Marin was sorry she’d opened the door. “Yes. He wanted to work on the marzipan figures.”
“And did he?”
“I told you, he stopped by the Navy Mess first. But I assume he did after that. They were finished when I came up from the chocolate shop.”
Agent Moran tilted her head. She had a long, elegant neck, Marin noticed with disgust.
“But Diego may have come in early to meet with someone,” the agent pointed out. “And he could have told you he was in early to make the marzipan just to cover his tracks.”
Marin scrambled to her feet. “No! Diego isn’t any more of a thief than I am! You said yourself that the creepy guy on the stairs is probably the one stealing the art. There’s no need to blame an innocent man. Or is that how this works? Guilty until proven innocent?”
The FBI agent stood up gracefully, brushing crumbs off her pants as she did so. “The ‘creepy guy on the stairs’ wasn’t working alone, Marin. I’m just throwing out theories to see what sticks.”
“No, you’re throwing my friend under the bus!” Marin cried. “And since I seem to be the only one concerned about Diego, I’m going to find him.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Griffin said from the doorway of the Map Room.
* * *
The frantic expression on Marin’s face made Griffin’s chest seize. Or maybe it was the way her mouth seemed to turn up in disgust when she looked at him that made it so hard to breathe. He could have decked the president’s chief of staff for his reckless words earlier. Marin would have found out sooner or later that she’d been a suspect, but Griffin would have preferred it happened later.Much later.The poor woman was reeling with fear for herself and her friends. Not only that, Marin was also likely wrecked with guilt over the injuries and deaths of innocent people. If Griffin had learned anything about her these past few days, it was that she was a caring, sensitive woman. He worried this whole situation could break her. Griffin was going to do his best not to let that happen.
She crossed her arms beneath those gorgeous breasts of hers. Defiance shined brilliantly in her blue eyes. “You are not the boss of me, Agent Keller.”
“No, but I am going to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
And by safe, Griffin meant that knife-wielding bastard trying to kill her wouldn’t touch a single silky hair on Marin’s head.
“Why? So you can arrest me for shoplifting sugar flowers from the White House? Or maybe I’m going to be charged with embezzling marzipan? Or will counterfeiting crumpets be my crime?”
He might have laughed at her quips, but Marin was fuming. This was good. Griffin could work with anger. Her despair and fear would kill him, though. He wouldn’t be able to do his job knowing that she needed comfort and he wasn’t able to be the one to give it to her. No, he’d cultivate her anger instead. It would keep her from falling down a well of hopelessness. And this way Griffin would be able to hunt down art thieves and murderers worry-free.
“Guilty conscience, Marin?” he asked, unashamedly baiting her.
“You’re an asshole!”
From behind Marin, Leslie shot him a look that said he was that and a whole lot more. Perfect. Mission accomplished.
“Regardless, I’m calling the shots on this case and you are going into protective custody.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she protested.
“A safe house is a smart idea, Marin,” Leslie put in. “It won’t be long until this is over.”
“How long?” Marin demanded. “How long do I have to stay in protective custody?”
Leslie shot Griffin a concerned look. It would likely take days to find the guy who was pursuing Marin; provided he slipped up and made a mistake. The attack on the White House grounds today showed just how desperate he’d become, though. Still, Griffin had no definitive answer to give Marin.
“We’ll do everything in our power to get you to your cousin’s wedding,” he assured her, hoping like hell he could keep his word.
“Ha! You don’t need to be worrying about Ava’s wedding any longer, because you arenotgoing with me.”
Leslie arched an eyebrow at him. Griffin kept his expression stoic despite the fact that a large part of him wanted to take Marin to that wedding. He wanted to protect her from the slings and arrows of her cousin and her jet-set friends. Hell, he wanted to hold her in his arms on the dance floor all night. And he hated to dance.
“We need to get you out of sight,” Leslie urged. “You’re compromising the First Family every moment we delay.”
Marin wilted slightly at Leslie’s words. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me.”
She headed in Griffin’s direction on wobbly legs. He reached out a hand to steady her, but she recoiled like a shotgun after firing. The pain of her rejection was like a sucker punch in his gut.