by D. D. Ayres
“I’ve said it a dozen times, dammit, I threw it away.”
“Georgiana.” Her attorney’s low but cautionary tone saved her from telling Mr. FBI to go straight to hell.
Clinton came around to the other side of the table across from where she sat. “Did you listen to your house phone messages when you came home tonight?”
Georgie took a deep breath. “No. Once I realized I’d been burglarized, I called 911 and waited outside until the police came.” Not quite true but she didn’t want to explain why she’d taken those pictures of the destruction. The reasons were personal. “Why?”
“Did you check your computer or phone messages at any time while you were gone?”
Georgie felt little hits of anger beat against her eyeballs. “I went away to get away from everything. Calling home to reconnect would defeat the purpose.”
“What about your family, how would they know how to find you in an emergency?”
Georgie looked away and down. Earlier, Clinton had said they’d been in contact with her family. He’d lied to trick her. She’d have to remember that. “I have another cell phone I use when I don’t want the world to intrude. Only my family members have the number.”
“We’d be very interested to see that phone.”
Georgiana handed it over.
Clinton took his time before he spoke again. “We have reason to believe, Ms. Flynn, that you took photos of the man who left an undetonated bomb at the Senate Office Building event.”
“Bomb?” Georgie’s attorney turned to her in bewilderment. “I haven’t heard anything about that. It wasn’t on the news.”
“That’s because we were able to prevent word from leaking out about it. What most terrorists want most is to incite public fear. We shut it down. There were only a handful of reporters present for the event. We gathered the photography from the others the next day. Only your photographs remain unaccounted for. And now you say your apartment was broken into and your computer and cameras were taken.”
Georgie bit hard on the inside of her lip. You say your apartment was broken into. He suspected her of something. That much was obvious. Now he was toying with her, trying to confuse and wear her down. And he would probably succeed. She was near tears. But that still didn’t make her guilty.
Clinton’s gaze never left hers. “You have two phone messages from a Mr. Jane. Do you know him?”
“No, but I can check my files.”
“He said he wants to buy photos specifically of the event in question. He said his nephew was one of the awards recipients and he would like to have a memento.”
“I don’t sell my photos to the general public.”
Clinton leaned across the table, bringing his face down to a level with hers. “We are looking for answers, Ms. Flynn. For instance, why our K-9 team identified the scents in your apartment as being compatible with those found on the failed bomb.”
Georgia gasped. “That’s not possible.”
“So far, you’re our only confirmed contact point with the bomber.”
“That doesn’t mean I know anything about him—because truly, I don’t.” She was on her feet, unable to stop her actions or her words. “That apartment search might mean nothing. I’ve heard bomb dogs can be put off the scent by nitrates in food. Maybe my burglar ate a huge pastrami sandwich before he broke in. Nitrates on everything.”
“Interesting that you know about how to confuse a K-9 bomb sniffer.”
All the hot emotion ebbed out of Georgie as she sank back into her chair. She was only making things worse. “I read. Informed public and all that.”
“He didn’t break in.”
“But the police said …”
“They said it appeared that it wasn’t a forced-entry burglary.”
“It had to be. No one could have gotten in otherwise.”
“Who else has a key? Old boyfriend? New boyfriend? A neighbor?”
Georgie kept shaking her head. “No one.”
For several seconds she stared off into space. “You’re telling me that you think I’m somehow in league with a would-be bomber?”
“I’m informing you that we have enough to hold you on suspicion of conspiracy to commit domestic terrorism.”
Georgie stared at him, unable to think of an answer to so chillingly absurd an idea. She didn’t have an idea of what “hold” meant. In jail? In an undisclosed location? Oh, god. Was she about to disappear?
Clinton went on, his voice as calm and conversational as if he was talking about a play he’d seen. “On the other hand, if I were you, I’d want to clear my name. You can show good faith by helping us.”
Georgie stared at Clinton, her fear and anger and anxiety melding into a silver-white determination not to be a victim. “How?”
She only half-listened to the plan he unfolded. Somewhere inside her a sense of betrayal was taking root. Not only was she innocent, but, if what the FBI was telling her was true, she had been the mouse in someone’s game of cat’s paw for more than two months. Philip was not Philip. He was Brad Lawson. Lawson was FBI, too. He must have been planted at Harmonie Kennels two months ago to check her out. But why?
Anger flamed inside her at that thought but she didn’t let it distract her. Her life was at stake. A night of indiscreet sex with a lying spy was a second-tier problem.
As the minutes ticked by her sense of outrage began to replace the mind-numbing fear that encased her thoughts.
When Clinton finished Georgie sat quietly for nearly a minute as the two men watching her shifted uncomfortably. Finally she lifted her head. “I’ll help. But not because of your threats. I want the bastard who’s trying to frame me caught.”
She turned very deliberately in her chair until she was staring at the mirrored section of wall behind her. “I don’t like being made anyone’s fool.”
***
In the room where video of her interrogation was being shown, Brad watched Georgie with professional detachment because he was not alone, there only as a professional courtesy. Several Counterterrorism agents were there watching and evaluating their person of interest with candid and sometimes unflattering comments. Yet, when she turned to look at the camera, even though she couldn’t be certain it was there, the pain in her expression made him feel every bit the sadistic bully Clinton was being.
