Affairs of Steak (23 page)

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said as he guided them both to Mrs. Wentworth’s apartment. “Ollie hasn’t gone in yet, and I want her to take a look before we call the police. Can you sit tight for a while? We’ll come let you know when it’s clear.”

Grudgingly they allowed themselves to be safely tucked away.

“Come on,” Gav said as we pushed through the door, “take a look.”

For the second time in as many days, I wandered through my own home in the wake of a potential break-in. At first glance nothing looked out of place. I made my way into the living room, then the kitchen, looking for signs of a robbery. Maybe I’d watched too many TV shows, but I expected my sofa cushions to be sliced open and tossed on the floor, the kitchen chairs to be upended, and every drawer pulled out. But the place looked completely normal. “Maybe I left the door unlocked?” I said.

Gav motioned for me to follow him. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy, but I had to look in here.”

“Here” was my bedroom. Almost as I’d left it. Almost.

“I never leave my drawers open,” I said, walking over to them and peering in. Nothing seemed to be missing but the fact that a stranger had been pawing through my underwear gave me a sick feeling of violation. I swallowed as I poked around. The little bit of jewelry I owned was still exactly where I’d left it. “I can’t tell for sure, but I don’t think anything is missing.”

“What about in here?” Gav stood in the hallway, ever reluctant to invade my space. I followed him into the second bedroom.

“Oh,” I said, “they can’t have taken that.”

Gav waited.

I indicated the only clear and dust-free spot on my desk. “My computer. It was old—like, should have been replaced five years ago old. It’s clunky, slow, and can’t be worth much, even for parts.” My voice rose, as though explaining its lack of worth would somehow magically bring it back. “Why
would anybody steal it?” Ripped away from its printer and monitor, my trusty desktop tower was glaringly absent. I stepped closer to my desk. Whoever had taken it had also taken all my notes and papers. I tended to leave my desk area messy, with piles of to-dos and have-dones that I cleared out about twice a year. My last purge must have been at least four months ago.

“Maybe it wasn’t the computer. Maybe it’s what’s on it.”

I made a circle of the room, fighting anger against an unknown enemy. I wanted to lash out, to grab whomever it was and demand they return my property—now.

“Do you think it was that Brad?”

Gav didn’t answer.

“What did they think they were going to get?” I asked, trying to tamp down my growing irritation. “I use it for recipes and e-mail. I’m no big shot with access to classified information. There’s nothing particularly confidential about how to prepare spinach, or notes I’ve made for the secretary of state’s birthday party.”

Gav waited a moment for me to calm myself before he spoke. “Secretary of State Quinones’s birthday party,” he said as though thinking aloud. “Did you keep notes about what happened that day when you and Sargeant discovered the murder?”

“Not on the computer. I did jot down a few impressions on paper…” I looked around, trying to remember where I’d left them. “…and a few about Brad—a description and a loose sketch—after I got home that night. I did that right after you left. Just to jog my memory if the need ever arose.” Whoever had taken my computer had taken every scrap of paper around it, too.

“Are they here?”

My shoulders slumped. “Nope. Gone.”

Gav didn’t comment. “Anything else missing?”

I let out a little squeak of disappointment. “My date book.” Frantically, I started opening drawers and rummaging through them. “I keep all my important information in my date book.”

“You don’t keep your calendar on your cell phone?”

“I keep all the White House dates on my phone and on the computer at work,” I said, “but I’m talking about my personal date book. I keep that separate. Call me old-fashioned, but it’s nice to be able to open it up and see a week at a glance.”

“Think, Ollie. What could the thieves learn from your date book that they don’t already know?”

I’d gone through every drawer. Disgusted by the loss, I folded my arms and frowned at the floor. “Not anything important. I have dry-cleaning to pick up. A dentist appointment. An annual physical. Stuff like that. A couple of upcoming local foodie events I thought about attending. Now I’m going to have to call around and try to re-create it all.”

