Necessary Force (4 page)

She was a private person dealing in a very public world. He understood that. Being an FBI agent meant forgoing most of what civilians sought constantly in their daily lives: attention and praise.

Shots of her taking her photos as a professional photojournalist showed a shrewd and animated woman who unself-consciously moved with a dancer’s grace as she maneuvered for her shots. Behind the camera, she was fully engaged and in charge. He recognized that feeling of being behind the scenes and yet in control of a situation no one else even knew about. It pretty much described a special agent’s job.

When the research was done, he felt he knew and understood her. Yet it was only afterward that he realized something he had not given credence to ahead of time. By becoming so intimately familiar with her actions, attitudes, and gestures, he had also unconsciously fallen for Georgiana Flynn before he even met her.

Within moments of that meeting, he knew she was different from the people he worked with or against in his business life. She had seemed complete, and not interested in what everyone else thought of her. Totally professional but not in it for the power or the prestige. Unlike her assistant, who dressed to attract maximum attention, nothing about Georgiana yelled, “Look at me.”

When he’d come on to her when they were introduced at the shoot, she’d turned him away with an indifference that made him wonder if she might have an eye on another of the hunky calendar men who’d had her attention before him. He’d learned differently from casual conversation with a few of those men. They all said the same thing, “Total professional.” In other words, she had turned down any who’d tried.

Brad smiled to himself. So, he’d gone back and made her really look at him. After that, he lost control of the situation. Everything buttoned up had burst from her in an intimacy of genuine feeling he’d rarely experienced in any form. It wasn’t just the sex.

He still couldn’t adequately explain the sensation that had gone through him when he woke to find her photographing him. Alarm, certainly, but also a sense that unlike anyone else in his life ever, she was really looking at him, wanting to see him as he was when the charm and shield of personality that made him so good at his job had dropped. It was damned sexy, too. She had been open about her reasons for photographing him, even sweetly embarrassed by her candor.

In contrast, he had presented her with a lie, from hello to good-bye.

The very last thing he could do was “be real.” But that’s what he had suddenly wanted. He had wanted her to know the real him, because that’s who had gotten into her bed and her body. He wasn’t an FBI agent in those hours. He was simply a man fascinated with a woman. She was like a photograph one could stare at a long time and never catch every nuance.

Served him right that the first woman in years that he was more than passably interested in was completely off-limits.

He’d filed his report in which he said he didn’t find reason to suspect a connection between Georgiana Flynn and the cyber ranter. He’d left out all details of their personal encounter because it wasn’t relevant. And because it was as personal for him as he knew it had been for her. So then he had tried to forget her. His part in the investigation was over.

It wasn’t until after the unexploded bomb was found last week that Kodak became a serious suspect and a third FBI division, Counterterrorism, took over the case.

He had not met the field agents he and Zander were on their way to meet. He was more concerned about Georgiana Flynn.

He was about to see her again, and the stakes were much,
much
higher.

Brad pulled in behind two other FBI vehicles and noted that neither was a bomb disposal team. The request for K-9 support had not described a potential bomb situation, only the need for a sniff and search, but he dressed in minimal gear then clipped a leash on Zander before heading into the building.

When they reached the elevator, Zander looked up at Brad and whined, disturbed by the sudden uptick of his handler’s heartbeat. Brad didn’t like tight spaces, a touch of claustrophobia he managed to keep hidden from his colleagues. But he could not hide his emotions from his canine.

“
Gute hund
.” Brad patted his partner, drawing him closer.

Familiar with this phobia in his alpha, Zander moved in close to lean against Brad’s leg. The comfort between them went both ways. K-9 teams were tighter than most law enforcement partners. They worked, played, and lived together, 24/7. That bond had made them hyperaware of one another’s moods.

Zander absorbed the world through his amazing nose. He could “read” the type of pheromones coming off Brad whether Brad was happy, sad, worried, scared, or angry.

Brad could do the same for Zander by using his less enhanced but more varied human senses. He knew by Zander’s stance, the set of his ears, the tightness in his muzzle, or if the hair on his spine suddenly rose, what Zander was thinking and feeling. Emotions ran up and down the leash like it was a neural pathway shared between them.

Constant contact eliminated misreading cues and encouraged complete mutual trust. That allowed them to do their job with efficiency and with complete reliability. There was no room for mistakes on a bomb team.

When the elevator doors opened on the third floor, personal considerations of every sort were suddenly put aside. They were a first-class bomb detection team on the job.

As he walked through the door of her apartment, Brad’s gaze went unerringly toward Georgiana but remained on her only a second. It was enough to record the widening of her aqua eyes as she came to her feet, and the faint blush flooded her freckled cheeks as a smile of greeting rounded her cheeks.

“Philip?”

He ignored her. He felt sorry for her, wished he could explain, but he could not.

He turned to the man in charge. “FBI K-9 team reporting for deployment.” Brad waited to see what would happen next.

