Fonduing Fathers (16 page)

“That’s true.”

“My mom said that weeks after my dad was buried, he was accused of being a corporate spy. That Pluto found evidence that he had been selling secrets to a rival firm. Pluto believed that the rival company was responsible for the killing.”

As I spoke, Harry ceased petting the dog.

Now, in the heavy silence that followed my pronouncement, Barney looked up at his master, decided nothing good was forthcoming, and leaped to the floor, pattering into the kitchen where he noisily lapped up water.

Harry stared at me. “Craig Benson told your mother that?”

“Years ago, yes,” I said. My pulse quickened, hoping his skeptical tone meant that he doubted the company’s claims. I waited for him to shake his head in disbelief, dismissing the idea as ludicrous.

“I’m surprised,” he said. “Craig generally keeps information like that quite close to his vest.”

“It can’t be true,” I said.

Was that pity in Harry’s eyes? Scorn? “Unfortunately, my dear, it is.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to snap at his condescending tone, but I tamped down the rush of anger as much as I possibly could. “It can’t be,” I said again, this time less forcefully. I hated myself for the tendril of doubt that had crept up the back of my throat, wobbling my words.

Harry sighed. “I understand how you must feel, but I was there when they uncovered the betrayal. I’m sure your father never intended anyone to see what he’d gathered…I’m certain he planned to dispose of evidence that could be used against him, but, as we all know, he never got that chance.”

“Who killed him?” I asked before I could stop myself. “You know who did it, don’t you?”

He adjusted his shoulders. “I don’t know for certain. I wasn’t there.”

“You’re hedging,” I said, so eager to press for answers that I didn’t care how abrupt I sounded. “You may not have seen it happen, but you know.”

I watched as he tried to work up a kindly smile. “This is very hard for you, I understand that,” he said. “Especially since you’ve only recently found out about this terrible tragedy. You want the truth. It’s your father we’re talking about, so I will tell you as much as I know. But…” He paused long enough to run his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I need to exact a promise from you first.”

I sat up straighter. “From me?”

“You have a reputation, young woman,” he began. “I’ve read your name in the newspapers and heard all about your exploits at the White House. While I applaud your verve and your energy, I feel it my duty to warn you, as a man who has lived long enough to learn a few hard lessons, that what we want to believe isn’t always what we should believe. I’ll
tell you the truth if you promise me to let the matter die here.”

“I can’t promise that.”

He held up both hands. “Then I can’t help you.”

“Wait,” I said, inching so far forward on the sofa that one more centimeter would land my back end on the floor, “that makes no sense.”

“You want your father to be innocent. He wasn’t. You want to know who pulled the trigger. You’ll never find that out. I’m willing to share what I remember about him in the hopes you’ll return home with your young man here and allow the past to stay where it lies.”

He sounded just like Craig Benson.

“Mr. Gavin.” Harry turned to Gav before I could say a word. “I may be relegated to this chair, but I am not without other faculties.” He winked. “I deduce that you are not only entranced by this young woman, you seek to protect her. If I were to hazard a guess,” he raked Gav up and down, assessing him, “I would imagine you are either a college professor or a member of law enforcement. You clearly come from a military background. Olivia has made a name for herself, getting involved in situations that are beyond her control. I don’t believe it’s in her best interests to pursue this matter beyond tonight’s conversation. She is angry with me right now.” To me, he said, “Don’t deny it. I see it in your eyes, your body language. I may have lost use of my own body, but I am an astute reader of others’.”

Me? Angry? Furious was more like it. Livid with rage.

To Gav again, he said, “Tonight, perhaps tomorrow, you’ll be able to talk her into a better frame of mind.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak.

Gav did it for me. “You are absolutely right about one thing.” He got to his feet and offered me his hand. I stood up next to him. “I
am
thoroughly entranced by this woman. And if she wants to pursue this matter to learn more about
her father, I will do my level best to help. With or without your assistance.”

Harry frowned. “Please don’t be upset.”

“Too late,” I said. “How dare you treat me as though I have no right to the truth? How dare you wink and smile, suggesting that I can be talked down to—suggesting that you know what’s best? You don’t know me. And I don’t believe you have anything of value to share with us.”

We started for the door. Barney scurried next to us, barking. Whether it was encouragement to stay or enticement to leave, I didn’t care.

As we stepped outside, making sure the little dog didn’t escape, we heard Linka shout, “I’m only trying to help.”

“Yeah, right,” I said when Gav pulled the door shut behind us. “Trying to help. Give me a break.”

He let me mutter all the way down the walkway. Gav and I weren’t particularly demonstrative. In fact, we tended to eschew all public displays of affection. Thus, when he pulled me tight and soundly kissed the top of my head, I looked up in surprise.

“You are so strong.” He beamed with pride. “God, I love you.”

My heart swelled, and though my anger still burned, it simmered beneath the surface as I looked up at him. I snaked an arm around his waist and tugged close. “Me, too.”

SATURDAY MORNING FOUND ME IN MY BATHROOM putting the finishing touches on my disguise. I was to meet Sargeant, Josh, and our assigned cadre of Secret Service agents at the White House at 10
A.M
. I watched myself adjusting the blonde wig in the mirror, at odds with my reflection. This was so not me.

“How much longer are you going to take in there?” Gav asked from just outside the door. I hadn’t even given a hint as to what my disguise might be, preferring instead to read his reaction when he experienced “the new me” for the first time.

“One more minute.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

I laughed in spite of myself, then marveled again at how the woman looking back at me in the mirror could have all my emotions and none of my looks. Sure, the nose and mouth hadn’t changed much. Except for the fact that Thora
insisted on me wearing a much heavier application of makeup than I usually cared for, my face was the same. And yet, not. The glasses made a striking difference. Coupled with the bubblegum-pink lipstick—“It matches the dress perfectly!” Thora had exclaimed with glee—they might have been enough to allow me to pass unrecognized. But the wig was truly the pièce de résistance.