Gav was making notes in a book of his own. “Can you remember what you had planned for the upcoming week?”

“Why?”

“Can you?”

“Sure, but I don’t understand why you need to know.”

“Give me whatever you remember,” he said.

That’s when I understood. “You think they want to know where I’ll be, don’t you? You think they’re targeting me.”

He looked up, eyes clouded with worry. “The idea crossed my mind.”

I leaned my back end against the desk’s edge. “Oh geez.” Outwardly I remained calm, but inside I was seething with fury and no small amount of terror. “I have a backup service for the computer. I can get all my files restored as soon as I have a place to put them.”

Gav watched me.

“What do I do?” I asked.

“For starters, you don’t circumvent your bodyguard. We’re going to get them back here to keep a close watch over you.”

That made sense. My stomach felt weak and wobbly; my legs, too. I leaned forward to place my hands on my knees.

Gav stepped closer. “You okay?”

From this lower position, I could see under my printer. Something shiny stared back at me. “Hey, what’s that?”

Before Gav could stop me, I reached over and grabbed it.

“Wait—”

“They stole my notes but left my pen,” I said, holding up the gift I’d received only the day before. “Probably because it’s inscribed. Too easy to trace.” I thought about it. “Or they just missed it.”

Gav paid no attention to the pen. He was glaring at me. “Have I taught you nothing?” I opened my mouth, but he interrupted. “You must never touch anything suspicious.”

“This isn’t suspicious, this is my pen.”

“Ollie.” His voice was a warning. “What do you remember from our discussion in the briefing room?”

He was referring to shortly after we’d first met and I’d been the beneficiary of a one-on-one tutorial on bombs after skipping out on a group lesson.

I smiled up at him. “That I thought you were cute?”

His eyes narrowed, but I could tell he was amused, if only for a moment. “You’ve just walked into a crime scene,” he said. “Everything is suspect. You can’t pick things up willy-nilly.”

“Willy-nilly?” I parroted, hoping to bring a little levity into the conversation. When he didn’t smile this time, I ceded the point. “You’re right. Completely. I should have been more careful. I’m actually kind of embarrassed to have made that mistake.”

“Are you? Or are you just embarrassed that I caught you making it?” This time he did smile.

I began to shake. The knowledge that intruders—possibly killers—had been here finally sunk in. Annoyed with myself for my vulnerability, I tried to apologize. “I’m not usually this weak,” I said. “I was fine until—”

“You’re not weak, Ollie, you’re strong.”

I remembered being little, maybe eleven years old, and getting picked on, badly, on the way home from school. I was fine going up the stairs to our house. I was fine walking through the door. I was fine until I saw my mom coming
around the corner to greet me. That’s when I lost it. I felt like that now. If I’d been alone, handling this myself, I’d have kept it together. But now, I trembled like a kitten in a storm.

“It’s okay,” he said as though reading my mind. “I’m here.”

I wanted to press my face into his chest and not look up, not see the evidence of killers cruising my property. But I wasn’t eleven years old anymore and that wasn’t my style. I took a deep breath, let it out, and took a step back.

He watched me closely.

Making a slow circuit of the room that seemed naked without all my papers and without my dusty computer tower, I said, “Okay, let’s do this.”

“That’s my girl,” he said.

“Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to catch these guys. What now?”

“We call the police.”

Two officers arrived shortly, and though they talked with James at the front desk and asked me typical questions, they warned that this crime would likely go unsolved. “Unless we get lucky and the intruder left a fingerprint, and it matches one in our database…”

“I understand,” I said.

They both eyed Gav, who stood next to me but didn’t say a word.

“You live here too, sir?” one of them asked, eyeing the bulge in the side of Gav’s jacket.

“No.”

“You have a permit to carry a firearm?”

Gav pulled out his Secret Service ID. The two officers nodded in sync when they saw it. The other one asked, “Is there some sort of security concern—”

“Ms. Paras is a White House employee,” he said.

That seemed to satisfy them. For the moment.

