Necessary Force

by D. D. Ayres

  “Then you might have captured the bomber, too. Maybe he was still carrying it. Or holding it.”

  Georgie’s eyes popped open. “Dear god, I wonder if that’s true?”

  “What did you do with those pictures?”

  She just looked at him. “You, too?”

  His expression didn’t change but something in his gaze softened. “Tell me why you were using a telescopic lens.”

  She smiled. “Contrary to the way they are portrayed in movies and on TV as having up-close and unlimited access to public figures, most photographers are relegated to a cordoned-off section, often at the back of the room so that we won’t interfere with crowd shots. We can be fifty, sixty, sometimes half a stadium away from the ceremony or event we are supposed to be recording.”

  Brad thought about that for a second and then pushed his chair back. “Would you excuse me? I need to check on something.”

  Georgie frowned at his retreating back. But then her phone rang.

  “Hi, Frank. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just need your originals from the photo shoot you did down by the Tidal Basin. We’ve had some interest in a commissioned job for you. They want to see recent samples of your open-air work.”

  “I’ll have to sort through them, Frank. There are over a hundred. Tomorrow soon enough?”

  “Or you could just give me your password and let me choose. I’m your editor. I know what they’re looking for and which ones to send them. Give me fifteen minutes to get in, download, and out. Then you can change your code and everything’s safe.”

  Ordinarily, Georgie wouldn’t have hesitated but she realized that allowing Frank access would cause him to pop up on the FBI’s suspect list. He had enough problems. “Tell you what. I’ll grab the entire folder now and e-mail it to you.”

  “That’s my girl. Knew I could count on you, Georgie. By the way, that apartment I told you about? I’ll be able to get the key on Saturday. Come look at it with me?”

  “Sure.”

  As soon as she hung up, she went to the Cloud, extracted the file, and uploaded it to Frank. Thirty seconds and it was a done deal.

  “Who called?”

  Georgie looked up to find Brad had returned. “Work.” She really didn’t want to lie anymore to anyone today so she stood up and grabbed her plate. “I’m exhausted. Going to bed.”

  He took the plate from her. “I clean tonight. You cook and clean tomorrow.”

  Brad waited until she closed the door to her room. Even then, the small one-bedroom apartment seemed like a closet. He was getting the sleeper sofa until further notice. Zander had commandeered the space beneath the table. But sleeping arrangements weren’t what had his mind in overdrive.

  He’d put in a call to Clinton. The unexploded bomb they had found wasn’t very large. In fact, they had commented at the time that the damage it did would be limited to the room. Now he wanted to know exactly what the diameter of the debris field would be for that type of explosion.

  He didn’t share his reason with Clinton. It was a crazy idea, possibly a foolish one. But crazy thoughts sometimes turned out to be in sync with a suspect’s.

  Chapter Nine

  After four days, Georgie had learned something new, and depressing, about life. A person could only remain terrified for so long. After a while the terror wore down to a dull edgy wariness that made even the world around her seem less vibrant.

  “It’s like my visual sense has been bleached.” She looked over at Zander, who had decided that she was okay to cuddle up to on the sofa. She smoothed a hand over his silky head. “Think of it this way. It’s like being you with a stuffy nose.”

  Zander licked her hand as he gazed up at her with eyebrows that danced over soulful dark eyes.

  “I know. I’m talking to a dog. Just like your partner does.” That thought jarred her, much in the same way Frank’s response had earlier in the afternoon to her most recent photo spread.

  “Junk. Shiny, pop-art photos. I could find better composition in any photo posted on Facebook today. This isn’t photojournalism. These shots are ‘what I did on my vacation’ trivia.” Frank seldom raised his voice. When he did, worlds rocked.

