Buffalo West Wing (17 page)

“You know that new chef they announced today?”

“Virgil Ballantine, yes.”

Reggie sliced another piece and chewed, stringing out the suspense. “How much do you like your job?”

“Why?”

Smiling now, sensing he had me engaged, he gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Virgil and I go way back,” he said. “We went to culinary school together, but I got the better job when we graduated and I’ve been moving up the ladder ever since.” With a so-so motion of his head, he went on. “Virgil gets some good write-ups, for sure. He’s no slouch. But he just doesn’t have the personality I do.”

Thank God for that.

“Virgil’s more into skill and creativity than he is the business of being a chef.” As though that were a terrible proclamation, Reggie said, “We used to think we might start a place together. But when we both got out of school, I knew it wouldn’t be right. I decided against working together, even though Virgil really wanted to give it a go. I knew it wasn’t going to work.”

I wondered what the real reason was behind their preempted business plans.

Reggie added, “He’s gunning for your job now. Told me about it last week when he was in town. I think he’s seen how successful I’ve been by cooperating with the media, and now he wants the life I have.” Pointing at me, gun-style, he pretended to shoot. “He’s aiming for you.”

I just sat there, wanting more than ever to rush out of this place and never return.

With a nasty grin, he splayed his hands over his dish in a “What do you have to say about that?” gesture.

“If this guy is your friend, then why forewarn me?”

He resumed eating, staring down at the plate as he sliced off another hunk of meat. “You and I are very much alike.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

He stopped chewing and looked up. “Sure we are.”

The waiter made it to the top of the steps, warily gauging our progress. “I’d like this wrapped, please,” I said. So consumed was I with the prospect of escape, I’d barely noticed any flavors in the expensive scallop dinner I’d eaten. At least there was enough on my plate to take home.

He whisked my plate away and asked if I would like coffee.

“No, thank you.”

“I’m not even halfway done,” Reggie said petulantly when the waiter departed with my dish. “I can’t believe you had him take yours while I was still eating.”

“I just couldn’t stand it any longer,” I said.

He nodded, appeased. “I get you. Yeah, the sauce was starting to congeal. Very unappetizing.”

He had no idea.

When the waiter came back with my leftovers in a fancy bag, Reggie pushed his plate forward. “This was all right. Nothing to write home about.” He winked and pointed at me. “Tell your chef she said that.”

“But I didn’t.”

Reggie waved a finger over his plate. “I’ll take mine to go, too. Gotta leave room for dessert.”

The waiter gave a little bow, then asked, “Shall I put these in the same bag?”

I gave a sharp jerk. “No!”

After what seemed like forever, Reggie received his own take-home bag and the waiter inquired about dessert. “No, no,” I said quickly, having anticipated this moment. “I really need to get home. Early start tomorrow.”

“What do you have going?” Reggie asked.

“So much I can’t even begin to list it all. It gets like that before state dinners, and we’ve got one coming up soon.”

“Virgil was always especially good at managing large affairs,” Reggie said thoughtfully. “That was one skill he really excelled at.”

Oh, joy of joys. Now the one thing I thought I could hang my hat on—the one thing I had been certain would prove I could cook circles around Virgil Ballantine—was being whisked out from under me as quickly as my plate had.

Downstairs in the Morgenthal lobby, Reggie offered to get my car from the valet so I wouldn’t have to go out in the cold. “I’m fine,” I said. “I like this weather.”

God save me from all the lies I’d been telling lately.

He walked me outside and insisted on waiting with me until my car was retrieved. “I really enjoyed our dinner,” he said. “Maybe I’ll let you return the favor. You can take
me
out next time. It doesn’t have to be this nice. I figure I make more money than you do.”

Appalled, I was struck speechless once again.

“What are you doing Friday?” he asked. “I’ve got the night off.”

Right then, my car arrived. “Sorry,” I said, running around the back before Reggie could move in for the kiss. I tipped the valet and waved him away, even though he clearly wanted to close my door for me. Over the roof of my car I said, “I’m running a tasting Friday night. First one with the new lady of the house. It’ll take hours.”

He frowned, then raised his hand to wave as I dropped into my seat and slammed the door. “I’ll call you,” he shouted.

I put the car into drive and pulled away. “Yeah, but I won’t answer.”

CHAPTER 15

I DROVE HOME IN A SILENT HUFF, FURIOUS with myself for agreeing to the disastrous date in the first place. I’d known better. I should have trusted my gut. But I’d hedged this time. I knew exactly why I’d agreed to go out with Reggie even though I hadn’t wanted to: I was afraid of hurting his feelings. Shaking my head as I drove, I wondered how many people in this world were stuck in uncomfortable situations at this very moment just because they’d attempted to spare someone else’s feelings. I realized that instead of making me feel worse, the thought actually made me smile. I wasn’t alone. Lots of people would have done what I did.

Just as I made it through the front door of my apartment building and said hello to James at the desk, my cell phone rang. “No,” I said aloud, knowing without a doubt that this was Reggie calling to tell me what a nice time he’d had and how much he wanted to do it again.

James looked up. “That the White House calling you back in to work?”

I pulled up the little device and checked the display. “No,” I said. “I don’t recognize the number.” I also noticed I had one missed call.

Waving good night to James, I made my way toward the elevators. “Hello?”

“Ollie?” Not Reggie. My whole body relaxed.

“Yes.”

The caller was silent.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Are your deductive skills so rusty that you can’t figure it out?” The voice mocked me and then I heard, “
Tsk
. I was sure you’d have me at hello.”

