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.

Kevin Martin’s mouth twitched. “Yes, sir.” He turned to me. “Are you comfortable with Agent MacKenzie escorting you home?”

At this point, despite my aches, I was all smiles. “I’m perfectly comfortable,” I said.

Agent Berland was either in the dark about my relationship with Tom, or she pretended very well.

“Good night, then,” Martin said. “We’ll be in touch.”

As soon as they were gone, Tom came close. He started to put his arms around me, stopped himself, and gently gripped my shoulders with both hands. “Are you okay?”

“Better now,” I said. “God, you look so good.” I started to reach around to hug him, but he held me at arm’s length.

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” I said, and pulled him close.

Yeah, it stung, but the hug was worth it.

I brought him up-to-date on the altercation that landed me in the emergency room, with him shaking his head the whole while. “Ollie,” he said, “you’ve got to be more careful.”

He was right, but I hated being told things I already knew. “I thought I was.”

“Remember last time.”

I shuddered when I thought about the terrifying incident right before I’d been promoted to executive chef. Tom took my reaction as an invitation to lecture me a bit more. Not that I blamed him.

“Those of us associated with the White House have to be extra vigilant.”

“I know. I just can’t imagine why anyone would target me.”

“And that’s why the criminals have the upper hand. Because no one expects to be attacked.” With a pensive expression, he skimmed his fingers along the side of my face. “I wish I wasn’t on duty tomorrow.”

“I wish you weren’t either.”

Once all the hospital paperwork was complete, Tom helped me to his car. He had keys to my apartment, which allowed us to get in, and he’d arranged for a locksmith to meet us there. Amidst a lot of drilling and scraping-annoying my neighbor till two in the morning-my apartment was outfitted with spanking-new locks.

“Here you go, miss,” Lou, the weary locksmith, said as he dangled the keys in front of me. “Good, solid brand I put in. You’ll really enjoy these.”

Enjoying locks was not something I anticipated, but I thanked Lou and tumbled into bed the minute he was gone. Tom insisted on staying with me, and I finally relaxed with him stroking my cheeks and forehead. Thank God for kindness in this world, I thought, and drifted safely off to dreamland.

“OH, MY GOD,” CYAN SAID WHEN SHE SAW MY hands the next morning. “You can’t work like that.”

“I know,” I said. “What horrible timing, huh?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Like there’s a good time?”

She had a point.

“One positive thing,” she said, as we got started. “Turns out the president and Mrs. Campbell are out all day, after all. That’ll take some pressure off.”

I hated delegating every task, but I was faced with little choice. Although I had no open cuts-that would have banished me from the kitchen completely for the duration of my healing-I wore an Ace bandage on my left hand and a splint on my right ring finger. The doctors told me I’d bruised my left ulna and jammed the finger on my right. Nothing debilitating, but bandages were hardly sterile when it came to working with food, so I found myself more the executive and less the chef for most of the morning.

Just as we started to hum, Gavin strode into the kitchen and came straight to me. “What happened last night?”

I’d taken to keeping my fingers clasped behind my back except when working at the computer. The move prevented me from inadvertently “helping” my colleagues.

“You mean this?” I asked, bringing my hands forward. “How did you find out?”

“It is my business to know about everything involving the security of the White House.”

I figured as much.

Gavin fixed me with a piercing look. “I understand you fought off your attacker.”

As much as I hated to admit it, I was still shaken by the experience, and I didn’t appreciate the fact that Gav here wore an expression that told me he expected a blow-by-blow rehashing.

“ ‘Fought off’ is a bit of an exaggeration,” I said. “I screamed like an idiot. If that jogger hadn’t come along…” I shivered, remembering. “The two guys who got me really knew what they were doing. They set me up perfectly. I’m embarrassed to have fallen for their scheme.” Though it was hard for me to say so, I admitted my gullibility. “I trusted the little guy who pretended to help me.”

“I was told he used martial arts moves against you.”

My hand came up of its own volition, and I touched the tender place under my ribs where he’d struck me. “Whatever it was, it hurt.”

Gavin seemed about to say something else, but remained silent, staring at me. He finally said, “You aren’t able to work?”

Bucky made eye contact from across the room. He arched an eyebrow and shook his head fractionally.

Message received. “I’m getting a lot done here, actually,” I said, sounding more upbeat than I felt. “My predecessor, Henry, always told me I needed to learn to delegate more. Today I’m getting a perfect opportunity.”

“I was hoping to continue your training.”

Did this guy think I was planning to enlist in the military? How much more training did I need? My hands came up in response. I said, “I’m sorry,” even though I wasn’t.

I was, however, very glad when he left us again. “Tell you what,” I said to the group. “Let me go get some of our holiday décor. While you guys work on the food, I’ll start bringing a bunch of the fun stuff here.”

They all looked up at me as though I was nuts. Rafe spoke. “With two damaged hands?”

I frowned. “I’ll be careful. This really isn’t that big of a deal.”

Cyan shook her head. “You always get in such trouble, Ollie.”

“How much trouble can I get into in the storage room?”

I MADE MY WAY THROUGH CONNECTING hallways, past the carpenter’s, electrical, and flower shops. I fiddled with my replacement keys to unlock one of the storage rooms the kitchen controlled. My White House ID and other important items had been replaced much more quickly than I’d expected. Thank goodness.

The storage room was large, about ten feet by fifteen, and it was packed. There was limited floor space and the shelves overflowed with stuff I knew I should inventory. For about the hundredth time, I promised I’d get to it just as soon as things calmed down.