by D. D. Ayres
“You’re right. I haven’t said thank you.”
She blinked. “For what?”
“Not outing me to my bosses about our previous relationship. Just so you know, that picture of my naked butt on your wall could have cost me my job.”
“So, the government doesn’t sanction agents seducing people under surveillance?”
“I didn’t seduce you.” His gaze held hers. “You invited me to your room.”
Georgie stared back, alert to the dangers of believing what she was seeing. The look in his tawny eyes was hot enough to melt premium-grade steel. “I didn’t know you were spying on me. I thought you were attracted to me.”
His mouth tightened. “I was. I am. But we can’t deal with that now. Right now you need to trust me.”
His gaze seemed to promise something later, but Georgie shook her head. She couldn’t think about a later with him in it. She needed to get through right now.
“I don’t think so. I don’t want you guarding me. I want someone else. Make that anyone else.”
Brad shook his head. “You’re not in a position to dictate things.”
No other agent would be as protective as he would be of her. Another agent might take risks with her to capture their main target. He couldn’t allow her to become collateral damage.
He came forward and lifted a lid off a dish. The aroma of eggs and ham filled the air and made her mouth water. He looked at her neutrally. “Decide what you’d like to eat.”
Georgie folded her arms. “I’m not hungry.”
“Okay.” He reached for the plate of eggs.
“But I will take that.” She took the plate from his hand and turned back toward her bedroom. At least he wouldn’t get his way on the matter of breakfast.
“You don’t drink coffee?”
She turned and marched back to fill a cup with her free hand and added a splash of milk. She hadn’t moved but a few steps away before she heard the soft tread that meant he was following her. She swung around, spilling a little coffee. “Don’t come near me.”
He held up a napkin wrapped around flatware then tucked it under her arm. “You need to be ready to go into work in thirty minutes. Think you can manage that?”
Georgie pinched her lips together over the vulgar reply that came to mind, turned back around, and left the room, slamming her door with a kick.
Brad watched her walk away with more interest than was wise. The shorty pajama set she wore clung to her butt and her shapely bare legs, and had him thinking about the days, and especially nights, ahead. He could still remember the warm wash of pink beneath the patch of freckles on her cheeks as they’d made love. He recalled how her nipples budded like strawberries when he took them in his mouth. That thought had him rising in his pants. The memory of her silky red curls tangling about his fingers as if they were laying claim to him was just overkill. She was the real thing, a natural redhead.
None of that could matter now. He had a job to do.
Feeling like a man on deck of the Titanic with disaster staring him in the face no matter which way he looked, Brad shook his head in wonder at his own stupidity.
What the fuck had he gotten himself into?
Everything about her interested him in ways that were more than unwise, they were dangerous. Yet, not being in control of this mission would be more frustrating than dealing with Georgie Flynn in close quarters. Sacrifices were required. That meant keeping his libido and his hands, and other parts, to himself for the duration.
He turned back to the portable breakfast cart and lifted the napkin on crisp, perfectly browned waffles, his favorite. Eggs Benedict was his second choice.
Zander came up and gave him the look. “I know, I cheated to get the breakfast I wanted. Don’t rat me out.”
His partner woofed and wagged his tail.
They spent so much time together he often talked to Zander as if the dog was able to understand everything he said. Zander responded appropriately enough of the time to keep Brad wondering just how much he did comprehend.
Just for practice, he indicated that Zander check the breakfast cart.
Instantly alert, Zander raised his black nose and swiveled his head side to side, then he did a perimeter sweep of the cart. Nothing. He stopped in heel position by Brad and looked up, ears drooped in disappointment that he hadn’t found anything.
“Good dog.” He dropped a piece of bacon into his partner’s mouth. Nothing was a result, too. Unlike the military and most law enforcement K-9 units, who taught their dogs to work for a toy or ball reward, FBI K-9s worked on a food reward basis. Zander didn’t have a regular mealtime or eat out of the bowl. Zander worked to eat. Every piece of food that came to him came from Brad’s hand, even at home. That meant that Brad often wore cargo pants so that he was never without dog food and treats in his pockets.
When he had gulped down the rare indulgence of a cholesterol- and sugar-laden meal, Brad snapped on Zander’s leash. “Let’s take a walk.”
In the corridor, another federal agent in street clothes sat on a bench reading the paper. They nodded, the temporary handoff of suspect surveillance complete.
Chapter Six
Twenty-five minutes later, Brad was watching CNN when Georgiana reappeared in the suite’s main room. She wore a T-shirt, short jeans skirt, an army-green fatigue jacket, and sport shoes. A camera bag was slung over one shoulder. She cradled a camera hung by a strap around her neck while her photographer IDs hung from another lanyard around her neck. Her hair had been pulled back in a messy ponytail of curls. Her lips glistened with a sheer pink that made him think of dirty things he’d like to do to and with her mouth.
To distract himself from his thoughts Brad made his voice as cool as possible, the exact opposite of every other part of him. “Dressed for success?”
