Blonde Ops (22 page)

I nearly jumped out of my skin, and whirling around, saw Taj standing right behind me, hands in his pockets, looking very
GQ.
Was he here all the time now?

“Kevin would kill me,” I said, “and speaking of him, we should probably—”

“Please?”

I considered. It wasn't like he hadn't already gotten a glimpse of the clothes. I'd been hanging and fluffing them where the entire staff oohed over them. Plus Sophie had learned that the designers had already leaked rough drawings. Taj came and went through the
Edge
offices with little supervision, courtesy of Candace. If Parker were here, I couldn't imagine that it would have been any different.

Mrs. Jennings would be seen at the Vatican, photographed by the world press, paparazzi, and tourists, so it would probably be all right, but considering the previous evening's interrogation, I wasn't taking any chances. Caution won out.

“Sorry.”

“Bec.” He put a hand on my arm, practically pleading.

I tugged him toward the hall to get away from everyone. I kept my voice low but tried not to look like I was. People's ears pricked up if they even thought you were whispering. “It's not that I don't trust you—well, actually, I don't. Not completely.”

“Smart girl,” he said with a one of those rare smiles that made my heart skip.

“Seriously, I got the third degree from Candace last night because I was out late. With you. At the Forte.” I hoped the meaning was clear.

He raised his brows at me, but his face registered no shock or panic. I was anxious to lock the ridiculously expensive clothes up immediately so the subject would be dropped.

“Just one picture. Please.” His dark eyes were magnetic.

Stay strong, Bec.…

It was nice to know I had some sort of advantage, even if it was small and silly. I gave him a firm “No,” then turned to get the belt and earrings that went with the green dress. When I turned back, Taj was rearranging the blue suit on its hanger.

“Don't touch! It's silk!” I hissed. “Are your hands clean?” I rushed over to examine the cape. No damage. I exhaled in relief.

He laughed dryly. “Come on, Bec. I know not to have dirty, sweaty, or wet hands when touching silk.”

“You're going to get me in trouble if Kevin finds out I let you near the clothes. And I asked you not to touch them. I'm putting them away.” I rolled the rack into the newly cleared storage room and locked the door. After delivering the key to Kevin I went downstairs. Taj had seated himself on one of the couches in the common room with a thoughtful look. Was he sorry?

The front door flew open and Case barreled in, stone-faced. Mignone and Ortiz followed, one on each side of Mrs. Jennings. She looked all right, until she turned and I could see red dripping off the side of her beautiful face. I felt myself go numb until I realized it was too bright and too orange to be blood. It was caked in her hair and splattered all over her shoes. Lidia came next, her face and the pastel suit she was wearing smudged with pulpy red-orange muck.

“Mrs. Jennings!” Candace flew down the steps. “What happened?!”

“There was a crowd waiting outside the prime minister's office,” Case explained. “They started shouting and throwing things as soon as she walked out the door.”

“I'm
fine
,” Mrs. Jennings said firmly. “Poor Lidia got the worst of it.” She looked at her secretary and shook her head. “I'm so sorry—”

Lidia drew herself up. “I'm all right, Mrs. Jennings. A few tomatoes won't kill me.”

Everyone, but especially Candace, looked worried. I moved closer to Ortiz.

“Protesters?” I whispered.

She nodded grimly, her jaw set. “You come to expect these things. Not everyone is happy with our government's policies, and frustrated people are looking for someone to blame.”

“I'm glad no one got hurt,” I started, but then Ortiz turned to me, her gaze fierce—so much so that it made me back up a step.

“The police arrested four armed men in that crowd. If they'd decided to use their guns—”

“Let's get you cleaned up,” Candace said to Mrs. Jennings, guiding her to the studio. “I hope you won't bruise where you were hit.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Jennings climbed up the steps next to Candace. Ortiz and the other agents trailed after.

Taj watched them go, then turned and gathered his things. “I've gotta go make a call.”

“I'll see—” I never got the rest of my sentence out, he was gone that fast.

