Home of the Braised (15 page)

When I hung up and handed the phone back to the officer, he smiled. “Husband?”

I stared out the window. “Almost.”

GAV HADN’T BEEN THE ONLY ONE WAITING FOR
me when I got home. He’d been joined by Mrs. Wentworth, Stan, and James, all demanding that I tell them what happened, and asking me repeatedly if I was really okay. I did my best to assure them that I was fine, really. My legs were shaking and all I wanted was to disappear, but I put on a brave face and made them believe me.

It took far too long to break away, but when we finally did, Gav put his arm around me. “You really are a trouper, you know that? You’ve got nerves of steel.”

“You didn’t see me when all those rats came over to say hello.” I shuddered. “Hardly nerves of steel. I was more like a quivering bowl of jelly.”

“Why don’t you lie on the couch while I make dinner. Can I get you anything?”

“What I really want is a shower,” I said, holding up my hands to inspect their filth. “This grime feels bone deep.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll keep busy. You shout if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine.” I started to turn away but he was looking at me in an odd way. “What?” I asked.

“Ollie.” He raised his chin, worked his lips several times as though struggling with which words to say next. I’d seen Gav’s emotions laid bare only a couple of times. He stared at me now with his jaw so tightly clenched, I was afraid his teeth might begin to crumble. Every inch of his hard body vibrated—not with fear, but fury. I wanted to touch him, to dissipate the electrical charge of anger that was so obviously shooting through him right now. I held back, though. Waited. He had more to say.

The room, the walls, the furniture between us fell away and it was just he and I and that unwavering gaze of his. Brightness shimmered his eyes.

“Ollie,” he said again. His voice cracked. “We will find out who did this to you.”

“I know we will.”

He looked like a man ready to take on the world, beat it up, and ask, “Who’s next?” Instead, he said, “And when we do, they will answer to me.”

I closed the distance between us and laid a hand on his arm. “No,” I said softly, “they’ll answer to
us
.”

He pulled me into him, wrapping both arms around me, holding tight. With my head against his chest, I heard him take several deep swallows, fighting for composure.

He held me for a long moment, kissing the top of my head. “They will. They’ll answer to us.”

• • •

WHEN I EMERGED FROM MY SHOWER, SKIN
pink from being scrubbed clean, I sniffed the kitchen air. “Smells good.”

“Toasted sandwiches. Lots of fresh veggies and plenty of cheese. Hope that’s okay by you.”

“I’m starving,” I said. He’d set the kitchen table and I sat down. “I guess ducking a Metro train will do that to you.”

He pointed to the landline phone. “I turned that off. It’s been ringing like crazy. Seems the newshounds weren’t thrown off your scent for very long.”

I ran my fingers through my wet hair. “This isn’t going to go over well with the Secret Service, is it?”

He half turned and gave me a “Seriously?” look.

“I guess I’d better get the first part over with,” I said. I turned the ringer to the landline phone back on. Sure enough, it started jingling. My caller ID provided a number I didn’t recognize. When the caller gave up without leaving a message, I lifted the receiver and dialed the White House Secret Service office. They immediately patched me through to Tom.

“You’re home?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

“I guess you heard, huh?”

Gav gave me a look that said, “What did you expect?”

“Every news outlet is reporting your alleged jump in front of a moving Metro train. You even have your own Twitter hashtag.”

I closed my eyes. “Please tell me you’re joking.” When I looked up, Gav was watching. I mouthed, “Twitter.” He shook his head. “My phone is gone,” I said. “I would have called you sooner, but . . .”

“I’ll get a replacement out to you immediately. Hang on.” I heard him direct someone in his office to deliver a new White-House-issue phone, on the double. A second later he returned to the conversation. “You’re staying home the rest of the night, I assume.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be there in less than an hour.”

I wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t the first time I’d lost a cell phone while fighting for my life. Last time that had happened, I’d been given a new one almost immediately, too. “Thanks, Tom.”

“I know you didn’t jump, Ollie. What happened?”

“I was pushed.”

I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Who?”

“A woman. I only got a brief look at her face. All I can tell you is that she was trying to pass herself off as homeless—a bag lady—but there was something odd about her.”

“Why would she push you?”

Almost as if Gav had heard the question, he turned. I shrugged. “No idea.”

“Are you okay?” Tom asked.

“I’m a little shaken up, I suppose.”

“Taking a few days off?”

I barked a laugh. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. “With the big Durasi dinner coming up in less than a week? Are you kidding?”

