Home of the Braised (7 page)

THE TWO MYSTERIOUS MEN IN THE BACK OF
the room had begun leaning forward as Davies challenged Sargeant. Now, as another reporter lobbed a softball question at our newly appointed chief usher, the two men put their heads together. From their body language, it seemed that their interest had been piqued. By the reporter or by Sargeant, I couldn’t tell. When the taller one caught me staring again, I squirmed.

Minutes later, the press conference over, two of the PPD agents escorted Mrs. Hyden from the room, another pair herded the reporters out, and the mysterious strangers moved to talk with the agents who remained. We staff members were left to disperse on our own.

The First Lady’s assistants and the press secretary were gone in a flash. “Masterful job, Peter,” I said as I removed my toque and fell into step alongside him. We made our way east, toward his new office. “You handled that wild set of questions very well. What was that all about, anyway?”

“I wish I knew. Did you see how sloppily that young man was dressed? He had no business here.”

“My presence may not have been such a good idea after all.”

“I suspect he would have attacked me whether you were present or not. It’s clear from his manner of questioning, however, that you will continue to be the proverbial thorn in my paw.” Sargeant’s voice dropped, almost as though he was talking to himself. “I can’t say I anticipated such venom.” Blinking, he returned his attention to me. “I fear he’s out to make trouble for me. For you. With that in mind, Olivia, you must take care not to overstep again,” he said. “Is that clear? I will not tolerate shenanigans in this house. I can’t afford to.”

“Shenanigans,” I repeated, deadpan. “You know better.”

He didn’t meet my eyes. “I knew that media attention would be on me, but I’m facing far more scrutiny than I had expected. That was made abundantly clear moments ago. I knew you had a high profile and had established a reputation. What I hadn’t realized was how adversely your actions could affect my position.”

I tried my best to see things from his perspective. He’d just been promoted and within seconds of the official announcement, had been taken to task by a smart-aleck reporter clearly bent on stirring up trouble. “I will do what I did with Paul,” I said, striving to be accommodating. “I will keep you apprised of any unusual activity. Like I did yesterday.”

“See to it that you do,” he said. “I am not a man who enjoys surprises. Especially the sort of surprises you tend to deliver.”

We took a half flight of stairs to the chief usher’s office. I hadn’t been here since Sargeant had moved in, and the change in the room took me by surprise. Where Doug had allowed paperwork to pile up, leaving the area looking haphazard and messy at all times, Sargeant had restored order and class to the small space. The administrative assistant’s desk was clean, too.

“The office looks wonderful,” I said as he took his seat behind the desk. I took one across from him, pulling my toque onto my lap. “How did you get it in shape so fast?”

He ignored the question. “We need to discuss the running of your kitchen.” Opening his calendar, he pulled up a pen and stared at me. “I’d like to make an appointment for such a meeting next week. What is your schedule?”

We were interrupted before I could answer. The two mysterious men from the back of the Family Dining Room walked in, accompanied by two members of the PPD. With almost-perfect precision, they lasered their gazes on me. Sargeant could have been invisible for all they seemed to care.

“Ms. Paras,” one of the agents said, “a moment?”

I assessed them. Not one of the four wore a pleasant expression. “Of course,” I said. Getting up, I shot a confused look to Sargeant.

The chief usher’s brows came together over alert eyes. “We will continue our discussion later,” he said. “You can bring me up to date.”

The agent who’d addressed me took my elbow and spoke to Sargeant. “Don’t count on it.”

I squirmed out of the agent’s grasp as the four tall men walked me across the entrance hall to the Green Room. I knew I was short, but next to these enormous fellows, I felt like a toddler. The area was quiet. Empty. Tour time had ended during the press conference and the floor had been cleared of visitors. One of our maintenance people, buffing the already shiny marble floor, didn’t even look up as we passed.

We arrived to find a uniformed Secret Service agent giving the room a final check to ensure there were no stragglers. When we entered, he looked up in alarm. Without waiting for any of my escorts to say a word, he nodded and ducked out of the room.

