Affairs of Steak Page 17

  We stopped talking when our food arrived, but jumped right back in the moment the waitress was gone. Shop talk had calmed me enough to appreciate the steaming trout on my plate. “This smells heavenly.”

  “I’m not impressed with Doug,” he said. “He’s got a long way to go.”

  “How much rope will they give him? Any idea?”

  Gav sliced off a bite of his swordfish. “I’m not always privy to staffing information.”

  “Only when it involves security?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Since this is our official first date,” I said, “I guess we should try to get to know each other better.”

  Gav’s mouth twitched. “What do you want to know?”

  “For starters, where did you grow up?”

  “Foster homes, mostly.”

  I’d expected him to name a city, or a state, even a region. I hadn’t expected that. Rendered speechless, I didn’t know how to follow up.

  “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  “I just don’t know what to say next,” I said. “I’d love to know why you were in foster homes and anything else you care to tell me, but I don’t want to pry.”

  He almost smiled at that. “Come on. My Ollie always wants to pry.”

  His Ollie? I liked the sound of that. The trout on my plate suddenly tasted a whole lot better. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

  “An abridged version tonight, is that okay?” He shrugged as though his story was of no consequence. “I was three when my mother left me with the babysitter and never came back.” He waved his fork, “Yes, Doctor Freud. Tie that in with what you already know, and I do have issues with the important women in my life leaving me.”

  “I wasn’t going to say…”

  “You didn’t have to. Your face gives you away. As a detective, you’d be great. As a spy…” He frowned. “Not so much.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where was I? Oh yes. I got thrown into the system pretty young, but I got lucky. Most of the foster homes I lived in were good ones.”

  “Most?”

  He shifted his shoulders as he cut another piece of fish, but instead of bringing it to his mouth, he stared at it. “The last one was rough. Fortunately I didn’t have to stay long. The day I turned eighteen I joined the military. Did my stint there, got out, got my degree, had a life for a while…”

  He didn’t have to expand on that part. I remembered.

  “…and eventually started working for the government.”

  I’d stopped eating to listen.

  “That’s the short version. I can’t imagine you ever wanting to hear the long one. But if you’re asking about where I grew up geographically, I’m a Midwestern kid, just like you. Born just a little farther south. Indianapolis.” He popped a bite of fish into his mouth.

  “I didn’t know that about you.”

  “About the foster homes? Not too many people do. No reason to tell anyone. People make assessments. Judgments based on what they think they can deduce. Unfortunately, many of them are right.”

  “That’s why you didn’t tell me?”

  “I just did.” His gaze softened. “Of everyone I’ve ever met, you’re the least likely to judge a book by its cover or a person by their upbringing. You see things clearly the way they are. I admire that about you.” Focusing on his plate, he speared a brussels sprout and turned the tables on me. “I know you’re from Chicago and that your mom and grandmother raised you, but what about your dad?”

  “That’s kind of a big story, too.”

  “If you don’t want to talk about it—”

  “No, no. That’s not it. I do.” I smiled up at him. “My dad, Anthony Paras, is buried in Arlington.”

  Gav’s eyebrows came together. He started to reach for my hand, but stopped himself. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. He died when I was very young. My mom never really told me how. Just that he died in service to our country.”

  “No specifics?”

  “None.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t dug deeper.”

  I took another sip of wine, admitting to him what I hadn’t told anyone else. “I know there’s more to the story. I also know that I’ve made enough friends around Washington, D.C., that I might be able to find out if I tried hard enough.”

  “So what’s stopping you?”

  “My mom always gets this funny look on her face whenever I bring up Dad’s death.”

  “I’m surprised that hasn’t made you more curious.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “I’m crazy curious. But my mom doesn’t want me to dig.”

  “Have you ever asked her why?”

  I swirled my wineglass. “You’ve never seen the look.”

  “That’s hard for you, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t answer. I just nodded.

  “You’re a good person, Ollie.”

  I glanced up to see him looking at me with a sad expression.

  As the waitress cleared our plates, she asked if we wanted dessert. “No, thanks,” I said, then asked Gav, “You?”

  “Maybe next time.” The minute she left, he whispered, “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

  “You should be hanging around with our pastry chef, Marcel.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “He’s not my type.”

  Out in the parking lot, I looked for a government-issue car. Couldn’t find one. Gav pointed and clicked his remote and a car in the next aisle beeped hello. “You really are off duty,” I said as we made our way toward it.

  “I don’t have to be back until Tuesday.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “There’s probably no chance of you getting tomorrow off, is there?”

  For a half second, I considered it. I had no idea what Gav had planned, but it didn’t matter. I wanted to spend more time with him. Growing up, I could tell a boy liked me if his eyes sparkled. And right now Gav was looking at me exactly the way I’d been wishing he would.

  “Tomorrow?” I repeated weakly, wishing for one wild moment that I could throw off my responsibilities and just run with it. Just for a day. But one of the things that tied us together was our dedication to duty. “With Virgil at Camp David and meetings for the secretary of state’s birthday party on my agenda, there’s no chance.”

