“Sounds good.”
“The Secret Service has two primary missions, both of which involve protection. We protect key political figures and provide security for major national events. We also protect the economic infrastructure by investigating financial crimes. That can encompass everything from credit card fraud to counterfeit currency.”
“Am I right to assume that you are on the economic side of the Secret Service and not the protecting-politicians side?”
“Yes and no. My day-to-day job is focused on financial crimes.But a few weeks ago when the vice president was in town, everything in our office stopped to support the protective mission.” He grinned at her. “And don’t ask me for details on that, because I can’t tell you.”
That earned him a soft laugh. “Fair enough. But can you tell me if you were one of the guys jogging beside the limo while the VP was here?”
He laughed. “No. I was in an office running down potential threats. The president, vice president, and their families have a dedicated protective detail. That’s where Zane is headed soon. Luke and I will join him in a few years.”
“You’ll protect the president?”
Gil winked at her. “Maybe. There are a lot of different careers in the Secret Service, but the path I’m currently on has three phases. Phase 1 is where I am now. Mostly investigative work, supporting the protective mission when needed. Phase 2 comes about five years in. That’s when agents are assigned to permanent protective details. Most agents only do that for three to five years. Then it’s on to Phase 3, where most agents return to a resident office or a field office, sometimes in management or as a senior investigator.”
“So you, Zane, and Luke are all in the first phase?”
“Yes. And Tessa.”
“Is there anybody in Phase 3?”
Gil sucked in a breath. The pain hit him out of the blue, but he tried not to let Ivy see it. “Our resident agent in charge, Jacob, is Phase 3. We had three others. Our previous resident agent in charge, a senior investigator, and a computer crimes expert. But we lost them earlier this year.”
“Oh.” The word escaped. “I didn’t think.”
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. We’re still adjusting, and it’s been a challengeto find anyone who wants to be in this office. Zane should have gone on to Phase 2 by now, but until we can replace a few agents, he’s stuck.”
Gil pulled into the police department lot. Ivy had relaxed while they were talking, but the tension was back in the set of her shoulders and the tightness of her lips.
He parked the car and waited until she looked at him. “The only way out is through, Buttercup.”
She dropped her head but not before he caught her flash of recognition of one of his dad’s favorite quotes and the smile that tickled the edges of her lips.
“Ready?”
“Not even a little. Let’s go.”
AN HOUR LATER,they were back in Gil’s car. She’d studied all the photographs as requested, but she hadn’t recognized anyone. Gil waited for her to fasten her seat belt, then asked, “Ready for lunch?”
“Sure.”
“Any place in particular you want to go?”
“I’m flexible as long as it isn’t pizza or Thai.”
“What’s wrong with pizza and Thai?”
“Normally, nothing.” She didn’t elaborate.
“How about you tell me what’s wrong with them now?”
Ivy stared out the window, and he didn’t think she was going to respond. But he heard her whisper, “I was warming up leftover Thai last night.” That explained the Thai. “And he smelled like pizza.” And that explained the pizza.
He could tell she’d given all she was going to give on that subject, at least for the moment. Time to bring the conversation awayfrom the dark side. “How do you feel about tacos? And I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but your answer could impact our entire friendship.”
She turned in her seat to face him, and mirroring his mock serious tone stated, “My blood type is salsa.”
Gil did a fist pump. “Yes!”
