The Fixer

Where was Henry?

 

“Would you favor an old man with a dance?” Keyes asked, beginning to lead me to the floor without waiting for a reply.

 

I tried to resist, but he was polished and smooth, and that was when I realized—Henry’s plan had been to make noise. Come here. See who approached. For the first time, it occurred to me that if the reporter had gone back to his White House source, if someone had put two and two together and started looking for the person who’d tipped the reporter off about Justice Marquette’s death, they might not have ended up with the conclusion that it was Henry.

 

The reporter’s appointment was with me.

 

“Excuse me.” I tried again to pull away from the grip Keyes had on my arm. “I need to go.”

 

“I don’t bite,” the old man promised, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “No matter what your sister may have led you to believe.”

 

This time, I ducked the old man’s grasp a little more firmly, trying not to draw attention to either of us. As I slipped into the crowd, a man in a suit approached me. It took a second for me to recognize him.

 

Secret Service. Remembering Bodie’s advice, I searched my memory for a name. He’d been the one on the front porch the day the president had come to see Ivy.

 

“Is everything all right here?” he asked me, eyeing Adam’s father.

 

“Kostas, right?” I said. A slight change in the man’s expression told me that Bodie was right. It paid to learn names. “Everything’s fine.”

 

I started walking toward the balcony. I needed to find Henry. He’d been gone for too long. There were too many people to keep track of. The president. Georgia. William Keyes. And who knew how many others.

 

How many people here work in the West Wing? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to that question.

 

I’d made it three steps when I ran smack into someone heading in the opposite direction with the same speed and force of purpose. Ivy. I registered her presence an instant before she registered mine. She’d reached out instinctively to steady me when we’d collided, but now her hand tightened around my arm.

 

“What are you doing here?” I asked her. She hadn’t been present for appetizers or dinner.

 

“What am I doing here?” Ivy asked, her voice dangerously pleasant. “What am I doing here?” The second time, even the veneer of pleasantness began to slip from her tone. “What are you doing here?”

 

I was grounded and this was a high-security, invitation-only affair. It was a fair question, but all I could think was that I’d lost track of Henry.

 

“Tess.” Ivy shook me slightly.

 

“I tried calling you.” I stepped toward her so that I could whisper without fear of anyone overhearing. She loosened her grip on my arm—slightly. “Henry Marquette knows. Everything I knew, he knows, and he went to the press. He told the reporter who wrote the Pierce article everything.”

 

Ivy went pale as a sheet. An instant later, a mask of calm slid over her face, her lips held in a soft smile that sent a chill down my spine.

 

“Henry’s been making noise about his grandfather’s death,” I reiterated, afraid to stop talking. “And then he came here.”

 

Understanding shone in Ivy’s brown eyes. “He hoped someone was listening.”

 

“I have to go.” I tried to push past Ivy.

 

She brought her free hand up and grabbed my free arm. She held me out in front of her, one of her hands on each of my shoulders.

 

“He went off by himself a few minutes ago. I should have gone with him, but Keyes stopped me.” I kept talking as I tried to pull out of her grasp. “I have to find Henry.”

 

“No. I have to find Henry,” Ivy replied tightly. “You are going to go introduce yourself to the Icelandic ambassador and tell him you go to school with his daughter. Don’t leave his side. Don’t say anything to anyone. Do you understand?”

 

Before I could say a word, she’d whisked me over to Di’s father, who vigorously shook my hand and seemed to have no intention of letting go. Ivy disappeared into the crowd, and I was left trying to extract myself from a very enthusiastic Icelander, who seemed intent on educating me about the relations between Iceland and Denmark.

 

By the time I managed to shake him, Ivy was long gone.

 

I started off in the direction I’d seen Henry go. The edges of the room were crowded. The farther I walked, the harder it became to make my way through the ball-gowned masses without giving in to the urge to throw some elbows.

 

“Tess.” A light hand was laid on my shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

 

Georgia. I tried to step back, but suddenly the hand on my shoulder wasn’t so light.

 

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