by Julie Hyzy
Bettencourt wrinkled his nose as he stared upward, clearly looking for landmarks. He didn’t seem very sure of himself when he nodded. “Yeah. This is it.”
“I hear you about the long day,” Brad said. “Mine was a bear.” He studied the landmarks, too. “You live around here?”
I was spared answering because Mr. Bettencourt thought the question had been directed to him. “Not far. She’ll be here in a minute.”
Brad shifted his weight and looked ready to launch into a new round of questions.
“You can go ahead,” I said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want to leave you out here by yourselves—”
“Trust me, we’ll be fine. I have a friend meeting me.”
“No, you don’t. You only left a voicemail,” he said. “No telling when your friend will get the message.”
Brad was smiling in a way that scared me. But I couldn’t take off, not without making sure Mr. Bettencourt was all right. I had slipped my cell phone into my pocket and now I reached in to grip it again, ready to dial James at the front desk of my building. He’d be quick to send help if I so much as squeaked.
“Mr. Bettencourt, do you have your daughter’s phone number?”
The question seemed only to confuse him further.
“How about I call a cab?” I asked.
Still looking around, Bettencourt seemed to grow less certain by the moment. “I don’t know.”
“Hey!” Brad snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “I know you.”
“Mr. Bettencourt?” I said, turning my back to Brad. “I’m going to call a cab. If your daughter comes in the meantime, I’ll just take it myself.”
My apartment was within easy walking distance, but I didn’t want Brad offering to accompany me. I also didn’t want to hear how he thought he knew me. I pulled up my phone again to see if I had a local taxi company on speed dial. Low on battery juice, the handset gave a warning beep. “I know,” I said under my breath, “just one more call.”
Brad came around to face me. He tipped his hat very far back to look me straight in the eye. I got a much better look at him. Dark blond hair. Thinning. Tiny ears, small eyes spaced far apart, and a pudginess around his features that let me know his excess bulkiness couldn’t all be blamed on the coat. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the chef.”
My stomach lurched. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The one who was on TV today.”
“What?” My attention no longer on the phone display, I stared up at Brad’s wide-set eyes.
“Got your interest now, huh?” he said. “You’re the one who found the White House chief of staff dead. Murdered, right? It’s all over the news.”
I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“Who’s dead?” Bettencourt asked.
“Not you, Gramps. Not yet, at least.” A corner of Brad’s mouth curled up. “What was that like—finding the body? Two of them, right? That girl got murdered, too.” He went on before I could say a word, “Did you see who killed them?”
Who was this guy? Every single hair on my body stood on end. My voice croaked, “No idea what you’re talking about.” Still scrolling even with trembling fingers, I finally found the taxi number. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
I hit the call button just as headlights swung past, making me blink in their brightness. At first I thought it was Bettencourt’s daughter, but the car was moving too fast. As it approached, I took a closer look and nearly jumped straight up. Waving my hands, I called, “Hey, over here.”
The squad car slowed, coming to a stop across the street. The cop rolled down his window. “Is there a problem?”
From my handset, I heard the taxi dispatcher answer. I hung up.
“No,” Brad said, waving the officer away. “We’re cool.”
“Yes,” I said.
With a resigned look, the officer pulled his car to the curb and got out, flashlight beaming right at us. Fifty-something, he was of average height, a bit wide around the waist, and had deep-set eyes. The weariness in his demeanor made me believe we’d interrupted a long-overdue break. “What seems to be the problem?”
Brad lowered the brim of his hat against the flashlight’s brightness. I tried to speak, but he talked over me. “Nothing at all, Officer. I was just giving this young lady directions. I think she’s lost.”
The cop scratched the back of his neck. “Where are you looking to go, miss?”
“I am not lost.” I was about to add that I lived nearby, but didn’t want to share that information in front of Brad. I took hold of Mr. Bettencourt’s arm. “But this gentleman may be.”
“Who are you?” he asked me.
“I’m just trying to help out here.”
To Brad: “What about you?”
“Just walking by and giving directions, Officer.”
“That’s a lie,” I said. “He followed us off the Metro. He says he knows me.”
Brad laughed. “Delusions of grandeur, lady.”
“All right, there seems to be more going on here than either of you care to admit. Show me some ID.”
Brad nodded. “No problem, Officer.”
I started to dig in my purse.
Brad made a show of searching through his wallet. “I’ve got ID in here somewhere,” he said. “Maybe I need more light.” Pointing to the nearby streetlamp, he said, “Hang on a minute,” and walked a few feet away.
The cop grunted, then flashed his light directly into Bettencourt’s face. “You, too.” A couple of seconds later, his head jerked back in surprise. “Hey! Aren’t you—” His hand reached back, hovering over his holster. All politeness disappeared in a flash. “Put your hands up,” he growled at me.
“What?”
When the cop turned to face Brad, I turned, too. “Hands up. Both of y—”
Brad was gone.
CHAPTER 6
WHEN I FINISHED GOING THROUGH MUG shots at one of the detective’s desks, Officer Ellis handed me a cup of coffee. “You’re telling me you didn’t know Mr. Bettencourt was missing and presumed kidnapped?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know who he is, do you?”
