Buffalo West Wing (25 page)

“Not so early these days,” I said, and told him about Virgil.

As I worked at the counter, he got up from the table to join me. “Let me help.”

Together we prepared a salad and a couple of small side dishes. And we talked about everything going on at the White House. Like Henry had, Gav advised me to trust my gut. “You have good instincts, Ollie. Like I told you, you spot things others miss. Just keep your eyes open and keep doing your job.”

His words cheered me more than I cared to admit. “What about you?” I asked as I placed a salad in front of him. “What’s going on in the department?”

“Aren’t you going to join me?”

I wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. “I’ll have a little,” I said, and fixed myself a smaller plate. Pulling out a bottle of Riesling, I held it up. “Wine?”

“Can’t,” he said, digging in. “I’m on call ’round the clock. But you go ahead.”

I sipped my wine and checked on the pork chops as Gav ate. Putting a few finishing touches on a simpler version of the spinach I planned to serve at the state dinner, I asked him again, “So, what can you tell me about all that’s going on?”

By the way he attacked his food, I could tell the poor guy had been really hungry. It did my heart good to see him enjoying the fresh greens, and I looked forward to putting the hot meal in front of him just as soon as the chops came out of the oven.

“Well,” he said, “we’ve heard rumblings.”

Guessing—based on what he’d said before and what Tom had told me—I asked, “You think there’s a problem with one of the agents?”

Gav’s eyes clouded. “How much has Agent MacKenzie told you?”

Agent MacKenzie? So formal?

“Not a great deal. I was there when the tainted chicken wings first showed up.”

“And from the reports I’ve read, you single-handedly saved the children from being poisoned.”

I waved him off. “Anyone following protocols would have done the same thing.”

“Not from what I heard.”

“I just wish the Secret Service would tell the First Lady what really happened. She and I have gotten off to a bad start. She blames me for disappointing her kids. Not that I blame her—she just doesn’t know the whole truth. And let me tell you, it’s been mostly downhill from there.” The timer rang and I opened the oven door. Gav studied me as I stood at the stove. “You don’t mind if I fix your plate from here, do you?” I asked.

“This informality is nice,” he said. “I could get used to it.”

I felt my face grow hot, and it wasn’t from the burners. Turning my back, I said, “Good,” and slid a chop onto his dish, adding sides of spinach and leftover mashed potatoes I’d warmed up. I placed it in front of him, feeling oddly comfortable with this arrangement. Still full from my tacos, I took a small helping of spinach for myself. Too many more evenings of eating out and I’d have trouble tying my apron strings.

“Why aren’t they telling Mrs. Hyden about the arsenic in the chicken wings?” I asked.

Gav had closed his eyes. “This is wonderful,” he said around a mouthful. “You’re a miracle worker.” He opened his eyes again. “I mean it.”

I’d originally pegged Gav in his mid- to late-forties, but sitting here—relaxed—wearing a hooded sweatshirt, I revised my guess. Maybe it was the suits that aged him. Maybe the responsibility.

He leaned forward over his plate. “You and I may both believe that Mrs. Hyden has the right to know there was a threat against her children. Of course we think that—because you and I would both want to know if it were
our
kids in danger.”

“Do you have kids?”

He shook his head. “Never married. You?”

“No.”

Shifting in his seat, he forked more food up. “But MacKenzie is doing this right. The spill of information in this situation must be controlled. Mrs. Hyden is new here. Everybody on the Secret Service staff knows she’s unhappy with you for holding back those chicken wings. That tells us something: that she doesn’t yet understand—let alone embrace—our security protocols. We can’t bring her in on the truth until we know the information won’t go any further.” Shoving the food into his mouth, he kept talking as he chewed. “Sorry. I know this is rude, but this is so good. And I’m starving.”

I laughed. “I don’t stand on ceremony here. Enjoy.”

“The Secret Service believes she would feel compelled to tell her kids what’s going on.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yeah,” Gav said as he scooped up more potatoes. “Try to put a muzzle on a nine- or a thirteen-year-old. Ain’t gonna happen. Once the kids get wind of it, the news is out. We have to be very careful here.”

“Even if it means offering me up as the sacrificial lamb.”

He swallowed. “Afraid so.”

“I guess I understand.” I took a long sip of wine. “If it weren’t for this Chef Virgil, I might feel more confident. I just get the sense that Mrs. Hyden is looking for the first chance to kick me out on my duff.”

Gav sliced off another bite of pork chop. “You have friends in the department. We’ll do our best to look out for you.”

“I think there are plenty of agents who would like to see me fall on my face.”

He chuckled. “You are a handful. I swear, when you first showed up at that bomb briefing, I couldn’t figure out why the Campbells kept such a mouthy upstart on staff. And when we had that one-on-one tutorial—”

“You enjoyed making me sweat.”

“I did,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “But remember, that was still early on. Little did I know ...”

I waited for him to finish that thought, but he didn’t. “Little did he know ...” what? Popping another piece of chop into his mouth, he told me again how wonderful everything tasted.

“So,” I said, “how come?”

He raised his eyebrows, silently asking what I meant.

“How come you never married?”

His eyes sparkled and he smiled. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Career.”

“Same here,” he said, looking down. “Mostly.”

Now I raised my eyebrows.

He placed his fork and knife down on either side of his plate, and met my gaze.

Uh-oh,
I thought.
He’s got a long-time girlfriend and I’ve been reading all these signals wrong.
I felt my face flush. “Forget I asked,” I said.