It sounded as though Tom chuckled. “Now I know you’re all right. Do me a favor, give me a heads-up when you’re in tomorrow and I’ll make time to meet with you. I want to ask you more about this. For now, however”—he sighed—“we’re scrambling to get a press release out that says you suffered an unfortunate accident but that you’re healthy and unharmed. We’re trying to stop the media spin that you’re so overwhelmed with responsibility that you’ve become suicidal.”

“Give me a break,” I said, anger stirring. “There were witnesses who saw me being pushed.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not an optimal headline, either.”

“Please, whatever, try to make it stop.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

• • •

AFTER DINNER, WITH MY NEW PHONE SAFELY
arrived and charging on the kitchen countertop—thank goodness they’d allowed me to keep my cell phone number—Gav and I sat on the sofa together. He started to put his arm around me, but I scooted sideways to face him.

“I really need to hold you tonight, Ollie,” he said. “When I think—”

I couldn’t let him go down that path. “We need to talk first.”

He almost seemed to have been expecting that. “Go ahead.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that this supposed homeless woman targeted me. Not just any commuter—me. Why? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself.”

Gav’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“Do you think this could have anything to do with what we saw”—I took a deep breath—“at your friend Evan’s place? You and I were pulled in for some very odd questioning. They asked us both if any of the victims had spoken before they died.”

Gav remained silent.

“There’s something not right about that situation. Why did the murders of five men make it to the news as a carbon monoxide poisoning? How did Tyree and Larsen know to be there mere moments after the men were dead? I mean, it was so precise, it was almost choreographed.”

“I thought the same thing.”

“Could whoever have killed Evan and his colleagues be out to get us now, too?”

“Tyree and Larsen didn’t know what they were going to find at Evan’s,” he said. “At least that’s what they tell me.”

“That doesn’t make sense, based on what we saw.”

“We’re not getting the whole story, that’s for sure.” Gav leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. “Tyree and Larsen had been warned about a toxin. I got that much from Agent Taglia.”

“You’ve talked with him?”

“I managed to corner him today while you were at work. He wasn’t exactly happy to hear from me but he’s a decent guy. Always tries to do what’s right. He told me what he could.”

“That’s a bit of a turnaround.”

Gav gave me a sideways glance. “After my interrogation, Taglia seemed more willing to help. He thought that the way Tyree and Larson handled my questioning was over the top. The fact that they came for you sealed it. There’s more at play here than either of us realize. The thing is, I don’t believe Taglia knows the whole story, either.”

“Did you find out more about the other men who were killed?”

Gav nodded. “The other names didn’t mean anything to me, so I did a little investigating on my own. I was able to come up with information on three of them. Pretty much the kind of people you might expect to visit Evan. They all had rap sheets, mostly drug-related. Two of them were working hard at getting clean. The other one was just starting a detox program. From their addresses and what I could discover, it seems they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Very sad.”

“What about the fourth guy?”

“Jason Chaff.” Gav spread his hands. “There are individuals with that name living in the United States, but none of them around here. It’s as though he’s the invisible man. I’ve got nothing on this guy, and believe me, I’ve done some serious digging.”

“So what are you saying? That he was using an alias?”

“That’s the only thing that makes sense right now.”

I knew Gav would continue to follow this lead, even though right now it looked like a dead end. In the meantime, I needed clarification. “Tomorrow, when I talk with Tom about the incident on the Metro . . .”

“Don’t forget to make time to talk with the police, too.”

I shook my head. “That woman is long gone. I’d bet on it.”

“You never know.”

“Tomorrow, when I talk with Tom,” I began again, “how much can I tell him about Evan and the others?”

Gav leaned back, thinking. “At this point, I’d rather you not offer anything.”

“You don’t trust him?”

Gav fingered my hair, looking sad for the briefest moment. “I do trust him. But he’s in a position where he needs to delegate, and I don’t know everyone he might choose to work with. Not well enough to trust
them
. After I check a few more things, I’ll talk with Tom myself. I suspect this update is better coming from me, anyway. If he has questions or asks you for specifics, have him call me. Until then, I’d like to keep the Ainsley Street business to ourselves as much as possible.”

“AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHO THE WOMAN
was who pushed you?” Tom asked in his office the next morning.

“I saw who did it, if that’s what you’re asking. I told you. A woman trying to look like a bag lady. She wasn’t, though, I’m convinced of that.”

Tom sat forward, clasping his hands. There was no one else in the room with us, but he kept his voice low. “Why you, Ollie? Why always you?”

I matched him, leaning toward the desk. “Don’t you think I ask myself that question all the time?”

He sat back. “Why now, then?”

Again I answered with a question of my own. “Don’t you think I’d like to know that?”

He studied me for a moment. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“A lot, I think,” I finally answered. “But for more than that you’ll need to talk to Gav.”

