Out of Sight (Project Athena) Read online

  “You should smile more,” he said.

  Damned if she didn’t blush. She turned her attention back to the party preparations. “It is a tad more than I’ve ever seen.”

  “Makes you wonder how much one of these to-dos cost.”

  “I’m sure one meal costs more than you or I make in a day, maybe even a week.”

  “Speaking of meals, what do you think the chances are of the prettiest girl in the White House going to dinner with me Saturday night?”

  Jenna held a silly grin at bay. “I’m fairly certain the president’s daughter has a boyfriend.”

  “Ah, pretty and funny. I was talking about you.”

  How long had it been since she’d been asked out on a date, not counting by happy drunks she’d hauled to jail? Months. Too bad she couldn’t say yes and escape from her life for a couple of hours.

  “I’m flattered, but I’ve got plans for Saturday night.” Like snooping around the state dinner while invisible.

  Kevin brought both hands to his chest. “I’m heartbroken.”

  She laughed. “Maybe you’d issue a rain check?”

  “Anytime, anywhere.” He smiled and winked at her before turning back toward his work.

  “Oh, Kevin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for talking to the guys. I haven’t had any more track on my wet floors.”

  “No problem. People like us have to watch out for each other.”

  She watched him walk away. People like us — the ones who didn’t get invited to the fancy, black-tie parties. They’d spoken only twice, and already she felt more in common with Kevin than anyone she’d met since arriving in D.C. He might actually be someone she’d miss when she went home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jenna watched the parade of the powerful with an awe that bordered on disbelief. The closest she’d come to mixing with the upper crust at home was serving in the governor’s motorcade and once pulling over country music star Tracy Brennan for speeding. Now she stood in the corner, watching as the president welcomed the leader of a newly democratic African country, his brightly bedecked wife and their extensive entourage.

  The first ladies shook hands. The Secret Service detail scanned the room, looking for the slightest danger. Little did they know an intruder stood in their midst, one dressed in a T-shirt, shorts and no shoes, quite out of place with the current grand attire milling about the room. But then, they couldn’t see her.

  What would her mother think of her now? Ava would definitely be shocked to think her eldest daughter could ever make it inside the White House. She’d have heart palpitations at the thought that Jenna stood invisible in the same room as the president of the United States.

  But what about her father? What would he think of her current mission? Would he be proud that she was following in his footsteps to some extent, or would he be afraid for her? Had he known about her ability? He’d never said anything. Perhaps her mother had never divulged that piece of information. Her father had been a military man, after all. Wasn’t the military always pegged the bad guys when aliens or odd occurrences entered the picture? Area 51, ET, the X-Men. The military didn’t do “different” well.

  What if her mother hadn’t told her father about her ability, fearing he’d use their daughter for government experiments? No. She couldn’t imagine her father having done such a thing, even if he had known. But then, she couldn’t imagine her father assassinating someone either.

  Jenna closed her eyes for a moment, trying to wipe all non-mission thoughts from her mind. Distractions could prove disastrous in a room full of people, some of them armed.

  Once the foreign dignitaries made their entrance, everyone migrated to their assigned seats. On cue, white-jacketed servers appeared with the first of many courses to come. Even though she’d eaten before arriving to avoid the possibility of having her stomach growl audibly, Jenna inhaled the heavenly scents. The White House chef’s talent was eons beyond her own attempts in the kitchen, even after the cooking classes her mother forced her to take during high school. They’d kept her from eating junk food all the time, but a post in a four-star restaurant wasn’t on the horizon.

  Only when all the guests were enjoying their appetizers and the servers had retreated from view did Jenna feel safe enough to venture from her corner vantage point. Careful not to pass too close to anyone, she moved around the tables, catching bits of conversations.

  “Her dress is lovely, isn’t it?”

  “What’s the latest on the energy bill?”

  “My daughter is studying at Oxford this fall.”

  “Your book was wonderful. We’d like to have you speak at the club sometime soon.”

  None of the snippets sounded remotely threatening or relevant to her mission. But then, who would be plotting a presidential assassination during a state dinner with the president and the Secret Service in the room?

  Between the salad and main course, she saw first Ken Harmon, the president’s chief of staff, and then Jordan Moore, chairman of the joint chiefs, excuse themselves from the room. She followed, curious if something was up. She found them outside a partially open doorway to the South Portico.

  “Did he agree to the plan?” Harmon asked.

  “He said he’s got to be careful since his administration is so new and democracy still fragile, but he’d do what he could.” Moore said. “But he won’t do anything to stir up problems in his own back yard.”

  “Does he know what we can do for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I guess that’s all we can ask of him for now.”

  “We’ll put a man in place he can contact with any information he hears.”

  “Good.”

  Jenna wanted to reach out the door and shake the two men. Who were they talking about? It sounded like the dinner’s guest of honor was supposed to watch and report on someone, but who?