  “Figured. But worth a try.”

  We’d arrived next to a silver Honda Civic. “This yours?”

  “Flashy, huh?” he asked as he held the door open for me.

  I slid into the passenger seat. “It’s nice. If you drove a Corvette, I might be worried.”

  “Nothing wrong with Corvettes,” he said. “Lots of my friends drive them.” He held the door for a moment. “Just not my style.”

  When he shut the door, I whispered, “I’m glad.”

  He got in and started the car up. “Straight home?”

  I was eager to have the talk he’d promised. “Sounds good.”

  He eased the car out of the space. “I get the impression you’re pleased to have lost your Secret Service detail.”

  “You know it,” I said. “The minute I found out it was Milton—Sargeant’s nephew—shadowing me, I asked to have them released.”

  “I’m not thrilled, you understand. I think they should have kept you under guard until all of this is over.” He turned toward the exit. “What did Milton want?”

  I told him about the man’s assertions that he’d seen Brad and bump guy together and that he’d also seen them in the company of an unnamed government official. “The thing is,” I said now that I’d had a chance to mull this over, “if he’s right and bump guy is tied to the murders and we know Brad is tied to Bettencourt, then does that mean that the murders are connected to Quinones? Could he be in danger?”

  Gav gave me a sharp look. “Geez, Ollie.”

  I didn’t understand. “Are you angry?”

  He stared ahead, then pulled over to the side of the road. Why did I seem to always have
this effect on the men in my life? But when Gav looked at me, it was very different from Tom’s reaction. “We’ve been getting reports that suggest that Secretary of State Quinones may very well be in danger. These reports came through reliable, but secure—very secure—sources. How does information like this just happen to fall into your lap?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I wish I had your gift.”

  I laughed. Not happily. “We’ve had this conversation, remember?” I thought back to when I first realized Gav had faith in me. “Hardly a gift. Feels more like a curse.”

  “Can we get some of that to rub off on me?” Even in the darkened car, I could see his face color. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

  This time I laughed for real.

  He pulled back into the light Sunday evening traffic. “So what happens now?” I asked.

  “You’ll probably hear Quinones on TV in the next day or so. He’s been instructed to make a big deal about how he’s received death threats…”

  “Has he?”

  “No,” Gav said. “Nothing quite so obvious. The intelligence we’ve gathered suggests he’s a target, but we don’t know exactly who is after him. Your friends Brad and bump guy are undoubtedly working for a higher up.”

  “Foreign power?”

  “Hard to say. Quinones will address the media soon to let them know about his new protective detail. We’re hoping that not only stalls whatever they may be planning, but also buys us time to find out who they are.”

  “And you think that whoever killed Chief of Staff Cawley and Patty Woodruff is now aiming for Quinones?”

  “We do. I know you said you didn’t see bump guy’s face, but I’d like to have you take another look at mug shots to find Brad.”

  “You know I did that already at the police station. Came up empty.”

  “We have additional photos the police don’t. People we’re watching but who may not have criminal records. Yet.”

  “Like…spies?”

  “You should still be guarded,” he said, not answering the question. “Even if bump guy doesn’t know who you are, it’s clear Brad does.”

  “But he doesn’t know where I live.”

  Gav took his eyes off the road long enough to give me a hard stare. “You think that will stop him?”

  I didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Gav turned into the parking lot and found a spot near the back. He shut off the car. “Time to talk.”

  My heart trilled a weird beat, but I unlocked my seat belt and nodded. “Want to come up? No more guard on duty, remember? The coast is clear.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “It’s going to get chilly in here soon and if we do a lot of talking, we’re going to fog up the windows. How would that look?”

  He smiled. “You can be very convincing.”

  CHAPTER 16

  WE WALKED TO THE FRONT DOOR, PAST JAMES snoozing at the front desk. “Not much of a guard,” Gav whispered.

  “I know. But he’s such a sweetheart and truly loves his job. It’s not like we get a lot of excitement around here.”

  Gav’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Okay,” I amended, “we get some.”

  We rode the elevator in silence. Gav studied the digital readout as we made our way up. I wondered what he was thinking.

  When we arrived at my floor, the first thing I noticed was that Mrs. Wentworth’s door was shut. I was about to comment, when I noticed something else. Mine wasn’t.

  I started to point, but Gav was already pushing me behind him. He reached under his jacket and slid out his gun, creeping forward. Silently, he signaled for me to move far, far back in the hall. I knew not to make a sound, so I mouthed, “Be careful,” to his back.

  He nudged the door open wider, leading the way with his semi-automatic. He didn’t call out the way police do on TV shows. Instead he surveyed what he could see carefully, then disappeared inside.

  I’d been holding my breath, but it wasn’t until little sparkles began to dance in front of my eyes that I realized it. Keeping as quiet as I could, I waited, listening for any sound, any hint of what was going on inside. But all I heard were the creaks and groans that my building normally made and the breathing I tried hard to keep silent.

