Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

Griffin weaved between the groups of tourists admiring the cherry blossoms on the trees that lined the National Mall. He was careful to keep his jog relaxed and steady, but far enough behind the pastry chef that she didn’t notice him following her. She ran haphazardly, lacking the innate grace and rhythm of a natural runner. Instead, her pace was more like that of someone who didn’t really want to be exercising, yet forced herself to anyway. Her efforts paid off, though; the chef’s long legs were shapely and muscular in her pink running shorts. Griffin had noticed more than a few appreciative, lingering glances from males after she’d passed them by.

Since the fire the day before, Griffin had carefully gathered as much intel about the pastry chef as he could from her fellow White House staffers. The admiral had been right; she was well liked. But he knew from experience a pretty smile and a shapely body could mask all sorts of deviant intent. Until he found some other evidence, Marin Chevalier was high on his list of suspects in the White House art thefts. Yesterday’s fire in her kitchen only made his gut even more suspicious. Because that fire was no accident. It had been deliberately set.

He’d spent much of the previous evening sifting through the soot covered pastry kitchen with his buddy, Ben Seager from the Secret Service forensics lab. Ben was one of those guys who was stupid smart. And Griffin should know. He wouldn’t have passed any of his calculus classes at West Point if it weren’t for his roommate Ben’s help.

“It’s not the wiring,” Ben had concluded after only a few minutes of inspecting the oven. “My guess, based on the pattern made by the burn marks, is that there was an accelerant placed on the bottom of the oven. I won’t know for sure until I run some chemical tests, but I am sure that’s where the fire started. Probably when the oven was preheated. If it were the wiring that started this fire, there wouldn’t have been anything left of the top of the oven or the tray of sticky buns.”

They’d looked over at the charred tray where Lillie’s pastries sat like petrified wood.

“An accelerant would explain the ball of fire and the huge amount of smoke,” Griffin agreed. “Whoever planted it wanted this room—and everyone in it—incinerated because the door leading out of the kitchen was jammed and there was a splint in the window holding it closed.”

“Sounds like you were in the wrong place at the right time to be a hero,” Ben said. “Now you need to figure out who was supposed to be in that kitchen when the fire started.”

From what Griffin could uncover, the only person scheduled to use the oven in the pastry kitchen that afternoon was Chef Marin. Half the staff knew she planned to bake cookies with the president’s granddaughter. So why go to all the trouble of setting up an arson when she was the one who would be in its path? What if the agent accompanying Arabelle to the kitchen couldn’t get the door open? It was quite a risk. And a preschooler as the target made no sense.

Unless there wasn’t a target at all.

“What if no one was supposed to be in the pastry kitchen?” Griffin asked. “What if the fire was meant to be a distraction? Maybe it was a literal smoke screen for another heist. The arsonist couldn’t have known that Lillie would be using that particular oven. Or that I would be up there snooping around. You said all that the perp needed to do was to preheat the oven and then leave.”

“So why the jammed door and window?” Ben countered.

“To keep the fire going for as long as possible, while whoever was behind it stole whatever it was they intended to steal.”

Ben shrugged. “It’s as good a theory as any.”

Right now, it was the only theory Griffin had. Which meant he was jogging fifty paces behind Marin Chevalier as she zigzagged her way along the Mall on her way back to the White House. Thanks to one of the staff from the Uniformed Division, he’d discovered she liked to jog after lunch most days. Griffin had spent thirty minutes this afternoon blending in with tourists while waiting outside the south entrance of the White House for her to emerge before his patience had eventually paid off. His plan was to catch up to her as she returned to the southeast gate and make his appearance seem unintentional. Thanks to the director’s comments yesterday, she already knew he was in the White House on special assignment. The last thing he needed was for her to suspect that she was that special assignment.

She crossed Fourteenth Street and jogged to one of the walking paths in front of the Washington Monument. Griffin had to sprint to make the light so that he could keep her in his sights. Her pace hadn’t slowed in the thirty minutes he’d been following her and Griffin had to admire her stamina. He wasn’t the only one admiring Marin Chevalier, however.

