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.”