Tom’s mouth twisted. “I’ll do that. Today.” He blew out a breath. “Speaking of Gav, I hear congratulations are in order.”

That surprised me. I knew word traveled fast in the White House, but I didn’t realize this update had made its way to the West Wing. “Ah . . . thank you,” I said.

“Agent Gavin is a lucky man.”

Despite the fact that Tom and I were not suited to each other, we’d had some good times together. It was taking a lot for him to offer his good wishes, just as it had been hard for me to offer mine when he’d moved on. “Thank you, again.”

He nodded acknowledgment. “Next on the agenda: a bodyguard.”

“For me?” I felt my shoulders slump. “Not again.”

He shot me a warning look. “No argument. It’s a done deal.”

“Who’s my lucky bodyguard this time?” I asked.

“Don’t know yet. One of us will get back to you. Let me know if you have any problems, okay?”

I stood up. “Thanks, Tom.”

He gave me a lopsided smile. “Do me a favor, Ollie. Try to be more careful.”

• • •

I RETURNED TO THE KITCHEN TO FIND BUCKY
clenching a wooden spoon in his raised, trembling fist. His bald head was red as a tomato, his teeth bared behind angry lips. I half expected blood to come bursting out his ears as he enunciated his words, one bite at a time. “That. Is. Not. How. We. Do. It.”

Across from him, with his back to me, Virgil leaned forward, both hands propped on the gleaming countertop, fingers curled white around its edge. “Maybe it’s time you opened your mind, then.”

“Being in charge of the First Lady’s tasting this
one time
doesn’t put you in charge of this kitchen permanently.” Bucky didn’t make eye contact with me, but I could tell that he’d seen me walk in.

“You’re afraid. I know you are,” Virgil said. “All I need is this one foot in the door, and before you know it”—he pointed to Bucky’s chest—“you’re history.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “And before you know it, she will be, too.”

I took that as my opportunity. “She, who?” I asked, smiling as fake-pleasantly as I could. “You aren’t talking about Cyan, because I guarantee you, she’s not going anywhere.”

The look on his face was a combination of panic and anger when he turned. He glanced back at Bucky as though blaming him for not alerting him that I’d entered the room.

I wasn’t finished. “I don’t have any intention of letting Cyan go. She’s an incredibly valuable member of this team.” Feigning surprise, I clasped a hand to my chest. “You couldn’t possibly mean me, could you?” I walked around Virgil to stand next to Bucky, a symbolic show of solidarity. “I hope you aren’t plotting behind my back”—I waited a beat—“again.” To Bucky, I said, “What’s the problem?”

He’d lowered the spoon to the countertop, but his fingers were so jittery, the wooden utensil beat a ringing rhythm against the stainless steel. “Virgil intends to host the tasting here. In the kitchen.”

“You’re joking.”

The spoon shot back up and Bucky gave me a look that said, “Would I kid you about this?”

“No,” I said to Virgil. “Use the Family Dining Room. Mrs. Hyden prefers that.”

“How do you know she wouldn’t prefer to taste our samples down here?”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” I said, “Mrs. Hyden is the First Lady of the United States of America. I will not have her scrounging for food as she makes her way around this countertop. I will not have her standing as she eats. Not only that, she invites several guests to join her. Staff, mostly. Did you forget that? This is a small space. It’s a busy work area. That’s not the experience you’re striving for.”

“If you would give the idea a chance . . .”

“Virgil,” I said slowly, “we talked about this. Team player. Remember?”

He didn’t answer. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “Have it your way,” and stormed out of the room.

Bucky waited until he was gone. “If I were a lesser man, I might be tempted to say I told you so.”

“Good thing you’re better than that,” I said, but I couldn’t help wondering if maybe Bucky was right.

• • •

I GLANCED AROUND AT THE SAMPLES VIRGIL
had prepared. He had several items warming in one oven and two trays in another. He stood at the stovetop, stirring a pot that sent aromatic steam twisting into the air above it. When he caught me watching, he clanked the lid back down and moved to my end of the room. “Excuse me,” he said before opening the oven. He blocked my view of the interior with his body, which I thought was odd.

“Where are the butlers?” I asked. “Shouldn’t they be here by now?” When we’d first arranged for the tasting, I’d taken it upon myself to contact the head butler, Jackson, to ensure that adequate staff was assigned to assist us.

“I’m fine. You can leave now.”

“I have no reason to leave.”

Bucky, Cyan, and I had worked hard on creating an ambitious menu, and I hoped to heaven that this tasting would go off without a hitch. Once the First Lady approved of our choices—which we expected her to do—we could get busy amassing ingredients. The sooner, the better. I skirted the narrow area behind Virgil and grabbed a hot pad, intending to lift the lid of a simmering sauté pan to see how preparations were going.