Okay.

It was quiet again. All the important people had gone up to the studio to fuss over Mrs. Jennings and Lidia.

Opportunity …

I crept upstairs. The studio room door was ajar. Murmuring voices rippled out. They'd be busy with Mrs. Jennings for a little while, but still, I probably didn't have much time, and who knew when I'd get this chance again. I slipped into Serena and Kevin's shared office.

There was no unusual equipment on or near Serena's desk. Crouching, I examined the cables connected to her computer. There was one connected to the printer, another to the wall outlet. And all dusty, as if they'd been there a while, not recently replaced, as the date on her receipt would suggest.

But maybe she'd bought them for someone else. I checked Kevin's computer. No new cables. Noiselessly, I padded over to Parker/Candace's empty office, noting the studio room door. People were still talking. So far, so good.

I found the same thing in Candace's office—dust-covered cables connecting the computer tower to a printer and scanner. Nothing new.

“Miss Jackson?”

I whipped around. There was Varon standing in the door. Didn't they need him in the studio to fuss over Mrs. Jennings? Hold Candace's train?

“Hi, Varon.”

He narrowed his dark eyes at me. “I don't need to ask you—”

“What I'm doing here?” I said overly cheerful.

What do I say, what do I say,
what do I say
? I spied one of Candace's crystal glasses, but I'd already used that excuse. Would the truth be better than a lie at this point? I took a deep breath.

“There were these cables on Serena's expense report.”

He cocked a skeptical brow.

“And I was checking to see it if was legit.”

“You were conducting a forensic investigation?” he said doubtfully.

I shrugged. “Guess so. Believe it or not, Varon, that's the truth.”

Varon sighed and shook his head. I don't know if he believed me, but that was my story and I was sticking to it. If it stuck in his head, he might mention it to Candace. And if she gave any credence to my suspicions, she might give Serena a closer look, but I doubted it. More likely, she'd be convinced that I was up to no good. Nothing had been touched, so there really wasn't anything she could do to me.

“Varon,” Candace called.

Motioning me out of the office, he waited for me to leave before closing the door and trotting back to the studio.

On my way down to the kitchen, I tried to work out what I'd discovered. The cables Serena bought could definitely have been used to tap into the internal systems on a car—but nothing indicated she was capable of that. Even if she somehow managed it, I didn't think she'd want to do away with the First Lady. But I could see why she'd want Parker out of the way. With the biggest photo shoot in the magazine's history coming up, Serena would have been top Chihuahua—if Candace hadn't leapfrogged over her into the big chair. And it was obvious to everyone that she and Candace were not simpatico, although maybe she was playing all of us: after all, the best disguise for intelligence was to feign ignorance.

Before I could accuse her, I had to be sure.

Somewhat cleaned up, Mrs. Jennings was hustled out by the agents, probably back to the hotel. Once they were gone, the office settled down again. I retrieved my laptop and took advantage of the quiet to do a quick background search on Serena: education, jobs, hobbies. There was no indication that she had the know-how to break into a car's computer system and take control.

Then why the cables?

I combed through the expense report I'd done for her, but nothing else seemed suspicious. Alone, buying new cables wasn't enough evidence. I'd have to keep my eye on her.

In the meantime, I reluctantly dragged out Dean Harding's package—and a notebook and pen. I hadn't put much of a dent in my assignments—that was the Dean's fault. He should've let me use my computer. Who hand-wrote papers anymore? I might as well
be
in ancient Rome, using papyrus and a feather quill.

Sighing, I closed the file and put my laptop aside. I had to get some work done. I made myself a latte and went back to the dreaded packet. After about two hours, I'd gotten a good chunk of math done and had just switched to World Civ when I saw Dante step into the foyer, stopping at Francesca's desk with several envelopes. As she wordlessly signed for them, he glanced around and spied me. He waved and smiled, which I returned. I was glad to know he wasn't upset over the Pantheon incident. After Francesca returned his clipboard, he strode over and dragged a chair next to me.

“Homework?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“American history?”

