Part 15 (2/2)

”He can't do that!”

”You're kidding, right? You don't tell Chief of Staff Harold Ingraham what he can and can't do.”

”Christina, you have to believe me, had I known . . . I had no idea . . . I never would have . . . How many messages were on there?”

”Luckily, only one. The blitzkrieg came later. When it did, I checked my messages every fifteen minutes and immediately deleted them. Finally, I turned off the answering service.”

”That was smart.”

”You don't work your way into the West Wing without learning how to watch your back.”

”I had no idea it was this bad,” I said by way of apology.

”Grant, what have you gotten yourself involved in? Everyone is paranoid. They've all taken your book off their shelves. They avoid me and whisper behind my back.”

”I'm as stumped as you are.”

I meandered into the alcove. The windows faced the street. Christina had turned it into a book nook. Beneath the windows are bench bookshelves stocked with her favorite t.i.tles. In preparation for my trip to Europe, she had taught me key French phrases here.

Headlights flashed against the windows, and the next thing I knew, Christina dove to the hardwood floor and, grabbing my back pocket, pulled me down with her.

Yeah, the side the dog bit.

A stab of pain from my back forty nearly made me pa.s.s out. I was definitely going to have to tell her about the injury.

While I tried to keep from pa.s.sing out, Christina crawled to the windows and pulled the draperies closed.

”Was that really necessary?” I cried.

I started to get up. She pushed me back down and joined me. We lay on our sides facing each other.

”Grant, I'm really scared,” she said.

She was. I felt guilty. It was time to give her a few pieces of the puzzle.

”While I was in California, I learned of a threat against the president's life. An a.s.sa.s.sination plot.”

”Grant! This is huge! Why didn't you tell me?”

If I weren't hurting so badly I would have laughed.

Realizing the ridiculousness of the protest, she waved it off. ”I mean, I thought you were going to a high school. Where did you hear-”

My cell phone rang. The anonymous-caller tone. It was in my floor-side pocket. I started to roll over on my back to get it, remembered my injury, then rolled over onto my stomach and retrieved the phone. The display had a number I didn't recognize. I did, however, recognize the area code. Six one nine. San Diego. ”I need to take this,” I said.

”Who is it?”

”I don't know.” I flipped open the phone. ”h.e.l.lo?”

”Grant?”

I'd only heard an afternoon's worth of her voice, and then mostly angry tones, but I'd heard enough to recognize it. ”Miss Ling,” I said.

”Is this a bad time?”

I took stock of the moment. I was lying on the floor of my former girlfriend's apartment hiding from anonymous headlights while trying to explain to her that an old high school rival, who was possibly dead, was trying to kill the president of the United States and, for reasons unknown, implicate me in the plot.

”Not at all, Miss Ling,” I said.

Her head propped in her hand, Christina watched me with interest.

”Maybe you should call me Sue,” Miss Ling said.

”All right . . . Sue.”

Christina rolled her eyes in exasperation.

”You didn't show up at the library this morning,” Sue said.

”Um . . . no, I didn't. I had to return to Was.h.i.+ngton. Urgent business. Unexpected.”

”More urgent than meeting an angel from heaven?”

I tried to sit up. It hurt too much, so I returned to my side, squirming to get comfortable. ”Did he show up?” I asked.

”No. Not in the library.”

I knew it! I grinned victoriously. ”Somehow, I'm not surprised,” I said.

”He visited the professor earlier, though.”

”Earlier. Convenient. When no one else was around.”

”I a.s.sume the professor was alone. I didn't ask. Abdiel didn't come to the library because he knew you'd returned to Was.h.i.+ngton.”

She knew I was in Was.h.i.+ngton. When Jana called, she thought I was still in San Diego. I grinned. Miss Ling had talked to Jana. That's how she knew I'd returned home.

I played along. ”It makes sense he'd know I'd returned to Was.h.i.+ngton,” I said. ”Angels are pretty well connected.”

Christina frowned. ”Angels?” she mouthed.

I shrugged.

Getting up in a huff, she went to the kitchen. The light came on and cabinet doors opened and closed.

It was awkward talking on the phone on my side. I tried to sit up. A yelp of pain erupted from my lips.

<script>