When I heard the door shut behind him, I knew I was in trouble.

I fingered my toque, still tight in my hands. “What’s going on?” I asked.

The two PPD agents I knew closed the doors that led to the adjoining rooms, then took positions in front of them. To prevent anyone from walking in, or to prevent me from getting out? The two agents I didn’t know edged me toward a small upholstered wooden chair. The taller of the two men spoke. “Sit down, Ms. Paras.”

He was built like a football running back, muscular and lithe. Dark skinned with black hair clipped close to his scalp, he had a slightly misshapen mouth that told me he’d been born with a cleft lip. His surgeon must have been skilled because the narrow, pale scar that ran vertically to his left nostril barely marred his chiseled good looks. His eyes were so dark I couldn’t tell where the pupils ended and the irises began.

I’d been in enough of these situations over my White House career to know how disconcerting it was to be seated when a person in authority loomed above. “I’d prefer to stand, thank you.” I gave a quick, perfunctory smile as if to say that I wasn’t afraid.

“Sit down,” he repeated. “That is not a request.”

All of a sudden it hit me. “It’s Gav, isn’t it? Did something happen to him? Where is he? Is he all right?” I sank onto the hard cushion of the antique chair, my legs no longer sturdy enough to hold me up.

The agent stood directly in front of me, hands clasped by his waist. At my question he blinked, but otherwise his expression didn’t change. His associate had taken one step back. Neither of them seemed particularly willing to answer.

The room was quiet, save for the sounds of the gardeners buzzing across the expansive south lawn outside the window. The air was still as a placid pond, making me believe I’d cause a ripple if I moved even a little bit. I sat frozen in place, afraid that one of those ripples could result in bad news for Gav.

With my hands clasped tightly in my lap, I asked again. “Please.” Surely if I was polite they’d see I meant no harm. That all I needed to know was that Gav was safe. I kept my voice low to keep from sounding harsh. “Where is he?”

The agent before me didn’t unclasp his hands, but he did raise the fingers of one, silencing me. “You will answer my questions,” he said. “If you are forthright and truthful, you’ll be free to go.”

Tension sharpened my words. “And if I’m
not
forthright and truthful?”

So much for politeness.

“Ms. Paras, I don’t believe you know the gravity of your situation.”

“Wait.” I turned to one of the PPD agents, then the other, but both studiously avoided me. Collecting myself as best I could, I tipped my head up to make direct eye contact. “Who are you?” I asked. “Before I answer a single one of your questions, I deserve to know who’s asking them.”

He sniffed in deeply. “You can call me Agent Tyree.” He unclasped his hands long enough to gesture to the side. “This is my associate, Agent Larsen. We—”

“Tyree?” My exclamation came out reedy and high. “You were the agent at . . .” His sharp glare and a sudden realization on my part allowed me to catch myself before finishing the thought. Tyree had been the man in the gas mask who’d accosted us at the murder scene. The leader. I shot a glance to the two PPD agents, still standing sentry at the doors. I was about to ask if I was free to speak in front of them, but Tyree was way ahead of me.

He lifted his chin toward the PPD agents. “Thank you, gentlemen. We have the situation covered here.”

The two men left. Doors closed behind them with mournful, solid clicks.

My stomach churned. When I’d last seen Gav, he’d been intent on returning to talk to Tyree. I was sure this man knew where Gav was, but it was clear he wasn’t willing to share that information. Or even let me know that Gav was all right. Determined to find out, I attempted to get to my feet, but Tyree was standing too close for me to be able to make it all the way up.

“Last night, Ms. Paras,” he said very quietly, “you saw something that you were not supposed to see.” When he spoke this time, his voice was different. Cold, clinical. Between Gav’s response to this man and his suddenly icy demeanor, I began to realize how much trouble we might be in.