Her gaze narrowed in reaction to his tone. Good. He needed her pissed off with maybe a couple of acres of razor wire between them at the moment. “I don’t work in an office. I’m on the street all day most days. I dress for comfort.”
He shrugged. “Our orders came. You’re to go into the AP office to pick up a photo assignment. Choose one in an area that’s easy for us to contain.”
She lifted the camera to her face and took a couple of shots of Zander. “What would that be, exactly?”
Brad frowned at her picture-taking, though he knew from research on her that this was one of her coping mechanisms. He wouldn’t stop her as long as she didn’t turn her lens on him, or details like the windows and doors. “Something indoors. Not many entrances or exits. Preferably in a building that has high security to begin with.”
She looked up over her camera. “Like the Capitol?”
Smart and smart-alecky. Seemed like she’d gotten her courage back. “We’ve upped our screening in the city. Meanwhile, we need to limit your exposure to places we can contain.”
Georgie tried not to put herself into the equation as she thought about what would be the best thing for the FBI’s purposes. As she did so, she took a picture of a yellow notepad on the desk by the door to distract her thoughts. “I’d rather call in for an assignment. I’ll ask for a location outside D.C. away from a lot of people.”
“That’s the opposite of what the bomber wants. No victims, no payoff.”
She flinched and lowered her camera from a shot she was about to take of the smear of eggs on a plate. “Who thinks like that? I can barely handle the idea that someone broke into my place, let alone consider that someone is out there waiting to blow me up.” She hadn’t meant to say that, or to give in to the gasp of emotion at the end.
“Easy.” Brad didn’t move any closer. Comfort was not exactly what either of them could afford to give at this point. “Our working theory is that you’re not the intended target. You may have taken a photo of the bomber, or something happened that day that makes him believe your photos could tie him to the crime.”
She cradled her camera to her chest. Her eyes were getting wide with anxiety.
“Or maybe he didn’t just want photos when he broke in. Maybe he planned to make certain I couldn’t identify him.”
Brad gave her credit for clear thinking, even if she scared herself. “We’re not going to let that happen. We’ll get to him first. If he makes a move, we’ll be there.”
“You mean if he tries to kill me.” She went pale at the thought. “I’m the bloody bait you’re dropping in the shark tank.”
He ignored that. “You can start the process by telling everyone you talk with today that you were robbed. That includes the local barista, the doorman, guards at the AP offices, anyone and everyone you normally chat with during your day.”
She glanced down at her camera. “Why would I do that?”
“Let’s call it leaving a scent trail for our prey. Tell them the thief took your cameras and computers but that you have everything backed up in the Cloud and so you didn’t lose anything significant, like photos. Then we wait.”
She had gone very still, once again hugging her camera close, as if it needed protection instead of her. “Is that all?”
“There is one other small thing.” He crooked a finger at her. “I need to digitalize you.”
She backed up a step. “Wear a wire? I didn’t agree to that.”
“You agreed to help. This helps us.” He held up a tiny device that looked like a flash drive. “It’s Wi-Fi. Nothing to be detected, unlike in the old days.”
“No. I won’t do that.”
She turned and moved rapidly away from him. He wondered how far she’d go. Out the door? He really didn’t want to start the day by having to physically restrain her.
She stopped at the front door, waited a beat, and turned around. Her mouth was set in a line that, regrettably, smashed her pretty lips into pinched oblivion. But more than that, her eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty.
He understood her emotions but he couldn’t afford to share them. Moreover, he couldn’t allow her fear and anxiety to overwhelm her, or this operation would be over before it began.
Brad moved slowly toward her. Her glare grew so hostile that when he paused at arm’s length from her he could feel the chill. It was close enough for him to notice lots of things, too, like the quivering rise and fall of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra! Ah, hell. His mind wandered for a second into wild fantasy. The fragrance of lily of the valley rose off her flushed skin and quivered in his nose.
Reality came back into focus as he noticed her pupils contracting. She was on the brink of panicking. He needed to talk her down fast.
“I’m not the enemy.” The words came out of her in a whisper.
“I believe you. But that doesn’t change anything. There’s a very dangerous someone out there who most likely has another bomb and is waiting to use it. You are our only lead to finding him first.”
“No one I know would do anything this crazy.”
He felt an unwanted twinge of sympathy for her. “We all like to think that the people we know and care about aren’t capable of great treachery and harm. Believe me, experience says otherwise.”
She stiffened, her gaze striking sparks off his. “That might have more impact if it wasn’t coming from you.”
He smiled. “You trusted me because I seemed harmless?”
Georgie looked away. He hadn’t looked harmless, then or now. He had looked tough and trustworthy, with a straight-up in-your-face hotness that set him apart from the crowd of other hunky men surrounding her that day. There was that nameless something about him that she could only capture in her photographs. He wouldn’t understand that. Worse, it wouldn’t make her any safer if he did. In fact, it would make her much more vulnerable.
