Worst case, I’m out the cost of a coffee and an hour or two of my night.
Janie waited, momentarily considering telling Amy where she was staying. But she quickly decided against it, knowing it would blur the boundary she’d set for herself years before.
When it came to investigative reporting, there was a definite line between eager ambition and stupidity. Ambition drove headlines and breaking news stories. Stupidity got reporters into trouble. And sharing the name of her hotel with a stranger definitely qualified as stupid.
“Thank you.” Amy’s quick flash of a smile appearedas nervous as the young girl looked. Her lips parted again, as if she were about to say more. But at that very same moment, the pretty blonde’s phone began to ring. Almost startled by the sound, she pulled the device from her purse before glancing down at the screen. “It’s work.” Her gaze returned to Janie’s. “I-I have to go.”
She’d seen that look before. One of fear and uncertainty that seemed to be keeping its beholder captive. It was the same expression her source back in St. Louis used to wear before the truth had set him free.
“I protect my sources, Amy. You can trust me.”
“I-I’ll think about it.” Her phone began to ring again. “But I really do have to get back to the White House.”
“Of course.” Janie smiled. “It was very nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” Amy held her gaze a second longer before spinning on the balls of her feet, putting her phone to her ear, and hurriedly walking away.
She’s scared.
The fear was unmistakable. Question was, did it stem from something real, or was the source of that same fear imagined?
Janie had spoken to countless possible sources over the course of her journalism career. More often than not, the information they offered wasmeantto be helpful, but wasn’t. Those who approached her of their own volition rarely had anything substantial or newsworthy to share.
Then there were the other times, when her gut felt the same as it did now. Those were the rare moments when a source held the key to a story with some actualteeth. Viable,provableinformation she’d used to build a credible story.
Right now, Janie’s gut was screaming that Amy Weaver knew something big. And her gut was never, ever wrong.
I should have gotten her number.
Probably, but with the contacts she had, a name was almost as good. With any luck, Janie would know all she needed to about the young intern before dinner. Until then, she had a tour scheduled that she didn’t want to miss.
Thirty minutes later, following a fifteen minute walk through the streets of D.C., Janie found herself stepping through the doors of history.
The White House was much smaller in person than she’d envisioned in her head, but that did nothing to negate its significance as it related to the United States. The basic tour didn’t allow for its guests to traverse all the parts of the infamous home, such as the West Wing, but while the Oval Office and official press corps briefing room were off-limits to visitors, Janie was still in awe that she was standing insidetheWhite House.
I can’t believe I’m actually here.
Her thumb worked double-time to capture countless pictures as she and the other tourists in attendance kept themselves within the confines of the designated pathway. Along the way, Janie stopped on occasion to read about the various pictures or other priceless relics.
Beautiful sets of fine China were on display, each one labeled with the name of the president in office at the time of their use. Breathtaking paintings of formerpresidents and first ladies hung on the walls in their ornate frames the color of embossed gold.
The library shown on the public tour was a small, cozy room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The quaint scene made her want to leave the group and curl up in front of the fireplace with one of the hundreds of books.
Janie refrained, of course. Mostly because being arrested inside the White House was something she very much wished to avoid.
Smiling to herself, she moved on to the Vermeil Room, also known as the Silver Room. After that came the Green Room, the Blue Room, and one adorned in deep reds. Each space was similar in style and size, their differences coming in the schemes of their designated color.
As any good journalist would, she took a few notes along the way. When she got back to her hotel room, she’d write down everything she could remember. After that, she’d scour through each and every picture to decide which ones she wanted to keep.
As the small crowd continued on, she heard a wife grumbling to her husband about the country’s current president. Janie smiled to herself because, for her, it didn’t matter who sat in the Oval Office while she visited. Simply being inside the walls of such a historic and world-renowned building was an honor she’d treasure forever and a memory she hoped to never forget.
“Are you sure he’s going to come out, Daddy?”
The question came right as she was about to move to the next section of the tour. Janie paused mid-stride, turning to listen to the father’s response.
A man who appeared to be in his early forties was standing across the room with his grade-school-aged daughter. The little girl had long, curly blonde hair and a white dress with several red and blue stars. Janie’s smile grew wider when she noticed the child’s shiny red, patent leather shoes.
“According to this morning’s press release, he should be taking off in just a few minutes,” the man responded.
