Chapter 1 #3
As she continued to watch the pair, it was impossible not to notice the obvious tension between the two agents. Though recording while inside the White House was strictly prohibited, she couldn’t resist using her phone’s camera to zoom in closer and record the intriguing interaction.
Several more words were said between the two agents before one spun angrily around and disappeared through the partially hidden door. The other agent ran a frustrated hand over his clean-shaven jaw, and then turned and walked away.
Moments later, the reporters who’d gathered on the lawn quickly got into position as the president appeared.
Janie started covertly recording again the second she spotted the most powerful man in the world.
She didn’t stop until the President of the United States was inside Marine One and the helicopter’s stairs had been lifted back up and secured.
The long, metal blades began to whirl, and within minutes, Marine One was rising into the air. She watched as the massive chopper showcasing the president’s seal disappeared into the afternoon sky.
So cool.
Janie took several more pictures and a few long seconds to relish in the experience before abandoning the window and resuming the self-guided tour.
By the time the tour had come to an end, she was absolutely famished.
A quick check of her phone showed the shortest route back to her hotel.
Even better, there was also a food truck claiming to serve the city’s most deliciously prepared gyros along the way.
Thanks to the oh-so-generous David Ellis—or rather, his expense account at the Post—Janie had been given a room at The Monument Hotel.
Located a few blocks north of the White House, and not too far from the Post, it was far pricier a place than what Janie was used to.
Which in her mind meant Ellis was serious in his efforts to obtain her employment.
A cool breeze lifted the ends of Janie’s hair as she strolled casually along the sidewalk. As she walked, she carefully scanned her surroundings, trying to imagine what it would be like to live here.
According to the most recent census, St. Louis proper currently had just over two-hundred thousand people. Growing up, and even as an adult at times, the place felt like it stretched on forever.
D.C.’s population was triple that of her hometown, so there would definitely be a period of adjustment.
And? It wouldn’t be anything you couldn’t handle.
Janie took the last bite of her seasoned beef and lamb gyro, quickly using her napkin to wipe the tzatziki sauce that had started dripping down her chin.
Seconds later, hundreds of bubbles exploded along her tongue as she took a healthy swig of her diet soda.
By the time she’d reached the hotel’s entrance, Janie’s belly was full, and she was ready to change clothes and chill.
When she got up to her tenth-floor room, she kicked off the nude heels she’d bought specifically for the interview. Next came the navy blue jacket and suit pants, followed by the cream-colored, cowl necked, sleeveless blouse she’d had on underneath.
Wearing nothing but a lacy white thong and a matching bra, Janie took the time to hang up her clothes in the room’s spacious closet. She’d replaced the professional attire for the much more comfortable ensemble of black yoga pants, an oversized tee, and a pair of cozy socks.
Her phone pinged with an incoming message on her way to the room’s private balcony. Stepping outside, Janie sat down in one of two patio chairs and propped her socked feet onto the nearby railing.
Ankles crossed, she drew in a deep, soothing breath while taking in the stunning view of the Washington Monument from over the roofs of nearby buildings. After stealing a few selfish seconds of peace for herself, she glanced down at the phone in her hand.
The text was from a number she didn’t recognize, but Janie instantly knew it was a D.C. number. Tapping the screen, she opened the message and immediately dropped her feet back down to the balcony’s concrete floor.
Her spine stiffened and her veins filled with excitement when she read the words on her screen.
This is Amy. If the offer still stands, I’d really like to meet.
Janie didn’t hesitate to respond . . .
Hi, Amy! Just tell me when and where.
Three dots appeared in a bubble as she waited for Amy to send her the details. It didn’t take long for the phone to ding again.
My apartment. One hour.
Immediately following that text was one containing an address. Janie assured the young intern she’d be there before doing a quick search for the quickest route.
She’d hoped Amy’s apartment would be within walking distance, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Going with door number two, she arranged for a ride through an app on her phone and went back inside to change.
Janie didn’t need to dress up simply to go talk to a possible source, but she also couldn’t bring herself to go to the meeting in yoga pants and a sloppy tee. Instead she went with a pair of jeans and a dark green, cable knit sweater, finishing off the look with a pair of brown, lace-up boots.
With time to spare, she went to the mustard-yellow couch located against the far wall of her room.
She propped her feet up on the cushioned ottoman, crossing her ankles before grabbing the laptop she’d left on the coffee table hours before.
A quick email later, and her request for more information on Amy Weaver had been submitted.
Less than five minutes passed before a response was in her inbox. The message was comprised of only two words.
On it.
When it came to digging up reliable information on someone, Devon Brighton was one of the smartest, most talented people Janie knew. The tiny blonde had also been Janie’s closest friend since the two were roommates their freshman year of college.
Another text came through several minutes later letting her know Amy’s cursory background confirmed the woman’s story. She did, in fact, hold an intern position within the White House press.
Thanks, Dev.
Janie sent the text before sliding her phone into her back pocket and grabbing her jacket and purse. She was downstairs and making her way through the hotel lobby when the car she’d ordered to take her to Amy pulled up to the curb out front.
Thanks to an influx of D.C. traffic, it took thirty-two minutes to make the thirteen-mile drive. Once there, Janie walked into the apartment building with her chin up, shoulders back, and confidence in her step.
It was a lesson she’d learned very early on. Go in like you own the place, and fewer questions would be asked.
So that’s exactly what she did.
Janie walked straight into the building, got into the elevator, and waited patiently as it took her up to Amy’s floor. When she stepped into the hallway, it didn’t take long for her to find apartment 6B.
She started to knock, but the moment her knuckles struck the door’s smooth wood, it swung open with hardly any force.
Okaaaay . . .
“Amy?” she called out from the hall. “It’s me. Janie Reynolds.”
Nothing but silence responded.
“Amy?” Janie hollered for the other woman again.
When there still was no answer, she pushed the door open a tad more. Just enough to step over the threshold so she could take a peek inside.
The apartment was quiet. The air so very still. As she slowly moved around the modest, one-bedroom space, she was impressed at how everything in Amy’s apartment seemed to be right in its place.
There was no mail scattered on the counter. No dirty dishes in the sink. Every throw pillow on the couch was perfectly positioned, and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen.
More importantly, Amy wasn’t anywhere to be found. Which was strange, because she’d just texted Janie a couple of hours ago asking for this meeting.
Maybe she just stepped out for a second. She could be at a neighbor’s asking to borrow a cup of sugar.
Janie left Amy’s spotless bedroom and returned to the kitchen. It was so clean, she could probably eat straight from the shiny wooden floors.
She thought for a moment before pulling out her phone and dialing Amy’s number. It rang multiple times before going to voice mail. Several attempts later, Janie finally gave up.
Amy Weaver, the White House intern with a story to tell, was nowhere to be found.