A man wearing maroon nylon shorts and a gray muscle shirt had sped up to follow the pastry chef across the street, as well. With the fluid gait of a seasoned runner, the guy had been keeping pace with her from a discreet distance which meant he was about twenty feet in front of Griffin. The baseball cap the man wore bobbed along as he kept Marin’s ass in his sights. Not that Griffin could blame the guy because the woman did have a very fine ass. Clearly, he’d been out in the hot sun too long because Griffin had a sudden vision of his hands on that ass, not to mention other parts of her ample, well-proportioned body.

The light at Constitution Avenue was green and Marin jogged across without breaking her stride. Griffin gave his head a shake to refocus his thoughts. The guy pursuing her picked up his pace as they circumvented the Ellipse headed for the White House. Which meant Griffin had to pick up his own pace if he was going to make their meeting look accidental before the other guy decided to hit on her. He cursed the bum knee he’d aggravated kicking down the kitchen door yesterday, and he practically had to sprint to overtake the other guy. The three of them reached E Street at the same time and stopped at the light. Griffin sauntered up on her right side and blew out a breath.

The chef did a double take before she recognized him. “Agent Keller. This is. . . unexpected.”

So was the sound her voice, raspy with exertion. Griffin’s mind wandered to the bedroom, wondering if she sounded that erotic after sex and suddenly his shorts were tight around his junk. He needed a distraction, or he’d be forced to abandon his casual questioning of her for a cold shower.

Griffin looked to her other side expecting to see the other guy, but he was long gone. Weird. It was almost as if the man had vanished into thin air. A surge of macho pride raced through him at having chased a competitor off before remembering he wasn’t pursuing Marin Chevalier for anything other than information. The sooner he figured out this piece of the puzzle, the sooner he could go back to New York and his pursuit of The Artist.

“Are you coming, Agent Keller?”

The light had turned green. The chef stood in the center of E Street looking a little like a warrior princess with her long legs and determined chin. How had he thought this woman was a dough-faced cherub? There was more to Marin Chevalier than his initial impression. He was going to make it his mission to find out what that was.

Two of the K-9 dogs stood like sentries at the southeast gate. Despite the warm afternoon temperatures, their feet were kept cool by an air-conditioned pad they stood on. The Uniformed Division officer checked their IDs before waving them through the metal detectors.

“I heard you were back, Agent Keller,” the officer said.

“Just for a few days, Shorty,” Griffin replied.

“That’s long enough.”

Marin looked at the officer, clearly appalled at his jibe.

The officer shrugged. “I’m only saying what every single guy in DC is thinking. None of us stand a chance with the ladies when Prince Charming here is around.”

“Right,” she said with a dismissive shake of her head before strolling onto the path leading through President’s Park. Griffin wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or not when he fell into step beside her.

“So, you worked at the White House once upon a time?” she asked with a cheeky grin, probably amused with her own fairy tale reference.

“Yeah. I was on President Manning’s detail when he was running for office and then when he first came to the White House.”

“But you’re not anymore.”

“Nope.”

They turned onto the path parallel to the White House and continued toward the West Wing. The chef stopped in the middle of the pavement and crossed her arms over her alluring chest while she simply stood and stared at the White House.

“I don’t know if I could ever leave this place,” she said, her tone reverent. “It’s magical. The grounds look so impressive with the spring flowers and trees in full bloom. When I think of all the famous people who have lived here, I feel privileged to come to work every day. Working here is like working in a museum surrounded by treasured artifacts and so much history.” She looked at him expectantly, apparently waiting for him to wax poetic about the White House. Griffin was more interested in her fondness for the “treasured artifacts.”

“It’s a place to work.”

With another shake of her head, she ambled on past the tennis court and the children’s garden and up toward the putting green on the South Lawn. “So where do you work now?”