She looked thoroughly shaken by the events of the night. Yet she hadn’t been stampeded into agreeing to participate in the trap they hoped to lay for their prey. She had reasoned her way through it to find a solution that fit her sense of honor and self-respect. He was impressed.
A few minutes later, Clinton entered the room. “Well, what do you think?”
Brad held back as the Counterterrorism team members gave their impressions. He couldn’t afford to be wrong about her.
When he met Georgiana as Philip Dexter two months ago, there wasn’t yet the chilling reality of a bomb in the picture. He was checking out one of the Pulitzer nominees who hadn’t won. Now, the discovery of that unexploded device last week made it impossible for him to go on gut instinct alone, no matter how well that sense had served him in the past. Believing she wasn’t involved in any criminal way wasn’t the same thing as proving it.
He reminded himself that he was emotionally involved. He should step away. Screw that! He had just made the decision to stay involved. But he would live up to his professional obligation to disclose his previous connection to Georgie to Agent Clinton and his team.
He waited until the others were done speaking before he asked to speak to Clinton, in private. Once alone, he revealed his prior contact with Georgiana Flynn, as per his FBI department’s orders.
“How the hell did something like this happen and I not know about it?”
Brad accepted Clinton’s fury with a slight shrug. “Kodak was a lower profile case at that point. It’s all there in the paperwork.”
“Sit tight while I verify that.”
Clinton was gone thirty minutes. When he returned h
is sour expression confirmed that Brad’s actions were FBI-directed. “This is a first-class fuckup.”
Brad was ready for him. “Which we can use to our advantage. We need to move quickly to contain this bastard with explosives. Ms. Flynn and I have a history, brief as it was. That should provide a good opening for me to win her trust. I just need your approval to resume contact.”
“Why the hell would I allow you to do that?”
“Several reasons. If she’s involved with the bomber, Zander and I will be privy to every nook and cranny of her life. We’ll find evidence if there’s evidence to be found.”
“Any K-9 bomb team can do that.”
“She liked me. I can make her like me again.” Brad offered his superior a conceited smile. At the same time he stepped on his conscience, grinding it like a snake under a boot heel. He didn’t trust any other agent to do what he was going to do. He was going to protect her life, at all costs.
Clinton sneered. “You did that? Seduced a possible terrorist?”
“There was no seduction.” A law enforcement officer who couldn’t lie convincingly wasn’t worth much in the real world. “I’m saying we made a connection. She thought I was a fireman with a K-9. The attraction is still there. She could have told you up-front about our prior meeting but she didn’t, did she? She’s a woman. She can be won over.”
Clinton seemed to weigh his options forever. “How do I know you won’t allow this woman to become a distraction?”
Brad was out of patience much sooner. “I’m your best chance. If she’s innocent, I’ll be there to protect her as you promised her. If not, Zander and I will have the opportunity to catch her in a lie and sniff out her accomplices.”
Somewhere around 2 a.m., Clinton conceded that Agent Lawson might be their best bet. “But watch yourself. You’ll have coverage 24/7. Despite what she’s said so far, Ms. Flynn could have made a deal with a madman to further her career. He’d do the big boom and she’d capture it on film. If we get too close she might take action to save herself.”
Brad nodded, feigning agreement. “That would make her one soulless bitch.”
Clinton nodded. “We get a lot of that in this business.”
“Can I talk with her?”
“No. We’ve sent her to a hotel with a guard for the night. But be ready to move in the morning. However this goes down, we want it to take place outside D.C.”
***
Brad found himself staring at his TV with the sound off for another hour before he packed a bag and headed for the hotel in Arlington.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Georgiana Flynn had a framed picture of him hanging in her place. The photo of a man she never thought she’d see again.
He was flattered, and intrigued, and more certain than ever that she had remained on his mind for reasons that had nothing to do with the FBI or bombers.
She hadn’t seemed like the trophy type. But was it easier to believe that they’d formed a special intimate connection in bed during one evening?
Which was more likely?
He didn’t know.
He did know that he didn’t want her used as chum bait by the FBI for a great white shark of a madman bomber.
By offering to be her handler, he would be there by her side for every step as they set out to capture a would-be bomber. He wouldn’t use her callously, subjecting her to dangerous situations the way another agent might. He believed she was a victim. He would protect her.
It didn’t hurt that he would also have a chance to find out how deep their connection went. No, that didn’t spoil things at all.
Chapter Five
Georgiana woke with a start, her heart thundering in her chest. A sound had awakened her. Someone had broken into her apartment last night. Was he back?
She sat up only to come to a complete stop. This shadowed room wasn’t her bedroom. Tossing the covers, she reached for the bedside light. A hotel room popped into focus. Memory caught up with her. She had been sent to spend what was left of the night in a hotel, courtesy of the FBI. Somewhere in Arlington, if she remembered correctly. She noticed her open suitcase sitting on a stand in the corner. She hadn’t needed to pack because she’d just come back from a trip.