“Hang in there,” I called.

“I’m hanging.”

He was. So patient, always. He’d listened to me rant the entire drive back the night before and had agreed with me when I told him I thought Harry was hiding something. I’d asked him if he had any idea what that might be. “Not yet,” he’d said.

I looked at my reflection again. “What could I have done differently?” I asked the woman in the mirror.

She didn’t answer.

“Gav told me that he watched Harry closely the whole time. He’s convinced Harry was studying my reactions. He didn’t like it.”

The woman in the mirror arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I said. “I find that interesting, too.”

From the other side of the door, Gav asked, “Who in the world are you talking to?”

“Someone I’d like you to meet.” I took a deep breath, pasted on a wide smile, and threw open the door. “Here she is.”

Gav was probably the most unshockable person I’d ever met. He remained calm, controlled, and unflappable almost all the time. Not now.

As I placed one strappy-heeled foot onto the carpet outside the bathroom door, and held my hands at the hips of my bright pink dress, I had to laugh because Gav’s immediate reaction was to look behind me. As though I might be hiding behind this blonde person.

His jaw went slack. “What did they do to you?”

“Pretty weird, isn’t it?”

He made a slow circuit around me. “This is…” He closed his mouth and scrunched up his face. “You’re not…” Stepping back, he folded his arms and resumed a less animated expression. I’d shocked him all right, but in-control Gav was back in a flash. “The disguise is effective,” he said. “I wouldn’t recognize you.” He brought his face down to my level. “Unless someone knew you were traveling incognito and they were looking for you specifically, there’s no way. I think you’re going to be fine today.”

He straightened but continued to stare.

“You don’t like it,” I said.

His face remained impassive. “Not in the least.”

I laughed. “Why not? They say blondes have more fun.”

The man was not amused. “What time will all this be over?”

“It’s just a costume. They told me I look like Reese Witherspoon.”

“She should be so lucky.” He shook his head. “I’ll be in the living room. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

Part of me was taken aback, but I liked it. Deep down, his reaction had warmed my soul. As much as I knew Gav and I were good together, it was nice to have reminders every so often that he truly didn’t want me to change.

When I joined Gav in my living room, he shook his head again. “Don’t get me wrong, you look great no matter what. It’s just not you.”

I grabbed the gym bag that held my change of clothes, then tucked my free hand into the crook of his arm. “Thanks.”

AT THE WHITE HOUSE, SECRET SERVICE AGENT Rosenow, a woman I’d worked with before, escorted me into the back entrance from the gate where Gav dropped me off. There was no way I’d be able to make it in alone with just my ID, not with my Reese Witherspoon disguise on.

“Good morning, Ms. Paras,” she said. “I’d never guess it was you if I hadn’t been told.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” I said. “I understand you’re coming with us to the Food Expo.”

She nodded as we strode up the walk. “As are Agents Means and Quinn. You’ve met them?”

I hadn’t. I also couldn’t imagine how much difference our disguises would make if we were being tailed by agents wearing suits, sunglasses, and radios in their ears.

She must have read my mind because she quickly added, “I’ll be wearing casual clothing, as will the other two. I’ll change before we leave. We’ll have several other agents with us. Don’t worry, our little group is designed to blend in.”

I had my doubts about our effectiveness on that score, but it didn’t really matter. All that did was keeping Josh’s presence there a secret. As long as that could be accomplished, we were fine. No matter that I was wearing a summer dress to an event where most everyone else would be in chef’s whites or blue jeans.

Rosenow and I parted ways at the kitchen where she promised to be back in less than fifteen minutes. Bucky had his back to me, stirring a pot on the stovetop. “Good morning,” I said to him.

“Ready for your Expo?” he asked without glancing up. When he did, the look on his face was hilarious. “Oh,” he exclaimed, utterly discomposed. “I’m sorry. I thought you were…”

By that point, I was laughing.

He turned off the burner and stepped closer. “Ollie? Is that you?”

“What do you think?” I asked, pirouetting in front of him.

“I think you ought to buy every component of that outfit.”

That wasn’t at all what I’d expected. “Why? You like me better this way?”

He was shaking his head, but he was laughing. “No, but think of the advantages. With all the trouble you get into, you can slip into your disguise and get away with even more than you have already.”

“Thanks, Bucky.”

Josh showed up. He recognized me right away from our prep session the day before. “Hey, Ollie, are you ready?” he asked. “Look at the agents they assigned to me. Aren’t they fun?”

Behind him were two tall men, the younger one dressed much like Josh was. With his baseball cap, blue jeans, and funky shoes, he was probably in his late twenties. He wore a white T-shirt with
CHEF IN TRAINING
across the front. Over this he wore chef whites, left open—to cover his gun, yet provide easy access, no doubt. “Nice shirt,” I said. “Are you interested in cooking at all? Or is that just to fit in?”

“Disguise,” he said. “I’m Agent Means. I want to be sure you know that our orders are to guard the boy. You understand.”

“Of course I do.” And I did. Even though Sargeant and I were to be watched, Means here wanted me to be aware that in an emergency situation, it was Josh’s security they cared about. Not mine. Not Sargeant’s. I got it.

“And you must be Agent Quinn,” I said to the other man. A little older, closer to my age than the other agent, this fellow was wearing business casual: Dockers, button-down collared shirt, and a sport jacket. He maintained a relaxed expression that contrasted with the intelligence in his eyes, looking every inch the part of a handsome suburban dad.