  She stepped back as Moore came inside. A minute or so passed before Harmon followed him back to the party. As Jenna returned as well, she wondered if the conversation had anything to do with the assassination plot. Did they think the source was overseas? If so, there would still likely be a local to carry it out.

  Or perhaps Moore and Harmon had been discussing another matter of national security entirely. This investigation was growing more frustrating by the day.

  She reached the dining room in time to see the guests adjourning to a different area where after-dinner drinks were being served. The dancing would start soon and thus the increased risk of her being discovered, so she intended to glean what she could in the next few minutes and then look for her opportunity to make her exit.

  She ventured as close as she dared to the president and first lady. At the distance she had to maintain, only the occasional phrase floated to her, none of which made sense out of context.

  The laughter and gaiety increased as the guests imbibed. Jenna judged the chance of discovery not worth the information she might overhear and started toward the most likely door to open.

  Unfortunately, one of the dignitaries who’d downed a few beverages of choice picked that moment to make for the same exit. He weaved, almost in slow motion. Jenna saw the disaster before it happened but couldn’t act fast enough to prevent it. The man bumped into her, sending them both stumbling into a side table covered with bite-size desserts. The little squares of chocolate, mint and raspberry drizzle tumbled sideways with a loud crash.

  Jenna suppressed the need to scramble out of the room, praying no one else would hit her. She stood frozen, her right foot squishing several of the tasty treats. How was she going to get out of here without leaving a track of chocolate behind?

  “James, dear, you are the clumsiest man I’ve ever met,” a grand dame in pale blue said as she glided up next to the older gentleman.

  James looked like he was about to say something, closed his mouth, then opened it again. Jenna almost saw the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out where the person he’d bumpe
d into had gone. When he shook his head as if he might be losing his mind, she nearly sighed in relief and decided she’d never been so glad to come into contact with a drunk person. If he’d been sober, she’d be in true, next-to-impossible-to-escape trouble.

  As it was, even with James out of the picture now that the blue lady was leading him away, wiping at his coat and making jokes about his clumsiness, an obstacle course stood between Jenna and freedom.

  Jenna glanced at the faces around the room, thankful most people were turning back to their various conversations. But one person hadn’t let the incident go so easily. Her heart jolted, nearly stopping before realizing it had to continue beating.

  One of the Secret Service agents stared straight at her, as if he could see her. She glanced down, performed a quick examination. No, she was still invisible. Her heartbeat accelerated, almost muffling her ability to hear. Dear Lord, could he see her? If she possessed the ability to become invisible, was there someone out there who had the ability to see things not visible to the normal human eye? And was this Secret Service agent that person?

  She stared back at him, not daring to blink. What would he do if she moved? Would he see it? Tackle her? Cart her off to wherever White House intruders were taken for interrogation? She swallowed, then worried that it had been so loud everyone in the room had heard her. But no one looked her way, no one save the agent.

  In the game of stare down, Jenna blinked first. She had to know if he could truly see her or if his instincts were just on high alert. She took a deep breath, then raised her right arm and waved at him.

  He looked away. Jenna nearly sank to her knees in relief. A cleaning crew made its way toward her and the spilled confections. She had no choice but to move and move fast. She wiped her foot on the carpet to remove as much of the squished dessert as possible, then weaved through the guests toward the nearest door. It seemed to take ages for the door to open, but when it finally did she wasted no time slipping through.

  She was halfway across the Red Room when the door opened behind her and the Secret Service agent moved toward her. Her heart jumped into her throat, urging her to run. Only the knowledge that the sound of running feet would pinpoint her location kept her at a fast walk.

  She hurried through the mercifully open doorways of the Blue and Green rooms, looking over her shoulder periodically to see the agent keeping pace. She made it across the Center Hall to the Entrance Hall where some guests were making their early departures through the North Portico.

  She wasn’t sick as she’d been after her unexpected overnight in Patti’s office, but when she edged out the door the night air smelled just as wonderful as it had that morning. But she didn’t pause to fill her lungs. A glance back through the crowd revealed the Secret Service agent standing outside looking in her direction. A chill ran down her back in sharp contrast to the thick heat enveloping the city.

  Before he could pinpoint her again, she sped off across the cool grass of the White House lawn, wishing she could run far enough that the Secret Service agent, the agency and all the fear would never catch her.

  ****

  Even after she arrived at the town house, Jenna couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her, that someone was behind her and poised to attack. But no matter how many times she spun around, there was never anyone there. She’d fastened the deadbolt, armed the alarm system, checked all the rooms thoroughly twice, and still she couldn’t stop pacing, fidgeting. Even when she dismissed it as paranoia, she couldn’t relax.

