02 Hail to the Chef by Julie Hyzy

Author:Julie Hyzy [Hyzy, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2012-01-24T14:56:54+00:00

CHAPTER 14

I SPENT MOST OF THE NIGHT IN THE EMERGENCY room, giving the Metropolitan Police a statement, descriptions of both Mr. Tap Shoes and the man who identified himself as Shan-Yu, and a description of the car. Two things I learned from the cops—one: The bad guy hurts you, Good Samaritan helps you game is one of the oldest in the book. Two, the tap shoes were probably special steel-toed shoes designed to inflict maximum damage on kicked opponents.

Once I’d been identified, the Secret Service was called in to find out what sensitive items I might have lost in the theft. Agents Kevin Martin and Patricia Berland showed up while my knee was being examined. I was moved to a room with a door so they could interrogate me in private.

“We need a comprehensive list of everything in your purse,” Agent Martin said. “I do mean everything. Even personal items you believe may have no significance.”

I came up with the best recollection I could. In addition to my ID, I had keys: for my apartment, my car, and a number of them for the White House. The two agents were not happy. “I have some notes, a few recipes. . . .” Oh, God, what a mess. “My Metro pass . . .” I named everything else I could think of, including personal female items that made me blush when I listed them.

They asked me if I thought I’d been targeted specifically. “No,” I said, then stopped. “Wait. . . .”

“What?”

“The guy in the car,” I said, thinking aloud. “He told me he lived in my building.”

The two agents exchanged a look. “Was this before you told him where you lived?”

“Yes,” I said, warming to the subject now. “He rattled off the address of my building, so that’s why I believed him—but he came up with the address first. He must have known where I lived.”

We talked a bit longer, both agents peppering me with questions designed to jog my memory.

“Keep all this information to yourself when you’re back at the White House,” Agent Martin said when the interview was over. “When do you plan to return?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. Glancing at the clock on the wall over his head, I amended. “I mean, today.”

Although they attempted to talk me out of returning in the morning, they didn’t forbid me to do so. Their grudging acceptance might have been due to my spirited explanation of the difficulties of getting the residence together for the holiday opening. Or, it might have been my nonstop pleading. Mostly I think they just wanted to shut me up.

From the doorway, I heard a familiar voice asking for me.

“Tom!” I called.

Tall and muscular, Tom looked even more handsome tonight than he usually did. He wore his customary Secret Service apparel—a business suit—but his hair was tousled as though he’d raced the whole way from the president’s side to come see me. He edged around Agents Martin and Berland, acknowledging them with a nod. “I’ll see Ms. Paras home,” he said to them.

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