Clinton nodded and glanced at Brad’s credentials. “Our preliminary search yielded nothing significant. Your turn to make a sweep, Agent Lawson.”

From the corner of his eye Brad saw Georgiana’s expression cloud. “What did you call him?”

Clinton turned to her. “This is Special Agent Brad Lawson, Ms. Flynn. Why? Do you know him?”

Brad could see her speed thinking her way through possible answers. In the end she just shook her head. “No, I don’t know a Special Agent Lawson.”

He let out a breath, faintly embarrassed that her response relieved him of the immediate need to explain to Agent Clinton how he already figured into the case.

He bent to brush soothing strokes down Zander’s back to calm him because his partner had begun dancing in greeting at the sight of Georgiana. Zander never forgot a scent but his handler couldn’t allow his partner’s reaction to Georgie to distract him from the job they were here to do.

“Let’s begin.” Agent Clinton indicated that Brad should start his search with Georgiana.

Brad took no more than a few steps when his gaze snagged on a photograph hanging on the wall to his right. He paused. It was a picture of him. Naked. Blown up to proportions that made the scene graphically erotic, yet tender and intimate as well.

The details of that morning came flooding back to him. How shy she’d been but intensely protective, too, of the pictures she’d taken while he slept.

“You an art critic, Agent Lawson? Or are you telling me something I didn’t know about you?” Clinton chuckled as he threw a glance in the direction of the other two agents present.

“It’s a personal photo. One of my favorites.” Georgiana’s voice had come to the rescue, allowing Brad to turn his head and focus on her as she continued to speak. “His name is Philip Dexter. You don’t know him, do you, Agent Lawson?”

Brad felt his face prickle with embarrassment as he gazed at her hostile expression. He hardly ever blushed. Well, fuck. The heat in his face told him he was now.

He shook his head. “Can we get on with this? My dog’s getting restless.” He directed his gaze toward Clinton. “I’d appreciate if you’d all clear the room while Zander and I do my job.”

“Right.” Clinton waved his colleagues toward the door.

“Wait.” Brad moved to block her path. “Ms. Flynn, please hold out your hands.”

Georgie did as he asked, avoiding Brad’s eye.

“Zander.
Such.
’’ The dog sniffed her hands and then gave them a lick.

Clinton glanced at him. Brad shook his head.

“Very well. We’ll wait for you outside.”

Zander was an active dog, moving quickly but methodically, as Brad directed him to sniff out every corner, drawer, piece of furniture, pillow, bedding, and closet nook, paying close attention to the doorknobs and area where her computer had been. He hoped that this search would eliminate Georgiana as a suspect.

Less than five minutes later, Brad exited the small apartment. Zander was stepping high, very pleased with himself as he chewed his favorite snack, a bit of beef jerky.

Brad’s face was grim and he didn’t glance at Georgiana. “We had three, maybe four hits. All of them appear to be residual. No equipment or traces of incendiary material located.”

Agent Clinton’s serious expression turned to granite as he turned to his suspect. “Georgiana Flynn, you will need to come with me.”

Georgie hugged her arms to her chest as she sat in an interrogation room talking with Will Barris, the attorney sent to represent her. “Aiding and abetting domestic terrorism? They can’t possible charge me with that. I’ve done nothing, know nothing.”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Flynn, the laws have become quite draconian about things like terrorism. If they feel you are in any way a threat, or know someone who is, they could try to hold you indefinitely.”

“Oh, god.” Georgie pushed a hand hard against her mouth, willing herself not to panic. “All I did was get burglarized. What’s the connection?”

“They haven’t told me much. As you can imagine, the FBI isn’t required to divulge as much as a local law enforcement agency would. They did say this investigation may have something to do with a secret admirer of yours. Do you know who they mean?”

“Yes, maybe.” She repeated a quick version of all she had told Clinton about her online fan. “So, I don’t actually know him. I’ve never had any contact with him—except online through my blog.”

“You see? You do know how to find him.”

Georgia stiffened at the sound of the voice. She hadn’t heard the door behind her open. It was Special Agent Clinton.

“It must be quite a thrill for a person to have an avid fan. You said he knows more about your work than you do. Quite an ego stroke. Couldn’t blame you for encouraging him. When is the last time you were in contact?”

“I’m not sure. At least ten days.” Georgiana closed her eyes for a second as she tried to hold onto her temper. Two hours of questions, the same ones over and over asked in only slightly different ways, had given her a headache.

“We can check, you know. Check your Web site. Your e-mail.”

Georgie lifted her head. “Then do that. I have nothing to hide.” She had been acting on sheer nervous energy since Clinton arrived at her door. “You can’t arrest me for having a blog that strangers comment on.”

“I’d be more persuaded of your cooperation if you could produce that corrupted chip from your camera. We have experts who might find things you say aren’t there.”

“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.”