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“What meeting place? What grab? Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Griffin demanded.
The director sighed heavily. “Bita Ranjbar has been coming and going from this house under the guise of caring for her granddaughter. She’s also been working as Yerik Salenko’s mule, carrying the forged artwork in and the real paintings back out of the White House.”
Griffin was dumbfounded. “And we know this how?”
“Because a preschooler broke open your case.” Adam jovially slapped him on the back.
The director shot Adam a withering look. “Mrs. Ranjbar confided in her granddaughter.”
“That makes no sense,” Griffin said. “How do we know the kid isn’t making this up?”
Director Worcester picked up a plastic baggie that contained a piece of paper. “She gave Arabelle this note this morning. She told the child that Salenko was holding her hostage.”
Griffin carefully took the baggy and smoothed it out on the desk so that he could read the note inside. “This is just an address and a time. How do we even know this is from Bita?”
“It’s her handwriting,” the director said. “The First Lady confirmed it.”
Confused, Griffin glanced between Adam and the director. He was missing a vital piece of the puzzle. And he had the sneaking suspicion they were withholding it from him for some reason. “What aren’t you telling me?”
A pained expression settled in the director’s eyes. “Arabelle was instructed to deliver Bita’s message directly to Chef Marin. Apparently, Salenko wants to exchange one woman for the other.”
Griffin’s chest constricted painfully and he felt like his head might explode. “Like hell.”
CHAPTER17
Griffin took the stairs two at a time. He could hear the director and Adam calling after him, but he ignored them. By the time he reached the residence two floors up, his fear for Marin had stoked itself into a fury. As much as he wanted to bust open this counterfeit ring and take down The Artist, there was no way he’d allow anyone to use Marin as bait.
She was too precious.
His heart nearly stopped at the sight that greeted him in the center hall. Marin’s back was to him while one of the tech agents fitted her with surveillance equipment. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail that stuck out of the back of a baseball hat, likely concealing the listening device. When the tech slipped his fingers inside the waistband of her jeans to insert the tracking apparatus, a million shades of red danced before Griffin’s eyes. He launched himself at the agent, taking him down to the floor just as a flurry of shouting reached his ears.
“Don’t you touch her again,” Griffin yelled, heedless of his surroundings. “She’s not leaving this house!”
“Agent Keller!” the director admonished. “You’re out of line!”
“Get a grip, you dumbass,” Adam said as he yanked Griffin up by the arm. “The guy’s just doing his job. It’s not what you think.”
Adam propelled him around to face Marin. But it wasn’t her pretty blue eyes staring back at him. Instead, he was looking into the bewildered brown ones belonging to Agent Jessica Pannell. Her mouth slowly turned up into a satisfied smile.
“Well, at least we know I’ll pass for the pastry chef at the meeting point,” she said.
“A decoy,” Griffin said through ragged breaths. “You’re not sending Marin into this guy’s clutches.”
“Of course not, you idiot,” Director Worcester huffed. “We’d never put a civilian in harm’s way.”
A wave of relief coursed through Griffin, so powerful, he was forced to take a seat on the sofa. “Sorry about that, man.” He reached a hand out to the tech specialist Adam had already helped off the ground. “I’m obviously not thinking clearly.”
“Not thinking with your head, you mean,” Adam mumbled loud enough for only Griffin to hear.
The tech specialist shook Griffin’s hand while massaging his shoulder with his other one. “Now I know why the director hated to lose you to the New York regional office’s hockey team.”
“Mr. President,” the director said suddenly.
Griffin jumped to his feet at the director’s words as the president, flanked by his chief of staff and the admiral, strode from one of the sitting areas at the end of the hall.
“Director Worcester, Harriett and I would like for Marin to remain here with us,” President Manning said.
“Marinishere?” The words slipped past Griffin’s lips before he could stop them.