“Don’t touch that.”

I turned. “Why not?”

“That needs to remain covered until it’s time to serve.”

I’d memorized the menu and every step of every process. I knew these were the vegetables for the lobster tail sauce. “No, it doesn’t.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

I took a deep breath and tried to quell my annoyance. I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. I pointed to a nearby saucepan, which, if I was correct about what it held, should have been simmering uncovered. “I hope you intend to combine these soon. The sauce takes a while to thicken.”

“I don’t need your help,” he said, slamming the oven door. Before I could say another word, he was next to me, his hot pad pressing against mine, preventing me from opening the lid of the sauté pan.

“What’s going on here?” I asked. “What don’t you want me to see?”

“You put me in charge. I’m in charge. Why don’t you leave me alone and allow me to do things my way?”

I was about to respond when Mrs. Hyden walked in, accompanied by Josh, seven assistants, and a collection of Secret Service agents. “Good afternoon,” she said.

Virgil wiped his hands on his apron to greet the First Lady. “Denise!”

I nearly choked.
Denise?

“Come in,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her into the room. Her entourage followed, single file. “Wonderful, I’m so happy you all could make it.”

The grumbling, frowning Virgil had abruptly transformed into a cheery man I didn’t recognize. As he urged everyone to come around the center countertop, Josh broke away from the group and sidled up to me. “Hi, Ollie,” he said, beaming. “Did Virgil tell you that I made breakfast this morning for my family all by myself?”

I snaked another look at my colleague. Smiling and chatting, he practically bounced with enthusiasm as he worked to space everyone out evenly. “There,” he said, “plenty of room for all.”

“Did you?” I asked Josh. “He didn’t mention that.”

From across the kitchen, I glared at my diva staff member. Clearly, there were other things he hadn’t mentioned, either.

• • •

AN HOUR LATER THE TASTING WAS COMPLETE
and Mrs. Hyden thanked us on her way out. “With the few exceptions we discussed,” she said to Virgil, “the menu is approved.”

I stood outside the doorway as her assistants paraded past. The Secret Service agents were waiting for Mrs. Hyden to escort her and Josh to the family’s quarters upstairs.

“I didn’t really like the beets with green beans today,” Josh said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Didn’t we have that once before? I liked it last time. Did Virgil change the recipe?”

“Good catch, Josh,” I said, working as hard as I could to maintain my composure. “We
have
served that dish before but today’s version had a twist.”

“Yeah. What was that?”

I wish I knew.
I winked and pointed to Virgil. “He kept that a secret, but I’ll find out.”

“Whatever it was”—Josh widened his eyes and shook his head—“don’t let him add that ingredient again.”

“Oh, I’m going to make sure Virgil doesn’t do
anything
like that again,” I said.

Mrs. Hyden came around the corner and touched my arm. She lowered her head and spoke quietly. “This was . . . unconventional.”

Behind us, in the kitchen, I could hear Virgil clearing away the dirty plates. He wasn’t waiting for the cleaning staff this time. Probably because the First Lady was here to notice. All for show. That was Virgil.

When faced with situations like this one I usually preferred to take the high road, but this time I couldn’t let it go. “The setting was Virgil’s idea,” I said, “but ultimately my mistake for putting him in charge. I thought a little extra responsibility might do him good.”

Two light lines formed between her brows. “And the items we nixed from the menu?”

I’d gone this far, might as well be fully honest. “He made unauthorized changes to some of them.”

The look on her face was one I didn’t fully understand. She was annoyed, clearly, but seemed resigned to the fact. We could hear Virgil humming as he worked. Mrs. Hyden heaved a sigh. “If you would like us to sample those items again, made the way you intended them to be served, we’ll be happy to do so. There isn’t a great deal of time left before the dinner, but your choices are usually spot on. With the misfires this time, I had a feeling Virgil was involved.”

I didn’t get the impression she was lying to me, but if she understood that Virgil’s presence was more a hindrance than a help, why was he kept on staff at all? Especially in the prestigious role as family chef?

I was about to be thoroughly impertinent and ask her, when she continued, “You and your staff always come through, Ollie. Your choices have always been impeccable. No need for a formal tasting. I’ll sample whatever you send up, when you can. I’m certain we will wind up with the original menu, exactly as you proposed.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate your faith in us.”

Josh piped up, “And you’ll make those beans the old way, right?”

I smiled down at him. “You know it.”

As they left with their escorts, I steeled myself. It was time for a showdown with Virgil.