  Georgie didn’t argue. Frank was right. And from where she stood—make that sat—it was Special Agent Brad Lawson’s fault. Wherever she went, an agent was just out of range of her vision, spying on her and listening to her every word. It made her awkward, checking and rechecking what she said and did as she interacted with people during her workday. How could she be creative when she knew he or another agent might be lurking somewhere listening to her flush a toilet or watching her adjust her bra? Whenever she was out of her apartment she was miked.

  Georgie swung her legs off the sofa and got up. For four days she had lived with her private life torn open and crawled over by strangers who at best thought she was a lead to a mad bomber or, at worst, an accomplice. Yet they had nothing to show for all her exposure, or their efforts.

  When tracked down in Lebanon, Tennessee, the man who had phoned her looking for a photo from the day of the would-be bombing turned out to be exactly what he said he was, an uncle of one of the award recipients. When he didn’t receive a response from Georgie, he had tried another photographer and obtained the photo he proudly showed to the agents who came to his door.

  As for Secret Admirer, he had disappeared. Not one message from him had appeared on her blog since her return to D.C. At Brad’s urging, she had even directed a couple of messages to him. No reply.

  As Zander calmly watched, Georgie paced her living area, trying not to step on the duffle bag stored in one corner or the pair of tactical boots stacked next to it.

  Brad was neat, and quiet and respectful of her things. If that wasn’t enough to drive her wild, he was kind. She returned alone after each working day only to have him come through the door minutes later with Zander on a leash. Often she hadn’t even had a chance to kick off her shoes. After they compared notes on her day, he went to shower and change. The evenings were the worst. He was quiet when she wasn’t in the mood for talking, chatty when she was. He liked whatever she cooked. Watched whatever she wanted to on TV. Or, like last night, when she didn’t feel like cooking, he had gone out and brought back Thai food. He was like the dream boyfriend … except for one big huge deficiency. He never touched her.

  Oh, he would hover at her shoulder when she showed him her day’s work on the computer. He sat forward when they were talking as if everything she said interested him. Worst offense of all? When she wanted to be alone, he retreated into silence. Oh, she might look up to find him staring at her with an expression that made her want to cross the room and jump his bones. But he always looked away. Or got up and went to do something in the kitchen.

  Georgie turned from the window and looked at Zander. “This has to stop.”

  Zander made a whiny sound and lowered his head between his paws. Maybe that was doggy for “leave me out of it.”

  She had thought about it all day. She was going to call Agent Clinton and demand to have the privacy of her apartment back. If she couldn’t have Brad, at least she would have her peace of mind back.

  When she heard Brad’s key in the lock, she hurried toward the bathroom. She needed a long and very cold shower to think things over before she faced him tonight.

  Fifteen minutes later, her body wrapped in a towel that covered the essentials but left every inch of her legs bare, she walked out into her bedroom as she toweled her hair dry. It took only a few seconds before a sensation like a breath of sudden warm air told her she being watched. She turned her head and froze.

  Brad was staring at her through the open doorway from the living room.

  She had expected him to be hunched over his laptop, as usual. Instead he was sitting on the sofa. His legs were stretched out before him and his fingers were laced over his flat belly. He seemed perfectly still yet she could feel tension coming off him in waves that took her breath away.

 
Compelled to find out the reason why, she moved to the doorway. “Is something wrong?”

  He shrugged, which she took to mean it was nothing he wanted to talk about. His brooding gaze told a completely different story.

  That hot, heavy gaze moved over her and everywhere it paused, she felt her skin heat up until she was tingling from head to foot. If not for the towel, he would know that her nipples had budded. But maybe he knew anyway. His eyes seem to glint in the low light of a nearby lamp.

  She swung her hair to one side, continuing to dry it with her towel. He watched her every move, sitting so still that the room hummed with anticipation like the quiet before a summer thunderstorm. In fact, after enduring a few more seconds of his staring, she snapped.

  “Okay. That’s it.” She tossed her hair towel onto the floor. “What exactly is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” He stood up and reached for Zander’s leash. “I need to be somewhere.”

  “The hell you do!”

