Affairs of Steak

by Julie Hyzy

  “Maybe it wasn’t the computer. Maybe it’s what’s on it.”

  I made a circle of the room, fighting anger against an unknown enemy. I wanted to lash out, to grab whomever it was and demand they return my property—now.

  “Do you think it was that Brad?”

  Gav didn’t answer.

  “What did they think they were going to get?” I asked, trying to tamp down my growing irritation. “I use it for recipes and e-mail. I’m no big shot with access to classified information. There’s nothing particularly confidential about how to prepare spinach, or notes I’ve made for the secretary of state’s birthday party.”

  Gav waited a moment for me to calm myself before he spoke. “Secretary of State Quinones’s birthday party,” he said as though thinking aloud. “Did you keep notes about what happened that day when you and Sargeant discovered the murder?”

  “Not on the computer. I did jot down a few impressions on paper…” I looked around, trying to remember where I’d left them. “…and a few about Brad—a description and a loose sketch—after I got home that night. I did that right after you left. Just to jog my memory if the need ever arose.” Whoever had taken my computer had taken every scrap of paper around it, too.

  “Are they here?”

  My shoulders slumped. “Nope. Gone.”

  Gav didn’t comment. “Anything else missing?”

  I let out a little squeak of disappointment. “My date book.” Frantically, I started opening drawers and rummaging through them. “I keep all my important information in my date book.”

  “You don’t keep your calendar on your cell phone?”

  “I keep all the White House dates on my phone and on the computer at work,” I said, “but I’m talking about my personal date book. I keep that separate. Call me old-fashioned, but it’s nice to be able to open it up and see a week at a glance.”

  “Think, Ollie. What could the thieves learn from your date book that they don’t already know?”

  I’d gone through every drawer. Disgusted by the loss, I folded my arms and frowned at the floor. “Not anything important. I have dry-cleaning to pick up. A dentist appointment. An annual physical. Stuff like that. A couple of upcoming local foodie events I thought about attending. Now I’m going to have to call around and try to re-create it all.”

  Gav was making notes in a book of his own. “Can you remember what you had planned for the upcoming week?”

  “Why?”

  “Can you?”

  “Sure, but I don’t understand why you need to know.”

  “Give me whatever you remember,” he said.

  That’s when I understood. “You think they want to know where I’ll be, don’t you? You think they’re targeting me.”

  He looked up, eyes clouded with worry. “The idea crossed my mind.”

  I leaned my back end against the desk’s edge. “Oh geez.” Outwardly I remained calm, but inside I was seething with fury and no small amount of terror. “I have a backup service for the computer. I can get all my files restored as soon as I have a place to put them.”

  Gav watched me.

  “What do I do?” I asked.

  “For starters, you don’t circumvent your bodyguard. We’re going to get them back here to keep a close watch over you.”

  That made sense. My stomach felt weak and wobbly; my legs, too. I leaned forward to place my hands on my knees.

  Gav stepped closer. “You okay?”

  From this lower position, I could see under my printer. Something shiny stared back at me. “Hey, what’s that?”

  Before Gav could stop me, I reached over and grabbed it.

  “Wait—”

  “They stole my notes but left my pen,” I said, holding up the gift I’d received only the day before. “Probably because it’s inscribed. Too easy to trace.” I thought about it. “Or they just missed it.”

  Gav paid no attention to the pen. He was glaring at me. “Have I taught you nothing?” I opened my mouth, but he interrupted. “You must never touch anything suspicious.”

  “This isn’t suspicious, this is my pen.”

  “Ollie.” His voice was a warning. “What do you remember from our discussion in the briefing room?”

  He was referring to shortly after we’d first met and I’d been the beneficiary of a one-on-one tutorial on bombs after skipping out on a group lesson.

  I smiled up at him. “That I thought you were cute?”

  His eyes narrowed, but I could tell he was amused, if only for a moment. “You’ve just walked into a crime scene,” he said. “Everything is suspect. You can’t pick things up willy-nilly.”

