“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 concern. 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.
A flash of memory of Brad’s kiss sent her pulse galloping.
“Something else bothering you, Georgie?”
“No.” She jerked her thoughts back to the present. Frank, of all people, shouldn’t be part of this. He had more than enough to deal with. In fact, this was his last week with AP. Frank was dying.
“Then I have a wonderful new assignment for you. A plum I saved just for you.”
“Oh, Frank, I really appreciate it but … actually, I’m thinking about taking a few more days off.” She could practically hear Clinton’s reaction to that bombshell.
Even Frank scowled at her. “You’ve just been away for more than a week.”
“I know. It sounds bogus for me to come in and say hi and bye. But the fact is I, uh, I’m worried.”
“About the break-in? Why? What did the police say?”
“They said I was lucky. There was little damage and the stolen items can be replaced.”
“There you go.”
“Maybe. I just have a feeling the break-in wasn’t random.” Her need to talk with a friend was rapidly outweighing her concern for his privacy. “Remember this one blog fan I have?”
Frank nodded. “The one with a really amazing interest in your career.”
“Yeah. Lately, he’s been a bit creepy.”
Frank’s brows drew together. “In what way?”
“He went off after I lost the Pulitzer. I showed you those comments.”
Frank smiled. “I’m with him. You were robbed.”
“I almost believe it when you say it. The truth is, I’m still developing my style. I have time.” The moment she said the words, she regretted it.
Frank rose from the desk, touching his taped eye. “Let’s hope you do.” It took only a second before he shook off his bleak look. “Do the police think your fanboy might have perpetrated the break-in? Looking for what, mementos?”
“Oh, no.” Georgie scrambled to stay on track with her “story.” “The authorities asked me if I had any enemies. I couldn’t think of one.”
“What about Cal? He didn’t take your breakup well.”
“Yes, but—”
“You’re pretty sure he’s the one who erased those files from your computer that you’d prepared for our AP photographer collection. That cost you weeks of work.”