Foreign Éclairs by Julie Hyzy

Ms. Paras.”
    “Joe,” Gav said. “What are you doing here?”
    “Taking control of the situation. And I’ll need your eyes and ears on this one,” he said. Turning to Agent Cummings, he said, “Would you please see Ms. Paras safely home?”
    “But—” I said.
    Yablonski’s eyes were just as steely as I remembered.“No arguments, Ms. Paras.” To Cummings, he said, “I want an agent outside her door around the clock. Call in whoever you need.”
    “Yes, sir,” Cummings said.
    Yablonski turned to Gav. “Let’s go.”
    “It’ll be okay, Ollie,” Gav said as he broke away.
    I wanted to hug him, but Yablonski’s sharp rebuke to Cummings—“Get going”—forestalled that plan.
    I called to Gav as Yablonski led him away. “Be safe.”
    Without breaking stride, he turned. “I will.”
    *   *   *
    Two hours later, after watching news coverage of the explosion on every possible station and refreshing my browser again and again, hoping for updates that never came, I began to pace. Every media outlet parroted the same story: gas explosion at a neighborhood restaurant. Five people injured and taken to area hospitals. No one confirmed dead. Not yet, at least. Gas company officials investigating. Authorities keeping the public far away until the area was safe again.
    Cummings’s words taunted me: “This was no gas explosion.”
    Then what was it?
    I checked the time on my cell phone for probably the forty-third time in the past half hour. I desperately wanted to call Gav, but knew that I couldn’t. When he was busy with Yablonski, he had no time for interruptions. He’d call me when he could.
    My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. When Agent Cummings had brought me back, food had been the last thing on my mind. He’d walked through my apartment exactly the way Agent Romerohad the first time she’d brought me home, and he assured me that he, or a colleague, would remain outside my door all night.
    That was small consolation now when what I wanted most was to have my husband here.
    Almost as though I’d willed it so, my cell phone came alive in my hand. Gav’s ring. “Are you okay?” I asked the moment we connected.
    “I’m fine,” he said in a far more brusque tone than I would have expected. “Have you eaten?”
    Startled by the question, I hesitated. “No, but—”
    “Meet me at the car,” he said. “We’ll grab something.”
    “But—”
    “Ollie.” His tone was off. Way off.
    “Okay,” I said. “How soon?”
    “Two minutes.”
    I hung up, grabbed my coat and keys, and flung open the front door, having momentarily forgotten about my bodyguard. Agent Romero stood there. “Cummings had to go,” she said. “Looks like you’re stuck with me again.”
    “Gav’s meeting me downstairs,” I said by way of explanation.
    She frowned. A second later, her phone rang. She held a finger up, indicating that I should wait while she answered. Less than thirty seconds later, she ended the call. “I’m to escort you to him.”
    Romero and I took the elevator down and, true to her word, she stayed by my side until Gav wrapped his arms around me, thereby relieving her of duty. “Thank you very much,” he said. “Are you here all night?”
    “Yes, sir,” she said. “Have a nice dinner. I’ll see you both when you return.”
    The moment we broke apart, I asked, “What in the world is going on?”
    Gav didn’t answer. Instead, he held out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”
    I gave it to him.
    He examined it closely. “This hasn’t been out of your possession recently, has it?”
    “Not at all. I keep it with me wherever I go. This was in my pocket when my purse was stolen.”
    “What about at the White House? Do you ever leave it unattended?”
    “No, never.”
    He handed it back. “When you made our dinner reservations for Suzette’s, did you use this or the apartment’s landline?”
    I thought back. “The landline.”
    “Let’s