As they prepared to leave, one turned back and pointed to me, “Hey, weren’t you in the station the other day? Because you found that old guy who got lost?”

I glanced at Gav, whose face was expressionless.

“That was me,” I said. “I went over some mug shots, too.”

The cop grinned as he trundled out the door. “I knew you looked familiar. Have yourself a good night.”

The minute they were gone, Mrs. Wentworth popped in, Stan following close behind. “What happened? What did they steal?” she asked.

As I tried to assure her that very little was missing, she shook her head. “It’s not your things they were after, Ollie. It was you.”

“I agree,” Gav said. “We’re bringing back her security detail. I’ll call them now.”

Mrs. Wentworth gripped Gav’s arm to stop him from walking away. “Maybe you should stay here tonight.” Her knobby hand tightened. “Don’t you think that would be best?”

Gav gave me a sideways glance. “You’re lucky to have neighbors who look out for you,” he said. Placing his hand gently over Mrs. Wentworth’s, he smiled down at her. “As tempting a suggestion as that may be, it would be better to have several agents here guarding her rather than just one.”

Before he could turn away again, I stopped him. “I’m not arguing the security detail, but how are you going to explain it?” I asked. “I mean…”

“She means that if you order the guards, then everybody will know you two are seeing each other socially,” Mrs. Wentworth said, wagging her eyebrows.

Stan, who had been silent up until now, piped up. “You mean he’s supposed to be a secret?”

Mrs. Wentworth jabbed him with her elbow. “They’re keeping this relationship under wraps.” Another eyebrow wag directed to Gav. “Aren’t you? It won’t be long before everybody figures it out.”

If my apartment hadn’t just been broken into, I might have enjoyed the interchange. “Gav,” I said, placing my hand over his, “let me do it.”

I watched indecision work across his face.

“I’ll call Tom,” I said.

Mrs. Wentworth shot Stan a look, which he clearly didn’t understand. “Uh-oh,” she said. “Let’s head back now, honey.”

When they were gone, Gav put his phone away. “You’re right. Better it comes from you. At least for now. But I’m staying until I know you’re safe.”

Tom was surprised to hear from me so late on a Sunday night. I told him what was up and he was immediately solicitous. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“I’m fine. I wasn’t here when it happened.”

“Where were you?”

I hadn’t expected that question. “Out.”

“By yourself?”

I didn’t feel like answering that. “I just wanted to let you know. What’s next is up to you. I’m not asking for a guard detail, you know that.”

“But you’re going to get one. It was smart of you to call me before things got any worse. Seems like you’re making some good decisions lately. What’s changed?”

I pulled my cell phone away from my ear and gave it a dirty look. Gav watched, confused. Back into the receiver, I said, “I’m so glad you approve. Now, before I hang up, is there anything else you need from me? Will the guard come upstairs so I can meet him or her? So I know who’s safe to let in?”

“I didn’t mean that the way it came out, Ollie.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I’m sorry. I guess I was trying to ask something without asking it.”

I didn’t bite, but he asked anyway.

“Your friend Gav seems to take a special interest in your comings and goings. I’m just wondering if he’s giving you advice. It’s good advice, I mean. It’s just not like you to…” He blew out a breath. “This is all coming out wrong.”

“It was my idea to call you,” I said. That much wasn’t a lie. “So I guess there’s hope for me yet, huh?”

“Again, I’m sorry. The agents should be there in less than twenty. I’ll have them call your cell when they arrive.”

“Thanks, Tom.”

When I hung up, Gav looked at me expectantly. “What was the look for?”

“Old wounds.”

Gav looked sorry he’d asked.

MONDAY MORNING DAWNED AS I RODE IN the backseat of a Secret Service vehicle. To the best of my knowledge, it was the same one assigned to me before. Either that or it was decked out identically, with its hard black seats, worn chrome trim, and bulletproof windows. Agent Scorroco was again my driver, but the big difference was this time two agents were assigned to stand sentry outside my apartment all day while I was gone.