Read Online State of the Onion by Julie Hyzy - Free Book Online Page B

to be unruffled, in control, and even as I wondered what their conversation was about, we pulled out of the station, one stop closer to home.
    But…the scene jogged my memory. Tom had said that Naveen was the Metropolitan Police’s problem now. Which meant there must be a record of his incarceration.
    The world whispered by as I put together what I knew.
    A man had been apprehended, running across the White House lawn.
    This same man was apparently on a first-name basis with one of our Secret Service PPD agents.
    The videotape of the man’s transgression, however, hadn’t made it to the news. Not really. What had been offered for the viewing public’s pleasure was a snippet of the scene. Carefully faked. Though obvious to anyone who’d been there.
    I made an unladylike snort, which caused the old man sitting across the aisle to glance over. With a smile to convince him I wasn’t a commuter loony, I continued my musings.
    The Secret Service had been there.
    I’d been there.
    For some reason, the Secret Service didn’t want Naveen’s face broadcast across the country. Why not?
    The people who usually jumped the White House fence were either mentally unstable or on a mission. Naveen struck me as one of the latter. When an intruder was caught inside the perimeter on an unauthorized jaunt, the incident generally ensured him a few minutes of fame wherein he (and it was almost always a male) used his screen time wisely to shout his vital message to a national audience.
    But…
    Naveen hadn’t shouted.
    My cell phone buzzed from the recesses of my purse. A quick glance at the number and I knew Tom had managed a little free time. I was still amazed that I could get service belowground.
    â€œHey,” he said when I answered.
    â€œHey, yourself. Where are you?”
    â€œDriving,” he said. A second later I was able to make out the fast-moving car noises in the background. I also heard another voice.
    â€œYou alone?”
    â€œNope.”
    I guessed. “With Craig?”
    â€œYou should have been a detective.”
    I laughed at that. Tom and I hadn’t exactly “come out” with our relationship to our colleagues, although a few of the kitchen folks weren’t fooled. I knew Tom’s end of the conversation would be as devoid of identifying characteristics as he could make it.
    â€œYou’re still on duty?” I asked.
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAnd so you just called to tell me how much you missed me.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œBecause I’m the light of your life and you don’t know what you’d do without me.”
    I could almost see him roll his eyes at that. He didn’t answer as much as grunt.
    â€œAnd because you’re so crazy about me,” I continued in a chipper voice, trying to keep the tone light, but determined to press my point, knowing he’d be forced to respond agreeably because Craig was right there, “you’ll tell me more about that faked news broadcast later, right?”
    Dead silence.
    â€œI’ll call you back later,” he said. And the phone went dead.
    Damn. Sometimes when I pushed my luck it snapped back to bite me.
    I knew there were things Tom couldn’t tell me, and I was okay with that. Keeping things classified was part of his job, after all. Part of his sworn duty. But I also knew that Tom often chose to keep things from me when there was nothing classified about them. He didn’t appreciate the way I analyzed and picked at things until I understood them. I found the process fascinating. He found my doing so annoying.
    Tom was just trying to protect me from too much knowledge, and from knowing things I shouldn’t know. I understood that. But this time it felt different.
    I watched out the window as the train emerged into the evening light at Arlington cemetery. I thought about my dad, and how I hadn’t been out to his grave in a long while. The world was a