  A glance at my watch told me nothing. It felt as though he’d been in there for twenty minutes, but in truth it couldn’t have been more than two. I waited, growing more impatient by the second, reassuring myself that nothing was wrong. That I’d forgotten to lock up before I left.

  But I knew better.

  In my gut I knew it couldn’t have been Milton. He’d had his say, and I knew he wouldn’t come sneaking around again. More to the point, he wouldn’t have broken in.

  My gaze traveled again to Mrs. Wentworth’s door. Still shut. Usually when she heard the ding of the elevator, she cracked it open to peer out. Had someone come by to break into my apartment? Had she seen the person? Had he hurt her?

  Torn between not wanting to make noise and needing to find out if Mrs. Wentworth was okay, I started for her door.

  “Ollie.” Gav didn’t whisper. He’d reappeared in my doorway with a grave look on his face. “You better come take a look.”

  “Let me check on Mrs. Wentworth first,” I said. “She should have popped out by now.”

  I watched Gav’s realization dawn. He started toward me. “Let me do it.”

  Behind us, the elevator whirred to life. It was a noise I barely ever noticed, but tonight in the tense quiet, the machinery humming was ominous. Loud.

  “Get behind me,” Gav said again.

  “It could be going to another floor.”

  He grabbed my arm and in four long strides was next to the elevator doors, pushing me to stand behind him, holding me back with one hand. In the other, his gun was low, but ready.

  “Be careful,” I whispered.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. I could practically feel the tension vibrating off his taut body.

  Again, I held my breath.

  The whirring continued, then stopped as the elevator dinged its arrival. On my floor. “Shh,” Gav said softly, barely breathing the sound. Like I would have moved.

  The hand that had been protectively holding me back dropped to his side, then came up in a double-grip on his gun just as the elevator doors opened. He flattened himself against the wall, waiting for the intruder to alight.

  Mrs. Wentworth and Stan nearly jumped out of their skins when they saw the two of us skulking there. “Heavens!” Mrs. Wentworth exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing there?”

  Gav surreptitiously slid his gun under his jacket. “My apologies,” he said.

  Instant relief for me. Not so much for the elderly couple. “Mrs. Wentworth! Are you all right?” I asked, moving toward her.

  It took her less than a heartbeat to assess the situation. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  Stan held Mrs. Wentworth’s arm, pulling her close. All the blood had drained from his face. “What happened?” he asked, looking from me to Gav and back.

  “I do apologize,” Gav said. “Let’s get you into your apartment.”

  Mrs. Wentworth gave him the eagle eye. “Not until you tell us why you felt the need to scare the daylights out of two old people coming back from a date.”

  Gav knew as well as I did that it was useless to argue with her. “Ollie’s apartment was broken into this evening.”

  Her hand came up to her throat. “You weren’t home, were you?” Before I could answer, she asked, “Was it a robbery?” To Gav, “Or something more up your alley?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said as he guided them both to Mrs. Wentworth’s apartment. “Ollie hasn’t gone in yet, and I want her to take a look before we call the police. Can you sit tight for a while? We’ll come let you know when it’s clear.”

  Grudgingly they allowed themselves to be safely tucked away.

  “
Come on,” Gav said as we pushed through the door, “take a look.”

  For the second time in as many days, I wandered through my own home in the wake of a potential break-in. At first glance nothing looked out of place. I made my way into the living room, then the kitchen, looking for signs of a robbery. Maybe I’d watched too many TV shows, but I expected my sofa cushions to be sliced open and tossed on the floor, the kitchen chairs to be upended, and every drawer pulled out. But the place looked completely normal. “Maybe I left the door unlocked?” I said.

  Gav motioned for me to follow him. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy, but I had to look in here.”

  “Here” was my bedroom. Almost as I’d left it. Almost.

  “I never leave my drawers open,” I said, walking over to them and peering in. Nothing seemed to be missing but the fact that a stranger had been pawing through my underwear gave me a sick feeling of violation. I swallowed as I poked around. The little bit of jewelry I owned was still exactly where I’d left it. “I can’t tell for sure, but I don’t think anything is missing.”

  “What about in here?” Gav stood in the hallway, ever reluctant to invade my space. I followed him into the second bedroom.

  “Oh,” I said, “they can’t have taken that.”

  Gav waited.

  I indicated the only clear and dust-free spot on my desk. “My computer. It was old—like, should have been replaced five years ago old. It’s clunky, slow, and can’t be worth much, even for parts.” My voice rose, as though explaining its lack of worth would somehow magically bring it back. “Why would anybody steal it?” Ripped away from its printer and monitor, my trusty desktop tower was glaringly absent. I stepped closer to my desk. Whoever had taken it had also taken all my notes and papers. I tended to leave my desk area messy, with piles of to-dos and have-dones that I cleared out about twice a year. My last purge must have been at least four months ago.