Senator's Fatal Choice

The news spread faster than I'd anticipated.

I was restocking medical supplies in the base's dispensary when Luna, my loyal bodyguard, slipped through the door with her face pale.

"Miss Elisabeth," she whispered, using my real name for the first time in three years. "Your father's been contacted. Senator Herrera knows."

My hands stilled over the antibiotic vials. "How long ago?"

"Less than an hour." Luna's eyes darted to the window. "Military intelligence confirmed your identity this morning. By now, every political network in Washington has the information."

I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the carefully constructed walls of my new life beginning to crumble. Three years of anonymity, of safety, of distance from Vincent—all undone by a routine transfer request.

"He's coming here," Luna continued, her voice barely audible. "Official visit. Tomorrow morning."

---

The base was in chaos by dawn. Soldiers scrambled to prepare for the unexpected visit from one of the country's most powerful senators. I watched from the medical wing as they polished equipment and straightened uniforms, whispering excitedly about the honor of hosting such an important dignitary.

Marcus Thompson found me reviewing patient files, his expression grim. "He's not here to inspect medical facilities, Doc. He's here for you."

"I know," I said quietly.

"Your father's people called ahead. They're... concerned about your welfare." Marcus hesitated. "They don't understand why you've been hiding out here."

I looked up from the files. "Did they mention why Senator Herrera is suddenly interested in a military medic?"

"Didn't have to." Marcus's eyes held a mixture of curiosity and concern. "The way they talked about you two... there's history there."

History. Such a simple word for such a complex nightmare.

---

Vincent's helicopter touched down at precisely 0900 hours. I stood among the medical staff, dressed in standard-issue fatigues with my hair pulled back in a regulation bun. Professional. Anonymous. Invisible.

But as he stepped from the aircraft, his eyes scanned the crowd and found mine immediately.

The shock in his expression was almost worth the three years of hiding.

"Senator Herrera," I said formally as he approached our group. "Welcome to the Northern Border Medical Facility. I'm Staff Sergeant Elisabeth Jenkins, senior medic."

"Staff Sergeant," he repeated slowly, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. "I wasn't aware the Jenkins family had military connections."

"Recent development," I replied evenly. "If you'll follow me, I'll brief you on our operations."

Throughout the tour, I maintained clinical precision in my reports. Number of patients treated annually. Surgical success rates. Specialized training programs. I spoke of medical protocols and supply chain management as if I'd never known him at all.

But Vincent's attention kept drifting from the medical equipment to my face, as if searching for traces of someone he'd once known.

"Remarkable work you're doing here," he commented as we concluded the formal tour. "I'd like to discuss some of these initiatives further. Perhaps over coffee?"

"I'm afraid my schedule is quite full today, Senator," I replied. "However, Dr. Mitchell can provide any additional information you require."

His jaw tightened slightly. "I wasn't asking, Staff Sergeant."

"Then my answer remains the same, Senator." I met his gaze steadily. "This facility operates on military protocol, not political convenience."

Something flashed in his eyes—frustration, confusion, perhaps even hurt. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately?"

"There's nothing to discuss that couldn't be addressed in official channels," I said coolly.

---

Back in Washington, Sloane paced the elegant hallway of Vincent's penthouse apartment. Her phone buzzed with updates from her security team at the border base.

"Still nothing?" she demanded when the call connected.

"Nothing concrete," the voice replied. "Herrera requested a private meeting with the medic, but she refused."

Sloane's perfectly manicured nails dug into her palm. "What else?"

"He's been asking questions about the Jenkins family. Specifically about their daughter."

A cold dread settled in Sloane's stomach. "How much does he know?"

"Not sure yet. But he's definitely interested in her."

Sloane ended the call and stared out the window at the Washington monument. Something about this felt wrong. Vincent had been distracted since his poisoning—more focused on politics than their relationship. But now he was suddenly taking official trips to remote military bases and asking about the Jenkins family?

She pulled up the security file on her tablet, scanning the information her team had compiled on the mysterious military medic.

"Elisabeth Jenkins," she whispered, studying the service record. "Three years at a border base..."

Her finger froze over the screen as she noticed something odd about the timing. Three years ago—exactly when Vincent had begun his rapid rise to power. Exactly when he'd become more distant, more focused on his career than their relationship.

"Who are you?" Sloane murmured, her suspicion growing. "And what do you have to do with Vincent?"