She heard more sounds. Definitely the clatter of dishes. She popped up and opened the door, and halted in amazement. This was no ordinary hotel room. This was a suite, complete with a living area where a room service waiter was setting up a portable table laden with dishes.
When he saw her, he smiled brightly. “Good morning, ma’am. Your order is ready.”
She remained in the doorway, uncertain what to do. “How did you get in here?”
“I let him in, Boots.”
Georgie’s gaze swiveled to a doorway directly across the room from hers. Philip—no, she needed to stop thinking about Philip. Philip was a lie. The FBI agent named Brad Lawson stood there in cargo pants and an olive-green tee, looking tough and unyielding, and effortlessly gorgeous. Seeing him made her angry all over again.
“Hope you like eggs Benedict or waffles. I ordered both.” His mouth was smiling but not his eyes. There was a warning in them. Be careful. Trust no one. Those were her attorney’s final words to her the night before.
Her gaze moved back cautiously to the bellhop. “Just let me get a tip.”
The room service guy smiled at her. “Taken care of. Have a nice breakfast.”
As soon as the door snapped shut behind him Georgie stalked across the room toward her unwelcome companion. “What are you doing here?”
He offered her nothing beyond an impassive gaze. “You agreed to cooperate with the FBI. You need protection. We’re the protection.”
“We?”
He stepped aside to allow his Lab, Zander, to poke a head into the room, sniffing breakfast smells that already had Georgie’s mouth watering.
The yellow Lab seemed to grin when he saw her, lolling his tongue in that lovable doggy fashion. In fact, only his partner’s hand on his collar seemed to keep him from crossing over to lick Georgie’s hand as he had the first time they met. That restraint reminded her that she was a suspect. Even FBI canines were supposed to be wary around her.
Her gaze narrowed suspiciously on Zander’s handler. “Are you really FBI?”
“We are.” He smiled genuinely this time and it drew her attention to his mouth, the same kissable one she remembered.
She jerked her gaze away. He wasn’t the hunky firefighter she’d shared a steamy night with two months ago. He was a federal agent who had been sent to check her out, believing that she might be involved in potential criminal acts. She’d been had.
What made her even angrier was the realization that it had been her decision to go against her rule about casual sexual encounters and invite this man into her bed. Look what had happened! Another woman might have ended up discovering the guy was a jerk. Not her. She’d seduced an undercover FBI agent. Way to go, Georgie.
She looked up, letting her hostility show. He’d propped a hand high on the door frame. The action stretched his torso, drawing his T-shirt taut across the lean muscles of his pecs and abs. It was impossible to miss the fact that he was one very impressive male specimen. But she wasn’t some yo-yo who couldn’t control her libido. Every instinct of self-preservation told her to get away from him as far and as fast as possible.
Her gaze switched to Zander and her hostility grew. “Why is the dog here?”
“He’s here to alert on anything suspicious.”
“He can’t be that good at what he does. He supposedly found bomb smells in my apartment when that’s impossible.”
His stance stiffened at her dismissal of his K-9 partner. “Zander’s never wrong. Occasionally I misunderstand his signals but he’s not deceitful. He tells it like it is.”
She shook her head. “He was wrong this time. There never was a bomb or bomb-making stuff in my apartment.”
“That’s not what Zander detected.”
Georgie
eyed the Lab suspiciously. “What did he detect?”
Brad hesitated. There were lines he couldn’t cross, information he couldn’t divulge, even to settle her down. “Zander doesn’t just pick up the scent of bombs. FBI dogs can detect nineteen thousand different explosive combinations. In addition, K-9s like Zander collect all kinds of trace evidence smells when he sniffs an object or person. He gets skin cells, sweat from those who’ve handled the bomb-making elements. He can detect the smell of ink on money, find cell phones, trigger devices. He can even detect and match bomb formulas brought in from the field.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. He detects and categorizes smells the way someone like you sees color and texture and contrast.” Brad patted his partner in pride. “A few special dogs, like Zander, can even follow what’s called a vapor wake. That’s the trail of explosive particles a person carrying an incendiary device leaves behind as he moves through a crowd. If we could get within the vicinity, and downwind of our bomber when he’s carrying, then we would have a chance to pick him out before he dropped his load.”
Still unconvinced, Georgie folded her arms. “So, you believe a dog over a person?”
“Zander was born with a special nose. I believe he detected trace evidence linking the bomb to odors in your apartment.”
Georgie chewed her lip. “You’re saying someone connected to the bomb you found at the Senate Office Building was in my home.”
He regarded her steadily. “That’s a possibility.”
“The burglar!”
“Perhaps.”
“Who else could possibly—? You do think I’m connected.”
“We know you’re connected, just not how. I’m here to protect you.”
“Keep tabs on me, you mean. Is this the part where you tell me I need to trust you because you’re the only thing standing between me and the vicious killer the FBI plans to send after me?”
Finally, he offered her a smile. A damn sexy one at that. “It would make things easier if you did trust me.”
“Trust you? You want me to trust you? Tell me then, Mr. Honesty, was sleeping with me part of your plan to get intelligence about me? And if it was, why did your unit seem to be unaware that we have a … history together?”
