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Authors: Joseph Flynn
Tags: Mysteries & Thrillers
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more sensitive, McGill’s eldest child, Abbie, said, “It would be an honor to have you join us for dinner, Congresswoman Grant.”
Kenny just waggled his eyebrows. Patti couldn’t help but laugh.
“Thank you. I think I will join you. After all, some of my best friends are Democrats. Not to mention an independent or two.” She took the knife from McGill.
They worked next to each other at the kitchen counter. McGill kneaded the dough for the focaccia. Patti sliced the tomatoes. The McGill children kept the conversation light but shared furtive glances. They could tell already. Something was happening here.
They were right. That night was the beginning of something lasting, even after Patti told McGill that to honor Andy’s memory she was going to run for president as he’d urged her to do.
“Who better?” McGill asked.
Chapter 5
Wednesday
Galia Mindel typically arrived at her West Wing office, a few steps from the Oval Office, before her secretary or any other staffer, but that morning someone else got there first. McGill sat at her desk, his feet up on her polished mahogany, reading from a file folder on his lap. The folder was stamped in red: TOP SECRET. A stack of other files rested on the desk. At McGill’s elbow was an open box of donuts, crumbs and flecks of sugar further marring Galia’s beautiful work surface.
McGill looked up when she appeared and smiled.
“Morning, Galia,” he said. “Care for a donut?”
The chief of staff was dumbstruck. McGill never set foot in the West Wing unless the president sent for him. That was one of the man’s saving graces. He was publicly apolitical. He’d even declined the opportunity to throw out the first pitch of the baseball season. But here he was, his big feet up on her desk, grinning and reading —
Newsweek? That was what Galia saw when McGill let the TOP SECRET folder fall open on her desk.
McGill stopped smiling, and said, “Close the door and have a seat. We need to talk.”
Galia thought briefly of telling McGill to close the door and not let it hit him in the ass on his way out. But, damnit, you just couldn’t bully the president’s hench — the president’s husband. She closed the door and, choking on her pride, sat in one of her own visitors’ chairs.
“I saw the look on your face, Galia,” McGill said. “You thought I’d broken into your desk and was reading through files that were none of my business. Not a very pleasant feeling, is it?”
Galia was able to speak now but couldn’t bring herself to answer.
McGill sighed. “You’re a real piece of work, lady. My problem is, the president told me she needs you.”
Galia allowed herself a tight smile.
McGill took his feet off the desk and leaned forward.
“She also said there’s a line: Cross it, and you’re gone.”
Galia’s smile disappeared.
“So really it’s up to you,” he told her. “If you like your job, if you want to keep it, you’ll learn to play nice. Meaning you’ll never snoop on McGill Investigations again. My business and my clients are off-limits to you. If you resent that, if it thwarts your sense of prerogative, too bad. Content yourself with being helpful to the president.”
McGill got to his feet and gave Galia his best cop stare until she looked away. He crossed the office. Galia didn’t turn to watch him go. He left the door open as he departed.
And called back, “Enjoy the donuts, Galia.”
He knew as well as anyone else in the White House that the chief of staff was perpetually on a diet and how much trouble she had sticking to it.
Celsus Crogher, the SAC of the White House Security Detail, was waiting for McGill just down the hall from Galia’s office. McGill had been a resident of what Bill Clinton had called “the crown jewel of the federal prison system” long enough not to wonder how the White House Secret Service boss knew where he was. It was Crogher’s job to know where the president and McGill were at all
Kenny just waggled his eyebrows. Patti couldn’t help but laugh.
“Thank you. I think I will join you. After all, some of my best friends are Democrats. Not to mention an independent or two.” She took the knife from McGill.
They worked next to each other at the kitchen counter. McGill kneaded the dough for the focaccia. Patti sliced the tomatoes. The McGill children kept the conversation light but shared furtive glances. They could tell already. Something was happening here.
They were right. That night was the beginning of something lasting, even after Patti told McGill that to honor Andy’s memory she was going to run for president as he’d urged her to do.
“Who better?” McGill asked.
Chapter 5
Wednesday
Galia Mindel typically arrived at her West Wing office, a few steps from the Oval Office, before her secretary or any other staffer, but that morning someone else got there first. McGill sat at her desk, his feet up on her polished mahogany, reading from a file folder on his lap. The folder was stamped in red: TOP SECRET. A stack of other files rested on the desk. At McGill’s elbow was an open box of donuts, crumbs and flecks of sugar further marring Galia’s beautiful work surface.
McGill looked up when she appeared and smiled.
“Morning, Galia,” he said. “Care for a donut?”
The chief of staff was dumbstruck. McGill never set foot in the West Wing unless the president sent for him. That was one of the man’s saving graces. He was publicly apolitical. He’d even declined the opportunity to throw out the first pitch of the baseball season. But here he was, his big feet up on her desk, grinning and reading —
Newsweek? That was what Galia saw when McGill let the TOP SECRET folder fall open on her desk.
McGill stopped smiling, and said, “Close the door and have a seat. We need to talk.”
Galia thought briefly of telling McGill to close the door and not let it hit him in the ass on his way out. But, damnit, you just couldn’t bully the president’s hench — the president’s husband. She closed the door and, choking on her pride, sat in one of her own visitors’ chairs.
“I saw the look on your face, Galia,” McGill said. “You thought I’d broken into your desk and was reading through files that were none of my business. Not a very pleasant feeling, is it?”
Galia was able to speak now but couldn’t bring herself to answer.
McGill sighed. “You’re a real piece of work, lady. My problem is, the president told me she needs you.”
Galia allowed herself a tight smile.
McGill took his feet off the desk and leaned forward.
“She also said there’s a line: Cross it, and you’re gone.”
Galia’s smile disappeared.
“So really it’s up to you,” he told her. “If you like your job, if you want to keep it, you’ll learn to play nice. Meaning you’ll never snoop on McGill Investigations again. My business and my clients are off-limits to you. If you resent that, if it thwarts your sense of prerogative, too bad. Content yourself with being helpful to the president.”
McGill got to his feet and gave Galia his best cop stare until she looked away. He crossed the office. Galia didn’t turn to watch him go. He left the door open as he departed.
And called back, “Enjoy the donuts, Galia.”
He knew as well as anyone else in the White House that the chief of staff was perpetually on a diet and how much trouble she had sticking to it.
Celsus Crogher, the SAC of the White House Security Detail, was waiting for McGill just down the hall from Galia’s office. McGill had been a resident of what Bill Clinton had called “the crown jewel of the federal prison system” long enough not to wonder how the White House Secret Service boss knew where he was. It was Crogher’s job to know where the president and McGill were at all
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