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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. “Mighthave 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.