  She came toward him quickly with no plan in mind. She kind of barged into him, his bigger, heavier body absorbing the unexpected shock of hers with more grace than she would have managed had it been the other way around.

  He looked surprised. “What are you doing?”

  Instead of answering with words, she pulled his head down to kiss him.

  He resisted until the tendons in his neck stood out in hard relief. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “I know. Don’t care.” She had to tug twice more before he swore under his breath and lowered his head, stunning her with the impact of emotion carried in something as simple as lip-to-lip contact. He kissed her like a drowning man gasping for air only she could provide. Yet, he hadn’t touched her.

  She grabbed one of his wrists and tried to force his arm around behind her back. In struggling with him, her towel untucked and slid to the floor.

  She saw his eyes slip down her body as the towel vacated it. When his gaze rose back to hers there was no longer tension, only raw need.

  “Well, hell.”

  After that it got pretty chaotic.

  They used their mouths on each other, tasting, licking, sucking, or kissing every part of the other they could reach as they tried to satisfy the hunger that had been building between them for days.

  They were on the floor, her naked body draped over his when he suddenly stopped moving against her. His hands came up and framed her waist, holding her off him. “You may regret this.”

  She leaned down over him, so close she could see her reflection in his eyes, and clutched both his ears and yanked his head until her lips touched his. “The only thing I’ll regret is not doing this.”

  She put everything into her kiss as she rotated her hips over the tip of his erection. It was an intimate act, in a way more personal than just fucking.

  She lifted her head. “Oh, wait. Tell me you came prepared.”

  His mouth firmed under hers. Then he reached out an arm to snag his pants and find his wallet. Ten seconds later she helped him sheath a spectacularly eager erection.

  When she had once again straddled him she said, “Now, are you ready to cooperate, Agent Lawson, or am I going to have to tie you down?”

  He didn’t answer. But the tip of the swollen cock sliding into her assured her that wouldn’t be necessary.

  Later, as they lay on the floor catching their breaths, Georgie could feel him mentally shifting through all the reasons why what they had done was a bad idea.

  Finally, he shook his head, dark eyes watching her from beneath lowered brows. “It’s not the right time for this. I can’t protect you if I’m emotionally involved.”

  She rolled toward him, happier than she’d been in weeks. “Liar. You’ve been protecting me all week.” She slipped a hand over his thigh to rest her hand over his half-wilted erection. “Or is this your version of uninvolved?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed her, long and hard. And then he rose to his feet in one impressive motion. “There are lives that may depend on us. I can’t risk that, even for us.”

  He only paused when he reached the door to the bathroom. His tawny skin was damp with sweat from their coupling, his eyes even darker with turbulent emotions she completely shared. “I’m sorry, Boots.”

  She lay on the floor for a while listening to the water running in the shower until she was certain he must be taking a cold one, whether or not it had started out that way. When the water finally stopped she jumped up, grabbed her things, and hurried into her bedroom where she slammed and locked her door.

  ***

  The knock on her door first thing the next morning surprised Georgie. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

  The youngish, fit man in a dark suit and tie standing on the other side looked like what he was: an FBI agent.

  “Agent Mark Sanders, ma’am.” He flipped out his credentials. “I’ll be taking Agent Lawson’s place with you beginning today.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with him?” Brad was gone when she’d awakened but she had not thought anything of it. After all, he’d left Zander with her.

  “I couldn’t say, ma’am. I was told to report here. May I come in?”

  Georgie noticed now that he carried a duffle bag that looked suspiciously like the one already stored in the corner of her living room. “What about Zander?”

  The agent’s gaze moved to the Lab who had come up to greet him. He smiled. “I’m told Agent Lawson will be by to pick up his K-9 shortly.”

  So, Brad wasn’t unable to come, he was just putting a substitute in place before he abandoned his position.

  Georgie blinked hard as she allowed the stranger to enter. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t angry. She just felt defeated.