“Huh? Oh. No. World Civ.” I tried to focus on history, but all I could think of was, did ancient Romans have such beautiful faces? Maybe all those flawless statues were accurate and everyone was gorgeous.

“World history!” he scoffed. “Boring. Just wars and generals. American history is more interesting. I memorize everything
importante
about American history. Ask me, I will tell you anything.” He crossed his arms and smiled broadly at me. It was infectious.

“Okay,” I said, playing along. “Who was the fourth president?”

“James Madison.”

“Correct.”

Dante huffed at my surprised look. “Too easy. Ask another question.”

I Googled James Madison and scrolled through his biography. “What is he known for?”

“He is the father of the Constitution, good friend of Thomas Jefferson. His wife, Dolly, saved George Washington's portrait from the British when they invaded and burned the White House. In 1812.”

“History's dead. Life is for the living.”

I was startled to see Taj standing there. When had he come in?

Dante's jaw clenched. He didn't even bother to turn around when he rebuffed Taj. “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Very impressive, Dante,” said Candace, coming over to us. Even in her crazy heels she moved like a stealth bomber. You thought you were safe and then—
boom!
—there she was. “But you've made your delivery. I'm sure you have others…?”

That was her unsubtle nudge for Dante to leave. I searched her face. If she wanted to chat about my unauthorized visit to her office, she didn't show it.

Dante stood. “I see you later, Bec.” He didn't acknowledge Taj, whose mouth was quirked to one side.

“Okay.” As he headed toward the door, Candace went upstairs into her office. Taj headed toward the kitchen and I was relieved to be alone. Suddenly Dante stopped, came back, and whispered in my ear, “Maybe I meet Mrs. Jennings sometime?”

Inwardly, I winced. “Sorry, but I don't know her schedule. It's kept secret for her protection. I never know when or where she's going to show up.”

“You find out, I can come. Anytime.”

Not him too!

First Taj with his subtle questions and now Dante with his sweet but disconcerting earnestness. People just didn't walk up to the First Lady like she was a celebrity. He wasn't stupid—he had to know that. Maybe Candace's CIA paranoia was getting to me, but their interest in Mrs. Jennings made me uneasy.

Sophie, Aldo, and Ortiz all came in.

“Bye,
bella
,” said Dante.

“Bye, Dante.” Sophie waved to Dante as he walked out. Then she sat next to me and bent close. “From the way he looks at you, I would say Dante likes you. And then yesterday, after you danced with Taj, there seemed to be something between you two. We need to have a long overdue chat.” She smiled secretively. “I have some news of my own.”

That brightened my mood. A night out with Sophie would be a great opportunity to see what she knew about Serena or if she'd noticed anything strange. I'd have to be very careful of my words. Last thing I needed to add to my chaotic life was a ticked-off Candace. “Want to go somewhere tonight?”

She sat down next to me. “I know a great market with a stall where you can get secondhand designer bags. You have to dump that backpack for something better. Maybe a Fendi satchel.”

But I loved my backpack. It had served me well. Still, a new one might be a good idea.…

“Bec!” From upstairs, Candace's voice went through my head like a nail. She leaned over the balcony. “Sophie: you, Kevin, and Serena are going over the final copy to make any last-minute changes. Now.” She flicked a finger at me. “Your assistance is required for something else.”

And just like that, our girls' night out–info session vanished like a puff of excess setting powder.

I made a sad face at Sophie. “Soon,” I said with a sigh.

She nodded and, with palms up like “What can you do?” headed upstairs with me behind her.

It turned out that my assistance was required to help Candace pack the First Lady's blue silk suit and accessories to be brought back to the hotel. She called for a cab, not taking any chances of something happening to the clothing while walking it over. When we got to the hotel, she ordered me to stay in the taxi while she ran the suit up.

“Ristorante Divino,” she told the driver when she got back in. Looking at me, she said, “I'm taking you out to dinner.”

“Why?” I was a little confused—and leery—of her growing familiarity. And generosity.