  “Willy-nilly?” I parroted, hoping to bring a little levity into the conversation. When he didn’t smile this time, I ceded the point. “You’re right. Completely. I should have been more careful. I’m actually kind of embarrassed to have made that mistake.”

  “Are you? Or are you just embarrassed that I caught you making it?” This time he did smile.

  I began to shake. The knowledge that intruders—possibly killers—had been here finally sunk in. Annoyed with myself for my vulnerability, I tried to apologize. “I’m not usually this weak,” I said. “I was fine until—”

  “You’re not weak, Ollie, you’re strong.”

  I remembered being little, maybe eleven years old, and getting picked on, badly, on the way home from school. I was fine going up the stairs to our house. I was fine walking through the door. I was fine until I saw my mom coming around the corner to greet me. That’s when I lost it. I felt like that now. If I’d been alone, handling this myself, I’d have kept it together. But now, I trembled like a kitten in a storm.

  “It’s okay,” he said as though reading my mind. “I’m here.”

  I wanted to press my face into his chest and not look up, not see the evidence of killers cruising my property. But I wasn’t eleven years old anymore and that wasn’t my style. I took a deep breath, let it out, and took a step back.

  He watched me closely.

  Making a slow circuit of the room that seemed naked without all my papers and without my dusty computer tower, I said, “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said.

  “Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to catch these guys. What now?”

  “We call the police.”

  Two officers arrived shortly, and though they talked with James at the front desk and asked me typical questions, they warned that this crime would likely go unsolved. “Unless we get lucky and the intruder left a fingerprint, and it matches one in our database…”

  “I understand,” I said.

  They both eyed Gav, who stood next to me but didn’t say a word.

  “You live here too, sir?” one of them asked, eyeing the bulge in the side of Gav’s jacket.

  “No.”

  “You have a permit to carry a firearm?”

  Gav pulled out his Secret Service ID. The two officers nodded in sync when they saw it. The other one asked, “Is there some sort of security concern—”

  “Ms. Paras is a White House employee,” he said.

  That seemed to satisfy them. For the moment.

  As they prepared to leave, one turned back and pointed to me, “Hey, weren’t you in the station the other day? Because you found that old guy who got lost?”

  I glanced at Gav, whose face was expressionless.

  “That was me,” I said. “I went over some mug shots, too.”

  The cop grinned as he trundled out the door. “I knew you looked familiar. Have yourself a good night.”

  The minute they were gone, Mrs. Wentworth popped in, Stan following close behind. “What happened? What did they steal?” she asked.

  As I tried to assure her that very little was missing, she shook her head. “It’s not your things they were after, Ollie. It was you.”

  “I agree,” Gav said. “We’re bringing back her security detail. I’ll call them now.”

  Mrs. Wentworth gr
ipped Gav’s arm to stop him from walking away. “Maybe you should stay here tonight.” Her knobby hand tightened. “Don’t you think that would be best?”

  Gav gave me a sideways glance. “You’re lucky to have neighbors who look out for you,” he said. Placing his hand gently over Mrs. Wentworth’s, he smiled down at her. “As tempting a suggestion as that may be, it would be better to have several agents here guarding her rather than just one.”

  Before he could turn away again, I stopped him. “I’m not arguing the security detail, but how are you going to explain it?” I asked. “I mean…”

  “She means that if you order the guards, then everybody will know you two are seeing each other socially,” Mrs. Wentworth said, wagging her eyebrows.

  Stan, who had been silent up until now, piped up. “You mean he’s supposed to be a secret?”

  Mrs. Wentworth jabbed him with her elbow. “They’re keeping this relationship under wraps.” Another eyebrow wag directed to Gav. “Aren’t you? It won’t be long before everybody figures it out.”

  If my apartment hadn’t just been broken into, I might have enjoyed the interchange. “Gav,” I said, placing my hand over his, “let me do it.”