  She didn’t bother to come out of her room when, an hour later, she heard Brad’s voice. He obviously meant what he’d said the night before. He didn’t want to be with her.

  Good-byes never accomplished anything. Not one breakup had ever made her feel better about it, no matter how well she and the guy had behaved. So how should she feel about a breakup with someone she had not even had a real relationship with?

  Cheated. She felt cheated.

  ***

  “Hello, Georgiana. Sorry to wake you but you did promise.”

  Georgie sat up in bed, cell phone in hand, and squinted at her clock. Six a.m. “Oh, hi, Frank. What did I promise?”

  “To come and take a look at my apartment.”

  “Now?” She rubbed the sleep from one eye.

  “How about in an hour? I want you to record the views from the balcony in the morning. It’s glorious. Do you have something to write on? I’ll give you the address.”

  Thirty minutes later, she was slipping out her door. The new agent was in the shower. She hadn’t told him she was leaving but he didn’t tell her not to. So, technically, she was not breaking protocol. And she hadn’t switched on her wire. She needed a little private time with a friend.

  She was in a cab before she let out a breath. Brad wouldn’t have been that easy to get around. But Brad, and Zander, were out of her life for good.

  It wasn’t until the taxi pulled up in front of the Watergate Complex that Georgie realized that this was the address Frank had given her. How funny. And weird. Apartments in this building ran into the millions. Did Frank have that kind of money? And, if so, why spend it on a place he wouldn’t live …

  Georgie’s thoughts scurried away from the end of that thought. Whatever made Frank happy these days was okay with her. Dreams were a hard-won commodity in his life. He had been limping yesterday, the pain evident in his face when he thought no one was looking.

  Frank was standing out front waiting for her.

  Georgie took several shots of him as she approached. He struck a Vanna White pose, one hand on his hip as he twisted, arched his back, his arm lifted up and out as if presenting to her the building behind him.

  Georgie laughed. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Au contraire
. I’ve never been more serious.” He waved a passkey at her.

  “Have you been holding out on me? Are you a trust-fund baby or something?”

  “Or something.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him. “Top floor, Georgiana. Unobstructed direct river view. Twenty-four-hour concierge. Doorman. Shopping. Restaurants. I’m telling you, the last days of my life will be legendary.”

  She led the way into the lobby with a doubtful expression. The doorman smiled and the concierge did the same. No one asked to see ID or her credentials, something almost unheard of in today’s D.C. Once out of the elevator they stepped into a gently curving hallway.

  “Right over here.” He pressed numbers into a keypad and then pushed open the doors on a fantasy condo right out of Architectural Digest. He led the tour himself, proudly showing off teakwood closets and marble tubs. Expensive, certainly, but the decor struck Georgie as wrong. The space was bright and spectacular, open and flowing. Yet the furnishings were traditional, overstuffed, and fussy with braid and gilt wood. Walking through the spacious rooms, the styles changed from French to modern to Baroque. It was nothing like the casual, cozy house Frank and his wife had shared on a cul-de-sac in Georgetown. To Georgie’s mind the worst offenders were the ornate crystal chandeliers and gilt trimming of the living room and dining room ceilings and fireplace, as well as the gold knobs and faucets in the white kitchen. It was as if a kid had put together all her favorite things without the aid of adult judgment.

  When the tour was done Frank turned to her with a sly smile. “Your opinion?”

  “It’s nice. But a bit ostentatious, don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s butt ugly. Fake Federalist meets Louis XIV lite.” Frank winked, at least his lid flickered and he grimaced. “It’s a loan from friends who are in Europe for the summer. Some diplomatic appointment. I’m occupying it for the short term. I’m to water the flowers and walk the dog while they’re away.”

  Georgie’s smile was less about the joke than the strange goofy tone of Frank’s voice. “There’s a dog?”

  “A figure of speech. It would have been the perfect apartment to fulfill Mia’s lottery dream, don’t you think? And wait until you see the view.”