Affairs of Steak (28 page)

Oh great. Just what I wanted. Alone time with Agent Closed-Mouth.

“How did this happen?”

“Unknown.”

“How long until a new car gets here?”

“Unknown.”

Rain pounded the car’s roof, a sound that warped me back to my childhood, when I used to sit in the rear seat like this, back when I felt safe and warm and protected. A glimpse of memory—no more than that—had my dad at the wheel, my mom in the passenger seat. I tried to pull more but couldn’t. As hard as I tried, I could never conjure
up a clear memory of my father. It was always like this—a hint of memory, a sense of him. That seemed to be the closest I would ever get.

“Do you hear that?” I asked Scorroco.

He must have because he held up a finger and faced the passenger side. There was an unmistakable tapping against the side of the car that beat a rhythm out of sync with our slapping windshield wipers. It seemed to be coming from the blown-out front tire. “Sounds like something’s ticking,” I said, “but it isn’t an even tempo. It’s…haphazard.”

“Stay here,” Scorroco said. He pulled up his umbrella, opened the door, and got out, slamming it behind himself before the rain drenched his seat. Again, he ran around the front of the vehicle.

Although the headlights were on, our warning flashers were not. Scorroco should have turned them on, but must have forgotten. Short as I am, I couldn’t quite reach the controls, so I unbuckled and eased myself over the middle to try to find the button, one leg in the front, one in the back. Before he returned to catch me in such an unladylike position, I shifted all my weight to the front leg, and searched the dashboard for the flashers. As soon as I hit them, I started back over the seat.

Just as I did so, I heard a sickening thump and the car rocked sideways. “Scorroco?” I couldn’t see him. Another thud.

The back passenger door opened. “Scorroco?”

Not Scorroco.

I screamed.

The man with a black face mask held an enormous gun pointed exactly where I’d been seated moments before. He leaned in, taking less than two heartbeats to find me in the front seat. I took advantage of those two heartbeats. As he shifted his aim, I kicked a foot at his gun hand.

To my surprise—and his, too, apparently—it fell to the seat. I slammed myself forward as he grappled for the gun, but I’d landed on top of it. I could feel the hard, cold shape under my awkwardly folded leg, and I used his few moments
of confusion again to my advantage. I grabbed at his face mask, intent on pulling it off, but he yanked away from me. All I managed to do was twist it enough for me to get a good look at his jawline.

At that moment Scorroco appeared behind him, looking dazed. But not dazed enough. He socked the masked guy in the face. The would-be attacker grunted, fending off Scorroco’s fists as he righted his mask.

Why didn’t Scorroco pull out his gun?

Why didn’t I grab the one I was sitting on?

Feeling stupid, I started to pull it up, frightened to use it, frightened not to. Just as I got a good grip, the assailant ran off, Scorroco in pursuit.

My hands shook as I dialed my cell phone. “Gav,” I said the moment he answered, “we’ve been attacked.”

GAV AND I WERE SEATED IN THE BACK OF ONE of five government-issue cars that had pulled up at the side of the road after my call for help. A sea of agents examined Scorroco’s car and the surrounding area for evidence. From what I’d gleaned so far, after shooting out the tire to disable our vehicle, the attacker had hit my agent-driver over the head, disarmed him, and then taken Scorroco’s weapon. The staff scouring the ground had come up empty finding it. The rain had not let up, rendering the agents’ flashlights almost invisible in the dark. Warm and dry, I watched them through wet windows.

“This wasn’t a random attack, was it?” I asked.

“With the tire shot out like that? No.” Gav worked his jaw. “They’re getting bolder.”

I sucked in a breath. With the danger past, my entire body trembled with relief. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t make it stop.

“What can I do?” I asked, hating the way my voice
wavered. “I haven’t been doing any investigation. I haven’t even gotten involved this time.”

“You saw Brad. We know he’s involved. You might have seen the killer—the one you call ‘bump guy.’ To them it doesn’t matter if you’re poking your nose in or not. They’re afraid you can identify them. That’s all the reason they need.”

“Great.”

He stared straight ahead. “What would you think about going to visit your mom? Just for a week or so? I’m sure if I talk to the chief usher I can convince him…”

“Can you guarantee they won’t come after me in Chicago?”

He shook his head. “And if Ethan Nagy is involved—I hope to God he’s not—he has government resources at his disposal. He could probably find you, and quickly. Forget it. It was a bad idea.”

“Let’s not even go there,” I said. “I’m safer here. Safer around you.”

He turned to me. “You saved yourself. Again. Your instincts saved you. Always trust your gut. It serves you well.”

Gav’s door opened. “Yes?” he said to the agent waiting out in the rain.

“Finished here, sir. Agent Scorroco is being taken back to the office. I’m assigned to drive Ms. Paras home.”

“Very good.” To me, Gav said, “I may have more questions for you, Ms. Paras. Agent Lawrence will see you safely home. Good night.”

I was surprised to see Agent Scorroco the next morning when he came to pick me up. For some reason I expected he might have been replaced. The Secret Service pins were purple today. Round.

“How are you today?” I asked after we were settled and he began to drive.

“I’m well. And you?”

“The weather’s better than yesterday. By far.” Clear skies, and temperatures more suited to the spring.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you see a doctor yesterday?”

“I did and you need not be concerned. I’m fit for duty.”

“I’m more worried that you’re okay in general.” He didn’t respond, so I added, “Thank you for all you did for me yesterday.”

He met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“What happened now?” Bucky asked when I got in.

“Why do you ask? What did you hear?” He had the newspaper open in front of him on the countertop. I came around to read over his shoulder. “I can’t believe it was in the paper.”

“Whoa,” he said, “nothing in the paper. This isn’t even today’s. I’ve been saving food sections for the past few days and I’m trying to catch up.” Turning to face me, he asked, “Something really did happen, didn’t it? Spill.”