Griffin pondered how much to tell her. If she were part of the counterfeiting ring, she’d likely know the investigation was being spearheaded out of the New York office. He decided to keep things vague so as not to spook her. “I work out of a number of field offices.” Technically, not a lie. “Wherever they need someone to troubleshoot a situation.”

“Like Wes’s death?”

Her question caught him off guard. “Wes?”

“Wes Randall. The curator.” She looked at him quizzically. “There are rumors that he committed suicide. Then, in the Navy Mess today, I overheard one of the press say that the police think Wes might have been murdered. You don’t think it could have been related to his work here in the White House, do you?”

Hell, yes.“No. And no one confirmed that the curator was murdered.”

“So you are investigating it?”

Griffin’s pulse raced at her line of questioning. Why was she so interested? Was Wes connected to the thefts? The curator story was as good a cover as any, so he rolled with it. “If I were, I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you.”

“Hmm,” she said with a flounce of her ponytail before her steps slowed again. “It’s unnerving to know someone who has been murdered.” She caught sight of Griffin’s arched eyebrow. “Might have been murdered.”

“You don’t need to be worried. You work in one of the most secure places on earth.”

“And yet, I almost died in a freak fire yesterday,” she said softly.

Her blue eyes met his and something about the vulnerable way she held his gaze made his gut clench.

“I wouldn’t have let you die.” He reminded himself it was because she was a suspect in a counterfeiting crime, nothing more.

“Thank you for that.” The chef bit her bottom lip before looking away. “Um… Diego and I are both grateful you were there.” She glanced at the exercise tracker on her wrist. “And speaking of Diego, I need to grab a shower before heading back to work. The president and his family are leaving for Camp David shortly. I’m commandeering the kitchen in the residence this weekend to prepare the pastries for Monday’s Easter luncheon. The main kitchen is a little crowded with dying and decorating several thousand Easter eggs.”

Griffin’s attention shifted immediately back to the case. Wasn’t that convenient? Could that have been the reason for destroying the oven in the pastry kitchen? To give her unlimited access to the art in the residence? There were certainly many spectacular pieces to choose from on the House’s second and third floors.

“I’ll let you get back to it then.” And while you’re showering, I’ll be busy assigning agents and officers from the Uniformed Division to keep you company while you bake.

She gave him a shy wave then headed into the White House via the Palm Room door. As she walked away from him, Griffin willed himself not to think of her sexy ass in the shower. He was unsuccessful.

* * *

“Are you okay?” Marin asked Diego.

The pair had been working for several hours baking cookies that were to be distributed to the participants of the Easter egg roll. Tomorrow, Marin would decorate the cookies with a photo of the White House made completely out of sugar. The process would likely take her hours. It was one of the tasks she enjoyed least, but Diego was much quicker at pulling sugar. She needed him to make the petals for the flowers that would decorate the centerpieces. One of the duties of the executive pastry chef was delegating tasks efficiently. Marin wasn’t too proud to admit her sous chef was better at one aspect of the job than she was.

She worried Diego was still suffering from the effects of smoke inhalation, however. Twice she’d had to remind him to pull the cookies from the oven before they burnt.

“Yeah, sure, I’m okay,” he said. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

It was seven-thirty in the evening, long past their normal quitting time when the First Family wasn’t in residence. But, following the fire yesterday, they’d been given much of the day off while the admiral sorted out the logistics. With Monday’s event less than four days away, they needed to work late tonight to get everything done.

“If you need to call it a night, I’m okay here,” she said. “One of the agents wandering around this floor will keep me company.” There seemed to be a surplus of security within the House tonight, not that Marin minded. She was still spooked by Wes’s death.

“Scouting out a date for your cousin’s wedding?” he teased.

Marin was glad to see the infectious grin that had been absent all evening return to his face.

“I think I’ll stick around and watch you attempt to flirt, Boss.”

“I plan on working, not flirting.” The blush warming her face wasn’t helping her argument.

Otto’s K-9 handler, Officer Stevens, strolled into the kitchen while the dog obediently sat in the doorway leading out to the West Sitting Hall. “That’s because she’s already been flirting today,” he said, winking at Diego.