“Who is he?”
“Where have you been? It’s been on the news all day.” He lowered himself into a rolling chair. It squeaked, the sound bouncing off the walls in this airless room. High-gloss walls, metal desks, tile floor. Cold, gray, uninviting.
“I’ve been busy. No time for TV.” I held the cup of steaming coffee in both hands and stared down at the dark liquid. No cream. I hoped there was no sugar. He hadn’t asked, but right now I didn’t much care. I took a sip. Scalding and soothing at the same time. “By the way, where is he?”
The moment we’d arrived at the station, two detectives had rushed up to take charge of the elderly man. I hadn’t seen him since.
“On his way home.”
“Good. He said his daughter would be at the station to pick him up.”
Ellis gave a snort. “You really don’t know, do you? Don’t they have televisions in the White House kitchen?”
I didn’t answer.
“Shame what’s going on over there today.”
“What have you heard?”
He blinked at me. “Oh come on. You had to have heard about the murders.”
“Fill me in.”
Ellis knew about the double murder at Lexington Place. Knew the victims were Chief of Staff Cawley and Patty Woodruff. The news had covered most of it. “No leads yet.” He took a deep slurp of his coffee.
I nodded. Clearly the news hadn’t mentioned how the victims were found, nor the fact that they’d died in separate attacks. Most important, the news could not have mentioned my involvement. If they had, Ellis here would have made the connection.
Brad’s comment about me being on the news made my stomach twist with fear. Had he been waiting for me at the Metro platform? Did I just get lucky to stumble up
on lost Mr. Bettencourt, who’d helped me escape with my life?
Ellis was still talking and I didn’t interrupt. These musings needed to be shared, but not with local cops. I needed to talk with the Secret Service. Now.
“Maybe it was a murder-suicide.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t feel much like talking, or even listening. Ever since my identification had been verified, I’d been a-okay in these cops’ eyes. Right now I waited while the Secret Service sent an agent to escort me home. Ellis here had evidently drawn the short straw, and was stuck babysitting until then. I glanced at my watch. Could this day get any longer?
“So you’re saying you never saw that guy who called himself Brad before tonight?”
We’d been over this already. “Not until he got on the Metro. He tried to sit by me.”
Ellis scribbled a note. “You think he recognized you as somebody from the White House?”
My head hurt. “He said he did.”
The cop took another slurp of his coffee and smacked his lips. “What made you notice him in the first place? Most people just go about their business. Did you think maybe you’d seen him before?”
How could I explain that by now I was suspicious of everyone? I certainly couldn’t tell him that I was as skittish as a rabbit after the morning’s adventure with Sargeant. I hedged. “Before I got on the train, there was this other man—”
Ellis sat forward. “Boyfriend?”
“No,” I said a bit too sharply. “Listen, I kind of have a history of running into bad guys.”
He sat back. “Not boyfriends?”
I ignored that. “On my way to the Metro, this man in a scarf started acting suspicious.”
“Suspicious how?”
Right now the lost fellow looking for a restaurant seemed perfectly harmless. “Hard to explain, but I got that all-is-not-right feeling from him.”
Ellis finally seemed to understand. “Go on.”
“I was in a hurry to get away. I ran, actually.” Wrinkling my nose, I stared at the gray walls. “The encounter made me jumpy. I started paying close attention to anyone who so much as made eye contact.”
He’d put his cup down and begun scribbling again.
“Since I missed all the news,” I said, “would you tell me who the elderly man was? He told me his name, but it didn’t mean anything to me.”
“Benjamin Bettencourt is the secretary of state’s father-
in-law,” he said as though that explained everything.
I waited.
“He went missing this afternoon. Gone from his home. Family was frantic with worry and they were afraid he’d been abducted.”
“But he just wandered off?”
“I don’t know,” Ellis said. “Something doesn’t smell right. With the murders today and now this, the administration is under siege, if you ask me. ’Course, nobody’s asking me. I got a sense about these things.” He tapped his temple. “Lot of years on the job tells me there are too many incidents happening at once. That guy—Brad—who took off knew more than he wanted to tell, that’s for sure. Wish I could have had a chance to talk to him.”
A young kid, probably a cadet, appeared in the doorway. “Officer Ellis?”
He turned around.
“Her ride is here.”
“Got it.”
I stood and held up my half-finished coffee. “Where do I put this?”
“Just leave it,” he said with a wave. “I’ll get it. You go home and get some rest.”
My ability to get rest would depend greatly on which agent they’d sent to escort me home. I’d had run-ins with several, and didn’t feel like being used as a stepping stone for one of the newer agents to make a name for himself at my expense. There were a couple I endeavored to avoid.
“This way,” the cadet said. He led me down a long hall to a metal door. He swung it open with a smile. “Have a good night.”
As I stepped into the waiting room, I started to say, “Thanks—” The rest of what I would have said died on my lips when I saw who was waiting for me. “I thought you were out of town.”
Tom MacKenzie, my ex-boyfriend and head of the PPD, looked just about as happy to see me as I was to see him. “Flew in about a half hour ago,” he said. “This was on my way.”
“Great.”