I turned to Tyree’s colleague. Larsen was thinner, with a shaved head that appeared to be carved from ivory. His skeletal look was exacerbated by his sucked-in cheeks. He stared down at me with pale, angry eyes. No help there.

Tyree seemed to be expecting an answer, so I obliged him. “Yes.”

He shifted his weight but still remained too close, too tight for me to stand up. Mostly, when people invaded my personal space, they did so to be friendly. Tyree here was using it to intimidate. I stared up at him, hoping to communicate that he’d better not expect it to work.

“Who have you told?” he asked.

It hurt my neck to keep my face upturned enough to maintain eye contact with Tyree, but his manner brought my stubbornness into full strength.

“You obviously don’t know me,” I said.

Tyree’s nose twitched. “I asked you a question.”

“And I’m telling you that if you knew me, you wouldn’t need to ask. I let the chief usher, Peter Everett Sargeant, know that Gav and I stumbled upon a ‘situation’ and that I may get pulled away”—I fluttered my hands as though to encompass the room—“and I anticipated a debriefing very much like this one. But I shared no details with him. I know better than that.”

Tyree made a sound deep in his throat. Beside him, Larsen coughed.

“What happened at the Ainsley Street Ministry?” I asked, twisting my head back and forth to try to detect humanity in one of their faces. I came up empty. “Who did that to those men?”

“How do you know Evan Bonder?”

I folded my arms, to keep my bubbling anger from allowing me to tremble. “Until you tell me where Gav is and if he’s all right, I have nothing to say to you.”

Tyree’s scar brightened and I swore I saw it pulse. He barely moved his lips as he spoke. “I suggest you cooperate. We can make your life difficult. I trust you understand that.”

Sitting while these two men towered over me was not my idea of a position of strength. I couldn’t help but believe, however, that there was a good reason why they remained civil and I hadn’t been hauled away yet: They wanted to keep my involvement quiet. I had no idea why, and right now, I didn’t care. All I cared about was Gav.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “I’ll answer every question you throw at me as long as you tell me about Gav.”

Larsen turned toward the windows, his disgust obvious.

Tyree shook his head.

I tried again. “In case Gav hasn’t mentioned it to you himself, he’s injured. He’s on medical leave.”

“I am well aware of his status. Now, how did you know Evan Bonder?”

Fine, I thought. I’ll answer that much. Maybe then they’ll answer me. “I don’t,” I said. “That is, I didn’t. Gav wanted me to meet Evan. Said he was an old friend.”

“He took you to meet him Thursday,” Tyree said, deadpan. “Special Agent Gavin chose
Thursday
for an impromptu visit.”

“He did.”

“Why?” Tyree’s black-hole eyes narrowed. “What was so special about Thursday?”

“You make it sound like Gav should have known Evan and his group were in danger.”

“Did he?”

“No.” I pulled in a breath. “If you must know, Gav and I plan to be married.”

For the first time since I’d met him, Tyree reacted. From his expression I could tell this wasn’t news, but the revulsion on his face was impossible to miss. “Go on.”

“We want to—we hoped to—get married quickly. When we discovered that the courthouse was backed up for eight weeks, Gav thought of his friend Evan.” I spoke quickly, keeping as succinct as I could. “Apparently Evan was a minister and Gav thought that we might ask him to perform the ceremony for us.” I left out the part about Evan having called Gav, asking for help. Gav could share that if he wanted to. It would be hearsay coming from me, anyway. At least that’s how I rationalized keeping mum with that information. “Unfortunately . . . as you are well aware, Evan and several others had been murdered by the time we got there.”

Tyree’s eyes tightened. “Who said anything about murder?”

Flabbergasted, I shook my head. “You saw the bodies. They were bound and gagged. What would you call it?”

“Were any of the victims still alive when you got there?”

That took me aback. We hadn’t had time to check. I’d wanted to, but as soon as Gav had detected the scent, he’d rushed me back out the way we’d come. I hadn’t been able to check any of the victims for a pulse. “I don’t think so,” I said.