Diego’s grin broadened. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I beg your pardon. I was not flirting at any time today,” Marin protested.

Otto whimpered as if to disagree and both men laughed. “Otto and I will spill for a cookie,” Officer Stevens said.

“There’s nothing to spill.” Marin smacked the rolling pin onto the chilled dough.

Diego tossed Otto a cookie. The dog caught it in midair. Officer Stevens helped himself to one off the cooling rack. “Your friend here”—he smiled, gesturing at Marin—“enjoyed a nice long romp on the Mall with Agent Keller this afternoon.”

“Get out!” Diego’s eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. “You go, girl.”

“That’s not what happened,” Marin argued. “I went for a run by myself. Agent Keller showed up when I was about to reenter the White House grounds. End of story.”

The sous chef laughed as though he didn’t believe her, while Officer Stevens looked at Marin speculatively.

“Just a word of warning, Chef,” the officer said. “Neither of you worked on this side of the House when President Manning and his family arrived. But you’re a sweet person, and I think you should know that Agent Keller comes with a bit of a reputation.”

Guys that good-looking often do. Marin had already heard the “Prince Charming” reference earlier in the day, but something about the way the officer was looking at her made her uneasy.

“There’s a rumor he was reassigned because he got too close to the president’s daughter-in-law, if you catch my drift.”

Officer Stevens’s words landed like a lead weight in Marin’s stomach. That explained Bita’s over-the-top reaction to seeing the agent yesterday. Pressing the rolling pin into the dough, she vigorously worked it into a thin, round shape.

Who cares? The guy is too good-looking and arrogant for his own good. It wasn’t like he was going to agree to take her to Ava’s wedding anyway. Except, earlier on the South Lawn, she’d felt something happening between them. Just for a moment. But it was something. She sighed in frustration. More than likely, she’d only imagined it, and it was nothing rather than something.

Marin rolled the pin over the dough until it tore.

“I think you’ve been at that too long.” Diego reached over and gently took the rolling pin from her hands. “Why don’t you handle the baking for a while?”

Otto was still sitting patiently in the doorway next to the double ovens while his handler had wandered out to chat with one of the agents patrolling the floor. Marin took off her plastic gloves and idly buried her fingers in the thick fur on the dog’s head.

“There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” Diego quietly tried to reassure her.

Marin opened her mouth to respond, but the ringing of her cell phone cut her off. She swore under breath when she saw Ava’s number pop up on the screen.

“Don’t answer it,” Diego warned.

“I have to, or she’ll call every ten minutes.”

Marin pointed to the ovens as she pressed talk. Diego gave her a withering look, but he did as he was told and went back to watching the cookies bake.

“Hey there, Ava,” she said. “I’m still at work so I can’t talk. Is everything okay?”

“It’s after seven on a Thursday night, Marin.”

“Tell me about it. And I have a couple of hours more of baking to get done.”

Her cousin scoffed. “No wonder you are still hopelessly single.”

Marin ground her teeth. “Ava, can we talk tomorrow or this weekend? I really do have a lot to do here.”

“The most important thing you should be doing is finding a date for my wedding! But that will never happen because you’re too busy making strudel for the Mannings.”

“For your information, Ava, I already have a date for your damn wedding!”

Diego’s eyes went wide with surprise. Marin was a little stunned at the lie herself, but she just couldn’t take another minute of her cousin’s bullying.

“Seriously?” Ava asked. “What’s his name?”

“We can play twenty questions when I’m not on the government dime, Ava. I’ll talk to you next week once we’ve gotten through Easter. Bye.” Marin shoved her phone back into the pocket of her chef’s jacket.

“You know I love you, Boss, but I’ve already told you I’m not taking you to that bridezilla’s wedding. I’m beginning to think you shouldn’t go, either.”

Marin waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Unfortunately, she’s family. I have to go. But I’d like to point out that I fill out your annual performance rating.”

