“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Griffin snapped as he bolted from his chair. “He damn well better not be sleeping with her!” Too late, he realized Ben was baiting him.
“You are such a sucker.” Ben laughed. “Never for a woman before, though. This is new. And interesting.”
Griffin sat back down with a thud, pressing his palms to the arms of the chair to keep from giving his friend a well-deserved fat lip.
“The only one sleeping with Marin is the dog,” Ben informed him. “But, I’d be worried about Otto if I was you. He’s likely to chew your balls off if you come between him and his lady.”
He shot the bird at Ben, then shoved another peanut butter cracker in his mouth. It tasted like chalk, but Griffin managed to swallow it anyway.
Ben grew solemn. “She’s worried about Diego.”
“Yeah,” Griffin said. “He’s just as slippery as our Ukrainian friend. He seems to have disappeared without a trace.”
“Diego went through some pretty extensive background checks when he came to the Navy Mess.” Ben pulled up the sous chef’s service record on the computer screen. “He had a gang-related run-in with the police when he was a teenager. The judge gave him the option of joining the Navy or going to jail. I’d say Diego made the right choice.”
“But could his past have been used against him to co-opt him into stealing art from the White House?”
Ben looked at him skeptically. “You think that’s why he’s gone off the grid? Diego’s in on this?”
“If so, he’s likely already died an agonizing death.” Griffin rubbed a hand over his eyes. “The preliminary ruling from the FBI’s ME indicates the poor doorman at the Dupont was injected with enough potassium to make it look like a heart attack.”
“Shit,” Ben said.
“Yeah, either way, I’m probably going to be delivering bad news to Marin.”
Griffin’s cell phone rang. “Agent Keller,” he answered.
“Hey there, Keller,” the voice on the other end said. “I found that sous chef you were looking for.”
* * *
That evening, Marin sat across from Ben at the Formica table in the safe house and watched proudly as he annihilated a plate of red beans and rice along with some citrus marinated shrimp with Louis sauce.
“I’ll be your fish shop errand boy any day you ask if you’ll keep cooking like this for me,” Ben promised with a contented smile on his boyish face.
“I like a man who isn’t afraid of a seafood market,” Marin teased. “Thanks for getting the shrimp for me.”
“My momma taught me right.” Ben scraped his fork along the empty plate. “My family owns a place on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Fishermen sell their catches right out of our marina.”
“Is there a restaurant, too?”
“Nah, it’s more like a gourmet tackle shop,” Ben explained. “We sell bait, wine, and fancy sandwiches. People drive their boats up as if it’s an old-fashioned drive-in.”
“That sounds like a fun place to grow up.” She carried Ben’s plate over to the sink.
“I didn’t move there until I was thirteen. I grew up in New Jersey,” Ben said.
“What made your parents decide to relocate?”
“We moved to live with my grandfather after my dad died.” Ben’s eyes dimmed briefly. “My father was a cop. He was killed in the line of duty.”
“I’m sorry.” The words sounded inadequate, but Marin couldn’t think of anything else to say. “That had to be difficult for a teenager to go through.”
He shrugged. “It was hardest on my mom. She was lost for a long time without my dad. Law enforcement isn’t conducive to long, happy marriages. If you aren’t getting shot during a domestic dispute, you’re working crazy hours and seeing things that make it difficult to have a normal relationship.”
She cut a piece of chocolate cake and slid it onto a plate. “But you went into law enforcement. Why?” Marin asked as she placed the cake in front of him.
“I come from a long line of cops. But I don’t plan on making the same mistake as the rest of my family. I’d never subject a wife and kids to this lifestyle.”