it clicks.

If I were, for example, to catch Ruby buying vodka at eight o’clock in the morning, that’s stumbling on the path to righteousness.

He’s not just asking me to keep her safe. He’s asking me to report back to him on everything she does.

“Understood, sir,” I say.

“And you think you can do that for me, son?”

I swallow.

“Of course, sir.”

It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue: she was in the liquor store yesterday.

I don’t even have to tell him I was hung over. I could tell him about Ruby, do my job, curry some favor with one of the most powerful men in Washington, D.C. When this gig is over, he pulls some strings and I get reinstated with the Secret Service.

But I don’t. Something stops me. I barely know Ruby, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

The Senator reaches out and claps me on the shoulder.

“God bless, son,” he says. “We’ll have you back at your position in no time.”

I try to smile.

“Thank you, sir. I’m honored to be working for you.”

The Senator smiles at me, a huge, fake, politician smile.

“Glad to have you on board, and thanks for your help. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

I know when I’m being dismissed, so I shake his hand and leave. As I close the door behind myself, I realize the hairs on my neck are standing up.

Spiritual warfare against Satan, I think, heading down the stairs. All I really remember from church is ‘love thy neighbor.’

As I walk to my carriage house, I catch a glimpse of Ruby and Kyle, still walking. He’s still lecturing, but Ruby catches my eye for just a moment and I swear there’s a flash of something there before she looks away.

Then I head into my apartment, pull off my sweaty shirt, and think for a while about loving that particular neighbor.