  I watched indecision work across his face.

  “I’ll call Tom,” I said.

  Mrs. Wentworth shot Stan a look, which he clearly didn’t understand. “Uh-oh,” she said. “Let’s head back now, honey.”

  When they were gone, Gav put his phone away. “You’re right. Better it comes from you. At least for now. But I’m staying until I know you’re safe.”

  Tom was surprised to hear from me so late on a Sunday night. I told him what was up and he was immediately solicitous. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t here when it happened.”

  “Where were you?”

  I hadn’t expected that question. “Out.”

  “By yourself?”

  I didn’t feel like answering that. “I just wanted to let you know. What’s next is up to you. I’m not asking for a guard detail, you know that.”

  “But you’re going to get one. It was smart of you to call me before things got any worse. Seems like you’re making some good decisions lately. What’s changed?”

  I pulled my cell phone away from my ear and gave it a dirty look. Gav watched, confused. Back into the receiver, I said, “I’m so glad you approve. Now, before I hang up, is there anything else you need from me? Will the guard come upstairs so I can meet him or her? So I know who’s safe to let in?”

  “I didn’t mean that the way it came out, Ollie.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. I’m sorry. I guess I was trying to ask something without asking it.”

  I didn’t bite, but he asked anyway.

  “Your friend Gav seems to take a special interest in your comings and goings. I’m just wondering if he’s giving you advice. It’s good advice, I mean. It’s just not like you to…” He blew out a breath. “This is all coming out wrong.”

  “It was my idea to call you,” I said. That much wasn’t a lie. “So I guess there’s hope for me yet, huh?”

  “Again, I’m sorry. The agents should be there in less than twenty. I’ll have them call your cell when they arrive.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  When I hung up, Gav looked at me expectantly. “What was the look for?”

  “Old wounds.”

  Gav looked sorry he’d asked.

  CHAPTER 17

  MONDAY MORNING DAWNED AS I RODE IN the backseat of a Secret Service vehicle. To the best of my knowledge, it was the same one assigned to me before. Either that or it was decked out identically, with its hard black seats, worn chrome trim, and bulletproof windows. Agent Scorroco was again my driver, but the big difference was this time two agents were assigned to stand sentry outside my apartment all day while I was gone.

  As the dark sky turned from inky blue to gray, I thought about how hard it had been to sleep last night. In an effort to keep our secret safe, Gav had waited in his car in the apartment’s lot until my security detail arrived. Before he’d left, he’d put his arm around my shoulders and said he wished we could have gotten that chance to talk. He promised we would. Soon.

  When he was gone, I’d wandered back to the space where my computer had been. Empty. Exactly how I was feeling right now. Gav had moved quickly to protect me. He’d done everything in his power to ensure my safety and he’d even been willing to expose himself by ordering the guard until I’d offered to do it.

  So why did I still feel left out of his life?

  Staring out the windows, sitting in the backseat of this utilitarian sedan with a driver who didn’t talk, didn’t help my frame of mind. All it did was make me feel more alone.

  As soon as I arrived in the kitchen and checked the day’s schedule, I realized Peter and I had a meeting planned at eleven regarding the secretary of state’s party. Not for the first time did I think how odd it was to be planning such a festive event while the White House was in official mourning for its murdered staff members. But events of this magnitude didn’t plan themselves and if we expected to have everything in place a month from now, we needed to keep moving forward.

  With an eye on the schedule, I tapped a finger against my lips. A Cabinet breakfast had been scheduled for nine, which meant I could be free to visit the calligraphy department by nine-thirty. Despite Cyan’s and Bucky’s warnings, it wouldn’t kill me to go talk to Lynn on Sargeant’s behalf. Sargeant wasn’t a nice man, but he wasn’t a careless one. If the Baumgartners’ name had been accidentally dropped from the guest list, I knew it couldn’t have been his fault. And if there was one thing that kept me moving forward, it was curiosity when pieces of a puzzle didn’t add up.

