I couldn’t blame the kitchen crew for laughing. I pretended to, but I felt the heated rush of embarrassment fly from my chest to my face. Pointedly, I turned away to study the file open on my monitor. Nothing about it looked familiar, and yet it had been listed as one of my recent documents-which is why I’d opened it in the first place.

Bucky was now pretending the bottle of sherry was a machine gun. I ignored him for a long moment because we’d always bantered among ourselves and I didn’t want to shut down our team’s lighthearted teasing. But this time, mortification pounded in my ears. Suddenly too warm, I wiped the back of my hand across my brow. At least the rest of the kitchen staff was no longer laughing.

Changing tactics again, Bucky pranced around the center island, saying, “Get out before the cooking sherry explodes!”

I turned. “Enough.”

“Can’t take a little ribbing?” he asked.

If he only knew. “What I can’t take is being behind schedule.” I directed a look at the clock on the wall, then pointed to the eyesore Senator Blanchard had given us. “We’ve had plenty of interruptions this past week. Don’t you think it’s time we focused on our work instead of goofing around?”

Total silence in the kitchen while Cyan, Rafe, and Agda waited, wide-eyed, to see what would happen next.

Bucky strode over to the cabinet where he put the cooking sherry back and slammed the door.

I stifled an impatient response. Escalating the incident would only make things worse. I’d gotten what I wanted-what decorum demanded-but in doing so had I just quashed the easygoing cheer that characterized our kitchen? I bit my lip. Was it too much to ask that he comport himself like a professional rather than a troublesome fifth-grader? But that was Bucky, and such was the nature of temperamental geniuses. The man could nuance a dish in surprising and delightful ways, but put him in a social setting and all subtlety vanished like powdered sugar on hot pastry.

A voice behind me. “Ms. Paras. What are you doing here?”

I’d recognize Peter Everett Sargeant III’s precise elocution anywhere. “Good morning,” I said, turning. “What brings you to my kitchen today?”

He was perfectly pressed, as always. But today his characteristic etiquette was augmented by a nasty gleam in his eye. “I was under the impression you were scheduled for another emergency training session,” he said. “After all, considering yesterday’s… er… confusion it appears you’re in need of remedial attention regarding proper protocols where security is concerned.”

Did everyone intend to take a shot at me today? I wanted to scream the truth. But, to what end? To allow me to save face and possibly set up a panic situation? Yesterday, as we walked back to the kitchen, Gav had instructed me to keep quiet about what I knew. The Secret Service believed that the president’s absence from the residence would prevent any future explosive attempts on the White House. At least until President Campbell returned. But by then, he assured me, they’d be ready.

“Thanks for checking with me, Peter,” I said, minimizing the peculiar document I’d been studying. I slid off the seat. “But I think I’ll be okay now. I was fortunate to be able to confer with Special Agent-in-Charge Gavin. He told me I did the right thing.”

Sargeant had a squirrel-like way about him. He held his hands in front of his chest and tilted his head. “Wasn’t that kind of him.”

He looked ready to say more, but I interrupted. “Was there anything else?”

Nonplussed, he gave the kitchen a once-over. “Will everything be ready on time for today’s reception?”

“Of course.”

He sniffed. “I will return later.”

As he left, I caught Cyan mouthing, “Much later.”

I was beginning to think the entire place had turned negative. We were all stressed-this time of the year had that effect on us all-but Bucky and Sargeant were pushing it. If it hadn’t been for Gav’s pep talk and Tom’s tutorial yesterday, I’d wonder if I were turning negative, too.

Back to the computer. I restored the minimized document and reread the first line. “Shrimp processing for the uninitiated.”

What the heck?

Below that were crudely described directions for cleaning shrimp. I shook my head. I hadn’t recorded this, and I doubted anyone else on my team had.

“What’s up, Ollie?” Cyan asked.

I pointed to the screen. “There’s a document here I’ve never seen before.”

“That’s weird,” she said as she began to read.

“Yeah…” Then I remembered. I snapped my fingers.

“What?”

“Sean used this computer the other day,” I said. “Remember?”

“To check his e-mail, right?”

I read the strangely worded preparations out loud: “Shrimp in a big bowl. Take them out one at a time. They can be slippery little buggers. Really hard to cut that vein thing out. See below for important safety warnings.” Mystified, I turned to Cyan. “Sean must have recorded this, but why?”

“In case he ever came here to help again?” she said, but I could tell she was as unconvinced as I. “So he didn’t forget how to do it?”

“No,” I said, scrolling down the page. “I think he recorded this for us to find.”

“For you to find, maybe.” Cyan said. “I think he liked you.”

Heaviness dropped in my heart like a lump of cold dough. Sean had indeed “liked” me, or so the First Lady had led me to believe. As I tripped past his crazy notes, I wondered why on earth he’d taken the time to write any of this up when he said he was checking e-mail.

I stopped scrolling when I saw my name.

A letter. Directed to me.

Ollie,

Hey. I don’t know how soon you’ll see this. Those shrimp are a pain to work with-did you give me that job because you think I’m a pain in your kitchen? Bucky seems annoyed that I’m on your computer. I’d swear he’s baring his teeth at me. LOL. I hope you don’t think I’m a pain. In fact I hope to pop in here more often in the coming weeks.

My heart jolted again. I bit my lip and continued to read:

Forget that for now. I’ve only got a second here before Bucky the wonder dog gets suspicious. I wanted to talk with you alone, but the more I spend time here, the more I realize that isn’t going to happen. Not today. And tomorrow’s going to be a tough one, too. I’ll be here because Aunt Elaine asked me to, and because you did. Aunt Elaine doesn’t know the people she’s dealing with as well as she thinks she does. They’ve been trying to muscle me out. But their threats are meaningless. There’s nothing to hold over my head.

But that makes me a pretty good catch, don’t you think? LOL.

Ah… I’ve said too much.

Let me know when you get this. If I’m not already dead of embarrassment, we’ll talk.

Yours,

Sean

I felt my shoulders slump.

“What’s wrong?” Cyan asked.

I scrolled back up the page, unwilling to share this with anyone else just yet. “I… I’m not sure,” I said. Pressing my fingers into my eye sockets, I rooted in my brain for ideas. What this note meant, I had no idea, but I knew with certainty this could help prove that Sean hadn’t committed suicide. I needed to get this to someone in authority-someone with the ability to prove that Sean hadn’t taken his own life.

I clicked the print command and stood up. Easing the paper out of the machine as soon as it was done, I folded it and tucked it in my pocket, then closed out the file. My stomach jostled. If Sean hadn’t taken his own life, who had taken it from him?

“You okay, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “You’re awfully pale.”

“I’m…” I swallowed. “I’m okay.”

Marcel’s arrival in the kitchen prevented me from having to explain further. In a tizzy, he stood in the doorway and begged for help.