  She wasn’t cut out for this. All this sneaking around, constantly fearful of discovery, was wearing on her nerves more than anything she’d ever faced as a patrol officer. What she wouldn’t give to be pulling even the graveyard shift at home. Good thing she’d not applied for a detective position. Her efforts in D.C. so far showed how inept she was at undercover work.

  Her skin prickled, and she spun again, certain this time someone would be there. But once again, she was the only person standing in the room.

  Or was she?

  A chill so cold it drew a gasp gripped her. What if she wasn’t alone? What if there was indeed another person like her? What if that person wasn’t on the same side of the law and right this minute was watching her break out in a frigid sweat?

  Jenna gulped. Her muscles tightened, ready to defend herself if need be. With the frightening possibility rooted in her brain, she wondered how she’d ever sleep again. How would she know if she was ever truly alone?

  Her cell phone rang, causing her to jump and yelp. It continued to ring as she stood shaking, needing to escape and knowing she couldn’t. The phone rang again, and Jenna grabbed it to have something other than potential invisible intruders to focus on.

  “Hello.”

  “Where have you been? And why don’t you answer your phone anymore? Are you ignoring my calls?”

  Jenna closed her eyes and waited until her mother’s stream of questions stopped.

  “Well?”

  “I haven’t had my phone on. I just turned it on a few minutes ago.” When she’d been afraid she was being followed and thought she might have to call Daniel.

  “What good is the thing if you don’t have it on?”

  “Mom, I’m not in the mood for an argument.”

  “Well, that’s not my fault. You don’t see fit to call your mother, and suddenly I’m the bad guy.”

  A piercing throb pulsed between Jenna’s eyes. Nothing would give her greater satisfaction at the moment than to throw her cell phone down the toilet and flush it. The last thing she needed now was the sharp tongue of Ava McCay.

  But she was getting it anyway. “You didn’t answer me. Where are you?”

  “Out of town.”

  “Do you think perhaps you could be a wee bit more specific?”

  “No.”

  A small sound of surprise surged through the phone.

  “Listen, Mom, I’m working and I can’t tell you on what, okay?”

  “You know I don’t care to hear about the details of your job. It’s not fit for civilized conversation.”

  Jenna zoned out as her mother went through her familiar oratory on how Jenna should get a real job, one more properly suited to a woman. Geez, you’d think Ava came from American royalty the way she talked sometimes. There was no hint of the small town girl James McCay had met and fallen in love with within a week.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Well, no.

  “I’m sorry, I’m really tired.”

  Not to mention jumpy.

  Her mother heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t suppose it will do me any good to ask when you’ll be back in town?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her mother muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Everyone has a cross to bear.” The last thing Jenna needed tonight was an argument with her mother, but if she had five cents for every time she and her mother had talked without getting into some sort of disagreement, she might have enough to buy a postage stamp — if she was lucky.

  Heck, she couldn’t even remember what she and her mother talked about most of the time. Jenna thought about telling her mother about the photo she’d seen of her father, but her worries about being watched and heard kept her from divulging what had lured her from Nashville. She scanned the room, still half expecting to see someone there.

  “Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ll call in a few days, okay?”

  “Fine. But before you go, I wanted to remind you of the benefit for the gallery next week. I already have your ticket, and I saw a dress at Camille’s shop yesterday that would be perfect for you.”

  Jenna closed her eyes and pressed her thumb and fingers against the building headache. Her mother knew she felt awkward at such events. She always felt as if her mother used benefit causes as an excuse to force her into dresses and parade her past a host of eligible, cultured men. That was another of the ways Jenna had disappointed her mother, by not marrying and producing grandchildren li
ke any good daughter should, like Jenna’s sisters had mastered.

  “I’ll check it out if I get back in time.”

  “If? Surely you won’t be gone that long. I didn’t think someone in your position even had to go out of Nashville.” Her mother took a sudden intake of breath. “Oh Jenna, they don’t have you chasing a fugitive, do they? Because surely one of the men could do that.”

  “Mom, stop! How many times do I have to tell you before it sinks in? I like my job, I can do damn near everything the guys can do. I’m not going to wake up one morning and suddenly start shopping at Camille’s, scheduling spa days or prowling for the first available man who doesn’t have three eyes and a horn in his forehead.”

  A long pause came from the other end of the line. Then, “I do not appreciate how you talk to me.”

  Jenna pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. The pain there would surely make her eyeballs pop out at any moment.

  “I’ll call when I can. Goodnight.”

  Rude it might be, but she hung up on her mother. She simply couldn’t take it anymore. Almost immediately, someone banged on the front door. What now? She nearly pitched the phone at the door and screamed for the world, invisible or not, to just go away for a few hours. That’s all she needed, a few hours alone so she could rest and get rid of this headache. She’d had more headaches since coming to D.C. than she’d had in the past year.