She chuckled at Diego’s mutinous expression. “Relax. My lie bought me four more days of peace and quiet. I’ll just use them to find a date. It’s a holiday weekend, yet this place is still teeming with guys who all like me as a friend. Surely I can convince one of them to do me a favor and go with me to my cousin’s wedding. Heck, I’m even willing to resort to using baked goods as bribery.”

She smiled enthusiastically at Diego, but he didn’t return it. In fact, he looked a little peaked.

“In that case, chocolate cream pie always works to bribe me.”

Marin slammed her eyes shut at the sound of Agent Keller’s voice. When she opened them again, Diego shrugged before reaching into the oven to pull out the cookies. Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned on her heel to face the agent. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, rugged and sexy-as-hell, as he rested a shoulder against the doorjamb with his hands shoved in his pockets. Dressed casually in chinos and a blue oxford shirt, he looked like an ad from one of those preppy men’s magazines. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. A crisp white T-shirt peeked out of the V of his button-down.

She must have been on the verge of hysteria because she suddenly wondered how he got his T-shirts so white. Did he have a wife who did his laundry? God, she hoped not. He didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. If what Officer Stevens told her was true, the gorgeous man in front of her was once involved with the president’s daughter-in-law. A married woman. Sweet little Arabelle’s mother. Marin didn’t much care for Farrah and her wild ways, but she adored Arabelle. And this man had the capacity to upset the little girl’s life. Marin felt shameful for lusting over him.

I’m not lusting over him. I’m lusting over his ability to get his whites so damn white.

“Agent Keller,” she bit out. “Are you checking up on us? I can assure you, Diego and I have no intention of setting these ovens on fire. But just in case”—she stormed over to the other side of the kitchen and picked up a fire extinguisher—“we’ve got not one, but two, working fire extinguishers. Not to mention a swarm of security staff roaming the halls.”

“Down girl,” Diego said softly enough for only Marin to hear.

“Good to know. But I just stopped by because I heard there were fresh cookies up here.”

“Well, why don’t we just hand all the cookies to the staff with nothing better to do than hanging out at an empty White House tonight? At this rate, we’ll be baking until two in the morning to get the number we need for the Easter egg roll. But, hey, as long as you’re happy, Agent Keller.”

She was babbling about nonsense, acting like a shrew, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Perhaps the fire had affected her as much as she suspected it had Diego. Marin tore off a paper towel, pulled two of the hot cookies off the cooling racks and hastily wrapped them up. Marching over to where Agent Keller was still leaning nonchalantly in the doorway, she jabbed him in the chest with the cookies. His eyes appeared greener tonight and, this close, she could smell the soap he’d used to shower with after his run earlier. She had to physically stop herself from inhaling him.

“Here,” she said with a croak, suddenly ashamed of her ridiculous behavior. “Enjoy.”

Agent Keller didn’t take his hands out of his pockets.

Instead, he carefully studied her face. He almost looked concerned for her. Too bad Marin knew that was impossible.

His eyes darted past her shoulder. Marin caught the look he shared with Diego. The silent exchange between the two men rekindled her anger. She hated how a man she’d known for barely a day could infuriate and excite her so much at the same time.

“Are you okay?” he asked. The soft tone of his voice made tears burn at the back of Marin’s eyes.

“Just peachy. We just have a lot of work to do, and we keep getting interrupted. The pastry kitchen was a much quieter place to work,” she said, jabbing the cookies against his hard chest one more time. “Take the cookies and let me get back to baking. Please.”

Slowly, he pulled his hands out of his pockets. He reached for the cookies with his left hand while his right one traveled to Marin’s cheek. Ever so gently, his thumb glided along her skin until it came away covered in flour. The intimate gesture was very nearly her undoing. Holding back tears she didn’t understand, she stepped away from Agent Keller, headed back into the kitchen and picked up the rolling pin.

“He’s gone,” Diego whispered a moment later.

“Good,” she said. “Let’s get these done so we can go home. I need a big glass of wine.”

Diego laughed. “It looks to me like you need something else.”

Marin glared at him over her shoulder.

“Shutting up now, Boss.”