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“We’re going to figure it out.” He ushered her through the Palm Room and down the center hall. “I won’t let him get near you.”
Griffin set her down gently on the couch in the reception area of the Secret Service office. He crouched down at her knees in front of her. “Marin, whoever this is, we’re going to get him. But I need you to answer a few questions first.”
Marin’s head was pounding. “Questions? I don’t even understand what’s happening myself. How could I possibly have any answers?”
The FBI agent sat down beside her. “Chef—Marin,” she said, her voice gentle. “You may know something without even realizing it. We have the video surveillance from the Dupont on Saturday. It shows the man who dropped off the package. Can you tell me if you recognize him?”
Griffin placed an iPad on Marin’s lap and swiped his finger along the screen. A photo of the man she’d seen on the spiral staircase the other morning popped up. Marin flinched.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The FBI agent and Griffin exchanged a look.
“When and where?” Griffin demanded.
“Here. In the White House.”
Griffin muttered something beneath his breath.
“Where exactly in the House was he?” the FBI agent continued for him. “Do you remember?”
“Yes, he was coming down the back stairs that connect the main kitchen to the pastry kitchen and the family dining room.”
“When was this?” the agent asked.
Marin rubbed her throbbing temple. “Um, last week. The morning of the fire. That was Wednesday, I think?” She looked at Griffin for confirmation.
He nodded. “Was anyone else with him?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“Was Diego with you?” Griffin asked.
Marin shivered. “No. He came in early that day also. But he went directly to the Navy Mess. He said he had to check on a friend or something.”
The two agents exchanged another look.
“Oh, God. Diego is in danger, isn’t he?” Marin could barely get the question past her dry mouth.
“Whoever this guy is, he didn’t want to be seen,” the FBI agent said. “By you or anyone else. It’s quite possible he’s our art thief.”
Blinking back tears, Marin stared at the picture on the iPad. “My bloody jacket was in that package. Does this mean he stabbed Anika?”
“He was likely aiming for you,” the FBI agent said.
Marin tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. It was all so unbelievable. Anika’s brother hadn’t been responsible for her stabbing. Marin had. Her chest was now throbbing along with her head. “And Seth? Do you think this man killed him?”
The FBI agent placed a hand on Marin’s shoulder. “Among others. If I had to guess, I’d say this guy was trying to flush you out of your apartment. There was no way he could know about the back stairs. But you shouldn’t blame yourself for the actions of a madman, Marin. None of this is your fault.”
“He had leather gloves on the day he was here. When Angie mentioned them, it made me think of him.”
“What the hell is going on?” the president’s chief of staff bellowed from inside the director’s office. “Are the president and his family safe in the House or not, Director Worcester?”
“We’ve secured the First Family, sir,” the director responded. “My agents have also secured the perimeter of the building. All indications are that this guy slipped off the grounds before our net was in place.”
“Well that’s reassuring.” The chief of staff huffed. “Do we have any idea who this clown is? And why he was wielding a knife at an event that was open to the public?”
Griffin stood and walked over to the open door of the director’s office. “We’re running his image through facial recognition software right now. The process isn’t as quick as it appears in TV crime shows,” he explained. “But we suspect he’s our art thief.”