We fell into step and made our way outside where I took a breath of the fresh, cold air. “I didn’t realize how stale it was in there. Smelly.” A bright star twinkled above. Closing my eyes, I made a wish. But when I opened my eyes again, Tom was still there.
“What happened?” he asked.
At least he didn’t start with “Why is it always you?” the way he usually did.
“I think I’m being followed.”
He pointed his key ring at a shiny, dark Mustang in the lot’s far corner, beeping it open.
“New car, huh?” I said as I got in. “It’s nice.”
He settled himself behind the wheel and started it up with a roar, not looking at me. “Kim picked it out.”
“Yeah? How’s that going?”
“Good.” He pulled out of the lot. I think the fact that he didn’t have to ask directions to my apartment was not lost on either of us. “Very good, I mean. Great.”
“I’m glad.”
“What happened today?”
I didn’t feel like rehashing every little detail. “How much do you know?”
“Everything. Except how you got mixed up with Bettencourt. That’s too much. Even for you.”
“Even for me? Nice.”
“You know what I mean.”
“The guy who followed me on the Metro knew about my involvement at Lexington Place today,” I said.
“What?” Tom yanked the steering wheel so hard the tires squealed against pavement. He pulled to the curb and banged the car into park. “Talk to me.”
“He said it’s been all over the news.”
Fury made Tom’s words come out clipped. “It hasn’t. We kept you and Sargeant out of it.”
“I figured. Otherwise the cop who hauled me in would have known. He clearly didn’t.”
“You didn’t say anything to the local guys, did you?”
“Give me a little credit, would you?”
Tom rubbed his forehead. “Just what we need,” he said as he started driving again. “You’ve done it again, haven’t
you?”
Tom had never trusted me, despite the fact that I’d proved myself again and again. That was just one of the issues between us. I stared out at the moonlit trees and dark buildings as we flew down the deserted streets. By the time we made it to my apartment building, I’d finally managed to work my anger down to a manageable level. Enough to say good night without biting his head off, at least.
He made the left turn that took us up the driveway to the front doors. “I’ll officially debrief you tomorrow. After all that’s happened today, it’s been decided to send an agent here in the morning to pick you up. What time do you want him here?”
I didn’t even ask if that was necessary. Grabbing my purse, I readied myself to get out. “I’ll need to be in early. Have him here by four. Any idea who it will be?”
“Probably—”
I followed Tom’s gaze to find what had stopped him from finishing. A tall fellow leaned against the side of my building, in the shadows. He pushed himself from the wall and ambled over. All the anger I’d bottled up disappeared like magic. Like happy fizz bubbling up from a champagne bottle.
Gav opened my door. “Hey,” he said, taking my hand to help me out, “you’ve had a rough day.”
Now that was how to treat a woman who’d discovered a double murder.
Tom leaned over. I couldn’t read his expression, but his tone was just this side of sneering. “I guess Agent Scorroco doesn’t need to show up here in the morning, does he?”
Gav bent down to face him. “Orders haven’t changed. Please see to it that Ms. Paras is escorted to and from the White House tomorrow. And for as lo
ng as necessary.”
Even in the scant light of the Mustang’s overhead dome, I could see Tom’s face color. “I just assumed…”
“You have your orders. Good night, Agent MacKenzie.” As soon as Tom pulled away, Gav turned to me. “He thinks there’s something going on between us.”
“Isn’t there?”
“You know what I mean. We’re taking things slower than most people do these days.”
With my long hours, Gav’s unpredictable schedule, and a few issues we’d yet to work out, slow was the only choice we had. Special Agent in Charge Leonard Gavin’s responsibilities kept him on call 24/7 and out of town much of that time. I glanced back at the road. “I just hope he doesn’t share his assumptions with anyone.”
“He won’t. He’s a good man, Ollie.”
“He is,” I agreed, “but I have my sights set on someone even better.”
That got a smile out of him.
“Got time to come up?” I asked. “Hungry?”
“Can’t. As you can imagine, there’s too much hitting the fan tonight to take any personal time.”
“But…you’re here.”
“By the time I got your message you’d already been taken to the police station and we’d all been apprised of the situation. I volunteered to pick you up, but they said MacKenzie was already on his way.”
“You came anyway?”
“I wanted to see you.”
My stomach somersaulted like a smitten teenager’s. I tilted my chin up. “I’m glad.”
I waited a breathless moment, silently willing him to kiss me. Really kiss me. We’d been here before. So close. Maybe this time…
But there was that look in his eyes again. The one that had become so familiar these past weeks. Another reason we were taking things slowly.
“Ollie,” he said in a voice so gentle it sent shivers up my back, “if we’re going to have a relationship, we’re going to do it right. So it lasts.”
“I know.”
“Be patient with me.”
“Always.”
With a smile he said, “That’s my girl,” and kissed me on the cheek.
CHAPTER 7
AS EXPECTED, THE WHITE HOUSE WAS CRAZY the next morning. Media trucks got as close as they could, a press briefing was scheduled for ten, and those reporters not lucky enough to be invited to attend were left to stand in the cold, waiting for word from their colleagues inside as they spoke somberly into television cameras, the White House their backdrop.