This wasn’t making sense. “Why did you ask if you didn’t read anything?”

“An agent stopped by twice this morning to talk with you. Wanted you to know there will be a meeting at nine. Your presence is required.”

“Oh.” I pulled up a stool and sat.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I thought about it. As long as I didn’t mention Ethan Nagy or the investigation itself, I could give Bucky the basics. So I did.

His eyes were wide by the time I finished.

“Please,” I said, “don’t—”

“I know. Don’t say a word.” He put a finger over his lips. “Got it.”

I pointed to the paper. “I was terrified that the media had gotten hold of the story.”

He gave me a skeptical stare. “Terrified? Really? Terrified
is what you should have been last night. This morning, if it had gotten into the paper, you should be angry, annoyed, infuriated. We need to work on your response levels. Your flight-or-fight kicked in for you last night. Don’t
abuse it.”

He was poking fun, but there was weight to his words. “Got it, Buckster.”

“Hey, by the way, does any of this have to do with Sargeant?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Sargeant called in sick today.”

“So?”

“So the agent looking for you said that sick or not, they’re bringing Sargeant in for this meeting, too.”

“Huh,” I said. “No idea what that’s about.”

With breakfast to be made and parties to plan, I did my best to take my mind off matters, that is, until nine o’clock rolled around and Agent Edgar came to collect me. “We’re meeting in the Red Room,” he said.

“Seriously?” I asked. One of the State reception rooms, it was rarely used for staff business. “Any particular reason?”

“Agent MacKenzie ordered it.”

“Good enough, then,” I said. Agent Edgar was a lumbering guy, wider than most of the agents I knew. I followed him up the stairs. “Any idea what this is about?”

He spoke quietly. “The matter from the other day,” he said with a meaningful look.

The meeting with Milton. “Got it.”

We continued without further comment but I could tell from the way he squared his shoulders before ushering me into the Red Room that he was very proud to have been brought in as part of this clandestine operation. He grasped the handle, ready to close the door behind me. “You’re not coming in?” I asked.

“I’m on duty out here.”

Alone in the Red Room, I wandered past the fireplace to stare out the window. I hadn’t gotten more than a passing glimpse at the stunning southern view when the door
opened again and Tom strode in. “Ollie,” he said by way of greeting, “you’ve heard, then?”

“Heard what?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer. Again the door opened, this time admitting two people: an agent I didn’t know, and Peter Everett Sargeant, who looked like death warmed over. For the first time I saw him in something other than a thousand-dollar suit. Sargeant was wearing brown corduroy slacks and a cream-colored sweatshirt. He looked vulnerable and weak.

“Mr. Sargeant,” Tom said, “please have a seat.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. The agent who had escorted him in gave a brief nod and left the room.

I sat on the red empire couch next to Sargeant. “Are you okay?”

The man was a wreck. Wringing his hands in his lap, he stared up at Tom with wild eyes and shook his head. “What is happening?”

“You aren’t sick,” I said, realization dawning. “You’re terrified.” Bucky’s words reverberated in my brain. “What happened?”

His voice was hoarse. “They came to my house. They tried to kill me.”

“Who?” I asked. “Who?”

Tom stood in front of us. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Let’s not begin until everyone arrives.”

“Are you kidding?” I asked. “Look at him.” For the first time in my life, I felt the urge to put an arm around Sargeant, but he still managed enough of a steely reserve that I held back.

Agents Scorroco and Rosenow—the woman who’d been guarding my apartment the day Milton came to visit—
entered the room. Gav followed seconds later.

“We’re all here,” Tom said.

Before anyone could take control, I said, “I want to hear what happened to Peter.”

Tom nodded acquiescence. “We all need to hear this.”

“A man came to my apartment last night,” he began. “I
don’t know how he got past the doorman, but he knocked at my actual door. I thought perhaps it was one of my neighbors, so I opened without looking and he barged right in. Told me to be quiet. But I shouted for him to get out. That’s when he pulled the gun.”

I gasped.

“Yes,” Sargeant said, his whole body shaking in the retelling. I could relate. “He pointed it at my face! I’m just lucky that one of my real neighbors heard me and came over to investigate.”

“And?”

“The guy ran out. I live on the first floor. He bolted out the back.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Peter.”

“The minute he got into my apartment he said, ‘You just had to find those bodies, didn’t you?’ ”

I turned to Tom.

“And now you know why I called this meeting,” Tom said. “I want everyone in this room to take a look around. These faces are the only ones to trust with all further information regarding this investigation.”

Tom explained everything I’d already learned about Brad, bump guy, and the abduction of Mr. Bettencourt. He conveniently left out any mention of Ethan Nagy, which didn’t surprise me. This meeting was called, no doubt, for my benefit and for Sargeant’s. I was sure this group of agents had already held their own meeting, deciding how much to share with the hired help.

“At this point, neither you, Ms. Paras, nor you, Mr. Sargeant, are to be left unguarded outside the White House. You will both have Secret Service agents assigned to you around the clock. Don’t be afraid if you don’t recognize your daily guard. Because there are two of you, and so few of us, we will be augmenting with other trusted agents. They may not know the specifics, but they are there for your protection. I will also ask”—at this he shot a pointed look at me—“that you do not seek to circumvent this protection.”

Yeah, like I would.

“Of course not,” Sargeant said. His voice was getting a little stronger.

“How did they find Peter?” I asked. “I mean, I know I’ve been targeted since my run-in with Brad, but why Peter? Why now?”

The four agents exchanged a look I didn’t understand. “There was a leak,” Tom said. “Your esteemed colleague Virgil talked to a reporter about what it’s like working for an executive chef who also fancies herself an amateur sleuth.”