“Three… two…”
“Got it!” I shouted. I yanked at a fist-sized piece of plastic that had been duct-taped to the back of the medallion. Pulling it forward, I held it up for Gav to see.
“What exactly do you think you have?” he asked.
“This!” I said, feeling my face flush with pride.
He arched an eyebrow.
“This is what I was supposed to find, isn’t it?”
Gav tilted his head, approaching me slowly. Taking the device from my hands, he said, “First of all, let me congratulate you, Ms. Paras. You’re the first person to find one of our planted IEDs.” He fingered two wires that reached out from the bottom of the plastic, playing with them so they bounced at his touch. “And guess what else you did that no one else did.”
I shrugged.
“You just set off the bomb,” he said.
“But-”
He stopped me with a withering gaze. How could anyone stay as cold and detached as this guy? He played with the two wires, pointing them at me.
“Know what this means, Ms. Paras?”
I shook my head.
“Kaboom!” he shouted into my face.
My shoulders dropped.
“It isn’t enough that you’re able to spot things out of place,” he said, stepping back, again the picture of calm. “You need to learn what to do when faced with an emergency.”
I opened my mouth to argue. I’d been in my fair share of emergency situations and I’d handled things nicely, thank you very much-but I realized he was right. When it came to explosive devices, I had no idea what to do. I closed my mouth without saying a word.
“Very good,” he said with a tone that made me want to kaboom him myself. “Now that we’ve tested your powers of observation, let’s work on reaction protocols.”
Forty-five minutes later, he finally released me for the day. “Not a bad start,” he said. From him, I supposed that rated as high praise.
“Thanks a lot,” I said, pushing bangs off my damp forehead. He’d really kept me moving-in the hour we’d worked together, we hadn’t had two minutes of downtime. Truth was, though, I’d learned more than I’d expected to and certainly more than I ever hoped to need to know. Throughout my tutorial, Gavin constantly prefaced his demonstrations with, “We didn’t get a chance to do this with the big group…” so I got the definite impression that I’d received more in-depth instruction than had my colleagues. He really warmed to the subject matter when he taught one-on-one. Maybe I could even skip the next class.
We walked back toward the residence, through the Palm Room, in silence. When he and I were about to part company at the kitchen, I stopped him. “Special Agent Gavin?”
He turned. “Call me Gav.”
Little did he know I’d already been doing that under my breath.
With a shrug, he added, “That is, use the nickname when we’re working together. If we’re out here, then use Special Agent Gavin.”
“Sure,” I said. But I sincerely hoped we wouldn’t be working one-on-one again, ever.
“What were you going to say,” he asked, “when you stopped me?”
Despite the fact that he was an arrogant jerk, and dismissive of my role as executive chef, I realized I was better prepared for emergencies even after today’s short session. “Just wanted to say thanks,” I said. “I learned a lot.”
He frowned. “I’ll be tougher on you next time.” With a quick turn on his heel, he walked away.
Peculiar man.
I’d just about gotten into the kitchen when I ran into Bindy coming out. What was she doing here?
“Ollie!” she said, startling us both. “Where have you been?”
I didn’t feel like explaining, so I pointed west. “Busy.”
“The senator’s wife, Maryann Blanchard, is upstairs,” she said. “She wants to meet you.”
“Me?” My hand instinctively brushed hair out of my eyes, and I was disappointed to discover I was still perspiring. “Why?”
Cheeks flushed, Bindy appeared a good deal more frazzled than she had yesterday. Although she was again super-snazzily dressed, she lacked the polish from the day before. “I was supposed to introduce you hours ago. Treyton insisted on it.” Her eyes were restless-as though she were afraid that he would suddenly swoop down and scold her for taking too long. She giggled, which I recognized as Bindy’s unusual expression of nervousness. We were all put in uncomfortable situations all too often. Her method of release didn’t speak well of her professionalism. “Mrs. Blanchard wants you to meet the children.”
“Now?” I glanced at my watch. The Mothers’ Luncheon should be over. Guides should be taking groups of moms and tots on tours of the open rooms of the White House, and then everyone would gather in the East Room for a final discussion of the day’s events. “Where’s the First Lady?”
Bindy tilted her head, as though the question surprised her. “Upstairs with Mrs. Blanchard and a few others.”
“How’s she holding up?”
Finally, the light dawned. “Oh, of course. Yes. That’s right. She lost her nephew yesterday.”
My God, how could she have forgotten?
Bindy glanced away again. Maybe this job was too much for her. “I mean, we feel terrible about the First Family’s loss,” she said.
Too little, too late.
“But, Ollie, if you could just come upstairs for a little bit…”
“Does this have to do with the placement of her kids’ gingerbread men in the Red Room?” I asked.
Bindy blushed more deeply. “Just five minutes, okay?”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I haven’t been back to the kitchen in over an hour and there are a million things to be done. Sorry.” I started to move away, but she cut me off.
“Please,” she said. “I promised her she’d get the chance to meet you.”
“I told you I’d take a look at the gingerbread men the kids made. Isn’t that enough? Tell her I’m busy. It’s the truth.”
“You have to do this, Ollie,” Bindy said. Her voice had changed. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”
I stared at her but she averted her eyes. “I don’t understand what what’s like?”
She bit her lip, wrinkling her nose. When she looked at me again, I thought she might cry. “Look at you. You’ve made it. You’re at the top. You’ve gotten there.”
I had an idea of where she was going, and though I didn’t really want to travel down this track, I couldn’t think of a way to stop the train.
“This is my chance,” she said. “This is a dream job. This is what I’ve been working for all my life.” She jabbed a finger into her own chest so hard it had to hurt. “But I’m still new. And I’m still trying to prove myself. What’s it going to look like if I can’t do something simple like make an introduction that Mrs. Blanchard requested?”
“You shouldn’t have promised-”
“I know. You’re right. I shouldn’t have.” Bindy looked as miserable as a person could, despite the trim suit and snazzy shoes, and she held out her hands, abdicating all power.
I had to ask. “Why are you so keen on keeping a job that makes you unhappy?”
For the first time since we started talking, Bindy smiled. “I love my job.”
“I never would’ve guessed.”
“It’s just the pressure,” she said. “I’m not used to it yet. But I’m getting better. And Treyton has plans. Big plans. If I’m good at what I do, he’ll keep me around. That’s all I want.”
Big plans. Like a run for the presidency? He was the same party as President Campbell. I doubted he’d make a primary bid against an incumbent, but I didn’t doubt he fantasized about it.
I felt for Bindy, but I was sticky, tired, and not in the mood to meet anyone-especially one with a “choose my kids’ artwork” agenda on her mind.
“Please,” she said again.
I rubbed my eyesockets. “I’m a mess.”
“Nobody will care.”
And that was how I came to meet Mrs. Blanchard upstairs in the Entrance Hall. She was a dark-haired, petite beauty. Bindy introduced me. “Call me Maryann,” Mrs. Blanchard said.