I felt a rush of pleasure. “Gav?”

There was a smile in his voice when he answered, “That’s my girl.”

“How are you? Where are you?” I asked. I hadn’t heard from Special Agent in Charge Leonard Gavin for some time. Although he and I kept in occasional contact, we’d only run into each other once or twice over the past few years.

“I’m in town,” he said, keeping it intentionally vague, as I knew he would. “Official stuff, what else? I thought I’d give you a call and see why you haven’t solved the recent crisis yet.”

I laughed. “According to the TV reports, everything’s solved. Haven’t you heard?”

Again the
tsk.
“My sources tell me there’s more going on in the background. So deep even Momma Bear doesn’t know.”

“Well, aren’t you plugged in?”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.”

I stood in the quiet elevator bank, hearing my voice echo. “I’m going into an elevator right now. If we lose signal, can I call you right back?”

“I only have a minute here anyway,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you were free Friday night. I thought we could get coffee and catch up.”

“I’d love that,” I said, then stopped myself when I remembered. “Oh, but I can’t. I’m doing a tasting Friday night. And you know what that means.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “But it was worth a try.”

Impulsively I asked, “What about Saturday?”

“Can’t do Saturday. I might be gone by then. Lots of stuff happening. I can tell you some of it, but not on the phone.”

“Now I’m really tempted.”

“You weren’t before?”

“Of course I was.” I laughed, then immediately sobered. “I’m sorry the timing isn’t going to work out.” I hoped he could hear the disappointment in my voice. “Let me know if things change.”

“Things
are
changing, Ollie. That’s part of what I wanted to talk with you about.” Someone in the background called to him. “Gotta go,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

He hung up before I could say anything further.

It didn’t sound as though I’d be hearing from him again anytime soon. But as I rode up the elevator to my floor, I made sure to program his number into my phone for future reference.

 

The next morning, Cyan came rushing in, her face still red from the outside chill. “How was your date?” she asked as she unzipped her jacket. “I wanted to call you last night, but I didn’t know if it went”—she waggled her eyebrows—“extra late.”

“Don’t even go there,” I said, putting up my hands. “Any more evenings like that one and I’ll be begging Tom to take me back.”

She looked at me with sympathy. “That bad?”

I didn’t have a chance to answer when, speak of the devil, Tom walked in. His manner was far too casual for comfort. He made an effort to consult with Gardez and Nourie, and say hello to my staff. Something was up. After an extended schmooze, he turned to me. “Got a minute, Ollie?”

“You’re in early,” I said, checking my watch as I followed him out of the room. “What’s up?”

“I know you’re going to be busy with that new chef today, so I wanted to catch you privately before the day got away from both of us.”

We stood in the center hallway just outside the kitchen. At this time of the morning, the place was relatively quiet. “You can’t talk in front of Bucky and Cyan?” I asked.

“There’s been a development,” he said. “I’ll be speaking with a few members of the staff, including Paul, a little later today to bring everyone up to date. You were in the meeting when we discussed one of the butlers possibly having seen one of my agents carry in the chicken wing box.”

“Right.”

“I can’t get into details, but we’ve discovered who that agent was.”

I gasped. “Who was it?”

“Not now. Not here. But I can assure you he has been removed from duty and is being questioned.”

This was big news. “You really believe one of your agents—”

He held up a hand. “This is not for discussion. But I needed you to know.”

“Why? What do you need from me?”

“You may be called in. Corroboration, if possible. What I need you to do is to go over every moment of Inauguration Day in your mind and try to think if there was any detail, no matter how small it might seem, that you left out.”

I was about to assure him that I’d already done that, but I could tell Tom wasn’t in a particularly chatty mood. “I have a lot of follow-up today,” he said, dismissing me. “And I’m sure you do, too.”

“Does this mean your department is being investigated?”

“What do you think?”

Pieces clicked in my brain. “Gav,” I said. “Gav is in charge of this investigation.”

Tom’s face twitched. Looking ready to explode, he stepped closer, “I’d like to know how you happen to have that information about Special Agent in Charge Gavin.”

“He called me last night.”

“To tell you about his assignment?”

“Of course not.” I jammed my fists into my hips. “He wanted to go for coffee Friday night,” I said. “He didn’t say what brought him to town, just that he was here. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together, you know.”

Tom pulled back. “He asked you out?”

“Not like that,” I said. “We were just going to catch up.”

His frown relaxed. “
Were?
So you’re not going?”

“Can’t,” I said. “Mrs. Hyden’s first tasting is scheduled for Friday night.”

“Good.”

Part of me was dying to ask if he was jealous, but I knew if I did, he’d only clam up further. We were slowly but steadily working to find a comfortable common ground. Joking about our prior relationship could jeopardize the rocky alliance we’d forged.

“Am I dismissed?”

Tom nodded and began to turn away.

“Oh hey, one more thing,” I said to his departing back.

He lifted an eyebrow.

I closed the distance between us and lowered my voice. “There’s nothing
forbidding
me from talking with Special Agent Gavin, is there?”

The hard expression was back. “I thought you weren’t planning to see him.”

I waved to encompass the area. “If he’s investigating this, he’s going to be around.”

Tom got a strange look on his face. “He’s working out of a remote location.”

I shrugged. “But Agent Gavin is completely apprised on the whole situation?”

Visibly exasperated, Tom answered, “Yes,” pivoted, and strode away.

“Thanks for the update,” I said.