  Bucky arrived just a few minutes after I did, Cyan shortly after that. We were preparing breakfast for the president’s Cabinet, a task the three of us had handled more times than I could count. I let myself get lost in the moment. Our team worked together in a companionable, easy silence. Comfortable with one another, good at our jobs, and confident that our teammates had our backs, we had produced hundreds—thousands—of meals that had been served to world leaders. Most important, we’d done all this by ourselves. It felt so good to have Virgil gone. I bit my lip. Who knew what trouble he was stirring up for us during his stint at Camp David?

  As I pressed shredded potatoes into the bottom of a skillet with a spatula, I thought about Henry, who’d made his famous hash browns a staple in the White House. It was due to Henry’s leadership that Bucky, Cyan, and I worked so well together. He had been teacher, mentor, and almost surrogate dad to all three of us. I turned the hash browns so that they’d be brown and crispy on both sides, considering where I might be falling short. What could I do to foster the same sort of collegiality Henry did, with Virgil in the mix?

  It wasn’t enough to complain that Virgil didn’t fit in with the rest of us. While it was true that I’d worked hard to make him feel welcome, I had to admit to having concerns about being muscled out for the top job. Could I have unintentionally projected my unease and alienated him?

  As breakfast was completed, plated, and gone—sent to the president and his advisors via the hands of our trusty butlers—I vowed to do a better job in creating a more cohesive team. It wouldn’t be easy, but I pledged to plan while Virgil was gone.

  Warmed by the feeling of trying to make the world a better place, and remembering that Sargeant had stepped out of his comfort zone to talk to Milton on my behalf, I set out for the calligraphers’ office to talk to the elusive Lynn. Sargeant and I had never gotten along, but if I could smooth out our working relationship, it could benefit us both. Just like I hoped to do with Virgil.

  Flush with confidence and brimming with good cheer, I made my way to the East Wing and up to the calligraphers’ office. It was a sizeable room, filled with desks and hunched-over artists working at slanted top desks. Bright adjustable lamps illuminat
ed each individual workspace. “Hello,” I said to four backs.

  They all looked up. The head of the department, Emily, waved a pen at me. “Hey, Ollie, what can I do for you?”

  “Could I have a minute of Lynn’s time?” I asked.

  The girl’s head jerked up. “Me?” she squeaked, pointing her pen to herself. With a panicked look at Emily, she raised her shoulders. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just need to ask you about invitations.”

  Emily waved Lynn toward me. “Ollie’s great,” she said. “Please do whatever you can to help her out.”

  Lynn put down her pen and followed me out into the hall. “You’re the chef, aren’t you?” she asked. “I don’t understand what you need from me.”

  “I’m acting as liaison for the secretary of state’s party, but I’m not completely in charge, thank goodness,” I said with a smile to put her at ease. Skittish, she was like a malnourished, abandoned kitten. With pale hair, close-set eyes, and petite features, she was also just about as unimposing. “Mr. Sargeant has a question. About the guest list.”

  She blinked those teeny eyes. “What does he want? He scares me.”

  He scares a lot of people, I thought. “Nothing to be afraid of. There’s a problem we can’t figure out and we need your help. Do you have any idea how Mr. and Mrs. Baumgartner got dropped from the guest list?”

  “They’re not missing now,” she said quickly. “We added their names back. Right away. Not a single person is missing from the guest list. We double- and triple-checked. We made sure.”

  Lynn seemed to think I was looking to point the finger at her. “Great,” I said. “What I can’t figure out is how Sar—Mr. Sargeant skipped the Baumgartners’ name when he sent you the list. He can’t remember making that adjustment, but clearly the file was changed. I’m working backward to figure it out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me just get a couple of things straight. It was you who noticed that the Baumgartners were missing, right?”

  Her pale face colored and she looked away. “Well, kind of.”

  “Kind of,” I repeated. “If you didn’t notice, who did?”