“Senator Chastain and Professor Chastain are both dead,” Agent O’Toole announced and Britt was yanked back to the topic at hand hard enough to suffer mental whiplash.
“How’d the senator die?” Fisher asked, and Agent O’Toole cocked her head, having homed in on how Fisher didn’t ask after how the professor died because he already knew.
Sharp,Britt thought admiringly.Nothing gets by her.
“Eliza’s father called and told us about the professor, but this is the first we’re hearin’ of the senator,” Fish explained.
“Ah.” Agent O’Toole nodded. “Having the chief of staff as a father has its perks.”
“Dad’s worried about me,” Eliza was quick to clarify. “That’s why he told us about the professor. He wants me to come to D.C. so he can look after me until you get to the bottom of…” She trailed off and then shrugged helplessly. “Well, whatever this is.”
“Might not be such a bad idea,” Agent O’Toole allowed. “The Secret Service can probably offer you as much protection as we can. And no doubt you’d like to be with your father at a time like this.”
“You suspect foul play.” This from Hewitt.
The man rarely spoke. He was usually too preoccupied with whatever book he held in his hands. But when he did open his mouth, it was almost always with a definitive.
“I never discount anything.” O’Toole wore a troubled look. “And given two of the three surviving witnesses to tonight’s massacre ended up dead within hours of the event, we thought it better to be safe than sorry.”
“Youthought it better to be safe than sorry,” her partner declared, shooting O’Toole an exasperated look. “I think they were both septuagenarians who suffered injury and trauma and their deaths were a natural consequence of those things.”
Only because Britt was watching closely did he catch the flicker of irritation in the little agent’s eyes. Her tone was completely professional when she told the gathered group, “My partner might be right. He probablyisright. But I tend to get itchy when there are one too many coincidences. And Senator Chastain’s untimely end was the one that did it for me.”
Eliza nodded as the information set in. Then she shook her head. “But wait. Howdidthe senator die?”
“Heart attack,” Douglas declared. “Happened right in front of us.”
Eliza frowned. “If you witnessed her death and know it was natural, why are you worried?—”
“We’ll know more after both bodies are autopsied,” O’Toole insisted in that quintessential, no-nonsense way Britt had described earlier. “In the meantime, I want to make sure you’re safe. So which would you prefer? A safe house with us?” She waggled a thumb between herself and her partner. “Or the White House with your father?”
Eliza blew out a blustery breath. “I’ll tell you what I told Dad. I’m safe here.” She gestured around the shop. “The place has enough security to be a supermax.”
O’Toole glanced around and Britt followed her gaze, gritting his teeth when he saw the rolling Craftsman toolbox—the one that usually hid the large red button on the wall which activated the opening to the Bat Cave—had been shoved to the side. The red button was in full fucking view, and it might as well have been a blinking neon sign that said,This opens the super-secret doorway to the tunnel that’s dug under the Chicago River.
Why would a bunch of greasy motorcycle mechanicsneeda super-secret entrance/exit to their compound?
That was a great question. One none of them were ready to answer.
He breathed a covert sigh of relief when the blond finished her perusal without seeming to focus on the button. And he was suddenlygladfor the long hours she’d pulled because he suspected she wouldn’t have missed that detail if she hadn’t been running on fumes.
“You’re right,” O’Toole said. “This place might as well be Fort Knox.” Hearing her speak his brother’s name, even though she hadn’t meant it that way, had Britt jumping. He covered up his reaction by coughing covertly into his closed fist. “But if you’re going to stay here, my advice would be to confine yourself within the compound walls until Agent Douglas and I can figure out what’s happened.”
Eliza nodded and looked relieved. “I’ll stay here until you tell me it’s safe to leave. But, if you don’t mind me asking, how long do you think that’ll be?” She made a face. “Not that I’m super social as a general rule. And given everything that’s happened, I certainly have no desire to be out and about. Then, of course, there’s this.” She pointed to her bruised and swollen face. “But are we talking days? Weeks?Months?”
“Hopefully it’ll only be a couple of days. The coroner has promised she’s moved the senator and Professor Chastain to the top of her list. We should know very soon whether they died of natural causes or…” O’Toole frowned before finishing, “Ornot.”
“That’s good news.” Eliza nodded. Then she grunted like someone had punched her in the stomach.
He realized why when Peanut’s head appeared above the edge of the bike lift. The cat hopped up on the tabletop and proceeded to bump his head beneath Eliza’s chin while his crooked tail cut a sinuous path through the air.
“Oh, look at the pretty kitty,” Agent O’Toole cooed.
“This is Peanut,” Eliza announced.
Upon hearing another female voice, Peanut had looked across the lift. With a slow blink and an even slower strut—truly, the furry little fuck was putting on his best show—he made his way over to Agent O’Toole and then set about seducing her by flopping onto his side so she could pet his rotund little belly while he made biscuits in the air.
The blond agent praised him for being a good boy and a handsome boy. And, for the first time in his life, Britt found himself jealous of a cat.