“No.” He took a deep breath and tried to smile, but it didn’t work. “We’re friends. Good friends. Despite all the trouble we caused each other when we first met. Right?”

I nodded.

“Then you should know this about me.” He looked as though he was trying to arrange his face to put me at ease, but it was having the exact opposite effect. “I always figured I would get married, have kids, the whole shebang. I came close, in fact. Twice.”

I waited.

“In my twenties I was engaged to Jennifer. But ...”

This was hard for him, I could see it in his eyes.

The corners of his mouth turned down as he took a long breath. “She was ... the last victim of the Maryland Murderer.”

I’d been in my teens and only vaguely remembered the case. “Were you an agent then?”

“Not yet.”

“The Maryland Murderer picked people at random, didn’t he? Just like that Washington sniper.”

“Very similar.” His mouth was still twisted down. “Jennifer was out for a jog on a beautiful Sunday morning. It was her killing that broke the case. The guy got sloppy and they caught him.” He tried to smile again. It still didn’t work. “I guess that’s something. Took me a long time to get over her. Never thought I would.” His eyes got a faraway look in them. “Right after that I joined the agency, immersed myself in my job, and tried to pretend I didn’t need anyone. But then, about five years later, I met Morgan.”

The expression on his face told me what he was going to say next, even before he said it.

“A week after we got engaged she was killed, too. A drunk driver.”

I reached across the table to touch the back of his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

He entwined his fingers with mine “Morgan died twelve years ago. Since then, I’ve put all my efforts into the job. I decided I was a jinx and I never wanted to inflict myself on another person I cared about.”

My heart was pounding so loud I was afraid he could hear it. Quietly, I asked, “Do you still feel that way?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m afraid.”

His unexpected vulnerability twisted my heart.

“You are not a jinx,” I said.

His eyes clouded again. “Sure about that, are you?”

“You saved my life. More than once.”

“You saved your own life.”

“Only because you taught me what to look for. And you believed in me.”

He gave my hand a quick squeeze and pulled away. Leaning back, he returned to his dinner. The odd, intimate moment we’d shared was gone.

“Where is home for you?” I asked. “I thought you were a D.C. native, but you said you were in a hotel room.”

As he ate he explained, “I have an apartment just outside the city, but I was on assignment out of the country for a year, so I sublet to another agent.” He shrugged. “The hotel isn’t so bad.”

“How long are you here for?”

“Until this gets resolved.”

“This,” I asked, clarifying, “meaning how the chicken wings got into the White House?”

“We know the group responsible overall, but what we can’t figure out is who else is in on it. They had to have help. From inside. That’s what scares me the most.”

“You don’t go undercover or anything, do you?” I asked. “I mean, you’re in charge, so you’re not in any real danger, are you?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “To anyone else who asked me that, I’d say that information is classified. To you, I’ll say that I can’t share specifics.”

“That worries me,” I said.

He wagged a finger—the matter was closed. “Can I have more of that spinach?”

We talked until after midnight. We could have continued far into the morning, but Gav said that he had a meeting at 6:00 and I wanted to get in early, too—despite the fact that Virgil would cover the First Family’s breakfast on his own. I handed Gav his jacket and walked him to my door.

“I think Mrs. Wentworth has probably given up for tonight,” I said. “So you don’t have to be worried about being waylaid on your way to the elevator.”

Stepping into the hallway, he made a show of checking her door. “It’s closed,” he whispered. “I think we’re safe.”

He thanked me again for dinner. “I had a really nice evening,” he said. This would have been the time for a visiting friend to say, “Well, good night. See you soon.” But Gav didn’t move. We stood inches apart. So close I could feel his warmth.

“I’m glad you called,” I said, looking up at him. “I’m glad you came over.”

He took a half-step closer and for the briefest of moments I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to. And I wanted to kiss back.

I reached for him. “I ... I don’t want you to go.”

The same pain I’d seen in his eyes earlier flashed there again. “I have to. We both know that.”

“You’re not a jinx.”

He brushed hair off my forehead. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Gav ...”

“Maybe it would be better for both of us if we didn’t do this again.”

“You don’t believe that.”

He flexed his jaw and pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have come.”

I watched until the elevator doors closed behind him, wondering what had just happened here.

CHAPTER 21

I DECIDED NOT TO TELL CYAN ABOUT GAV’S visit. She would want all the juicy details—not that there were any—but I wasn’t yet ready to share. I knew it would take some time before I sorted it out myself. Gav had been such a pain in my backside when he first arrived at the White House, but now ... Now I felt a profound change. I wanted to know him better. A lot better.

Midmorning, when Tom strode into the kitchen, I felt a strange combination of sensations. Guilt over having Gav at my apartment last night; glee because this was a secret I was happy to keep; and, for the first time since Tom and I had broken up, relief. Seeing Tom so soon after my encounter with Gav made me realize I really was okay again.

I felt myself smile. This was good.

“I have news for you,” Tom said as soon as we gathered around him. Bucky, Cyan, and I were there, along with Virgil, Gardez, and Nourie. “First things first.” He pointed to the two Secret Service agents. “You are both being reassigned.”

Before anyone could react, he addressed Gardez. “Please report to Agent Martin at once. He has your orders.” To Nourie, he said, “I need you to report to Mrs. Hyden immediately.”

I spoke before I could stop myself. “Mrs. Hyden?”

Tom shot me a “Why do you always have to question me?” look. To Nourie, he added. “She’s waiting for you.”

Both agents took off in a flash.