He reached out and touched her lightly, his hands framing her shoulders with strength and determination. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
Georgie held still under his touch, willing herself to look into his gold-and-green-flecked brown gaze. The full power of his persuasion viewed up close seemed to back up that promise of protection. She needed to believe him, very badly, even if it was a lie. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He unbuttoned a flap of the jacket pocket just over her heart and slipped the flash drive inside. “This is a sound device. If you take it out it will activate the camera, too. Never be without it. Never leave it behind. If you decide to lose the jacket, drop this in another place. Your bra, for instance.” He moved a finger to point out what should have been in her cleavage. His finger touched T-shirt-covered skin.
Shit. He forgot.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
For a second longer he looked at her behind his lowered lids, aware of the smell of her, of the rise and fall of her breath fanning out over his face, and of the too-rapid pulse beating in her jaw.
Fuck it all.
He didn’t wait for reason to interfere this time. He backed her up against the door and kissed her.
The kiss was deep and hot, with nothing remotely reassuring or calming in it. It was a combustion of like meeting like, the claiming of an attraction as necessary as breathing. They both felt it. The kiss released all the hostility, uncertainty, and need that had been tangled up inside them from the moment they’d seen each other the night before.
Georgie heard him murmur something, and then his fingers were sliding into her hair at her nape as his other hand came up to cradle her chin as their kisses made promises that ignored the reality of their situation.
That lasted only seconds and then he was gently pushing her away.
Only then did Georgie realize her hands clutched his body. She dropped them but held his gaze, smoked now with raw urgent need. She knew he was seeing the same thing in hers. Okay, so they were both still attracted to one another. That was not news. But the intensity with which he watched for her reaction made her understand he was still calculating and judging her, still the Fed with a job to do.
She managed to find her voice, such as it was, first. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
He gave her a little smile and pushed a hand through his dark hair. “I sure the hell am.”
Her sudden laughter surprised Brad. It splashed over him like water from a hydrant on a hot summer day. It was refreshing and cooling, and just what he needed. But playtime was over for now.
His expression reverted to professional. “This is the time for you to tell me if you want another agent assigned to you. Say it, and it’s a done deal.”
Georgie frowned. “Why would you say that now?”
“Because whatever this is between us”—he waggled two fingers back and forth between them—“it has to wait.”
She nodded. “Right.”
“For the record, I wasn’t acting as FBI Special Agent Brad Lawson from the time I crossed your threshold that night two months ago until I left the next morning.”
“What about just now?”
He didn’t answer but stared at her with the same intensity that had been in his expression when he kissed her. He had admitted all he was going to admit to for both their sakes.
She lifted her chin and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Zander, who had been watching the interaction with rapt attention, woofed and danced a bit on his leash, ready for action and another snack.
Chapter Seven
“That’s awful. Were you scared?” A little group of colleagues gathered around Georgie at the Associated Press building on Thirteenth St. N.W.
“Yes, I freaked. The police came but weren’t much help.”
“Who needed the police?” The knot of listeners parted to reveal Frank Keller, the senior director of photography for the D.C. office. Long and lean, he wore his usual uniform of dark dress slacks and a striped button-down dress shirt with sleeves neatly rolled back to just below the elbow, revealing strong forearms. Frank had been a crew rower at Yale. “Georgie? What happened?”
“Hi, Frank. I was burglarized.”
“Are you okay?” Frank’s one blue eye searched her face in co
ncern. The other was closed with a piece of tape, indicating that he could not blink on that side today. “You don’t look okay.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
Then, too, spending half the night with the FBI was enough to wreck a girl’s complexion. But she couldn’t tell Frank that, or a dozen other things she would usually have confided in him. The list of things she had been told she should not mention to family and friends was long. Agent Clinton, who had picked her up at the hotel, had repeated them again and again until he dropped her off at the office. He didn’t trust her. The feeling was mutual.
As the others drifted back to their workstations, Frank indicated that she follow him into his office space. He perched a hip on the edge of his desk. Just eight years older than she, Frank’s once permanently tanned cheeks and wind-carved features had made him a standout. Now deep valleys scored his weathered face from weight loss and the pain from the frequent headaches that measured the tumor’s growth.
He waved her into a chair. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come right over.”
“You’ve been enough of a Good Samaritan to me.” She glanced away from him. Frank was one of her best friends, and the very best photo editor at AP. He was also a fan. He gave her great assignments, pushing her out of her comfort zone to go after that great photo. If he hadn’t been married when they met, she was pretty certain she would have made a play for him.
“Did you lose anything important?”
“All the cameras that weren’t with me, and my main computer. I hate to think about what my insurance won’t cover. However, my best personal work is up on my Web site. I keep a copy of everything else in the Cloud.”
“Since when?”
She made a palms-up gesture. “I know I complained about threats to privacy but I joined the rest of the world a few months ago. Thought I told you.”
He smiled. “That means everything’s going to be fine.”
“Maybe.” She glanced at him with a question forming she wasn’t certain she should ask. She was feeling very protective of him. She didn’t want his voice recorded by the tiny microphone in her jacket pocket when the most innocent reply might result in him being hassled by the FBI.
