“You have my car so you know I’m not. But there are a few more things I want to accomplish. For instance, I’ve found Mia’s lottery apartment.”
“Seriously?” It was a potluck game, what one would buy if one won the lottery. Mia’s purchase never varied. She would buy a penthouse apartment with a view across the Potomac. It was a dream well beyond the budget of an AP photo editor and journalist, but that’s what made it a dream.
“Want to see it sometime?”
“Sure.”
“Then it’s a date. This weekend. Now get out of here.”
“What can I do for you first? Name it.”
He pointed to the assignment he’d handed her earlier. “Pretend I’m still your boss and that you do what I tell you to do. Finish your yellow-picture day over at the White House event this afternoon. If he’s worthy of you, this new guy will understand that the job comes first.”
Georgie nodded. Brad would understand that.
Georgie wished she could tell Frank the truth. Someone needed to know what kind of trouble she was in. Yet telling Frank, or her family, would only endanger them. She was out to lure a maniac into the open. Many lives might depend on her ability to do that.
Chapter Eight
“Having any luck?”
Georgie looked up from her laptop. Brad stood in the doorway of her bedroom. She hadn’t heard him approach and so couldn’t guess how long he had been watching her. Zander, as usual, was beside him, looking happy and at ease.
“I’ve been online for an hour, answering messages about the robbery.”
His brows went up. “That many responded to your blog about getting robbed?” He came forward to stand behind her. “Mind if I check the responses?”
“If I say no, that won’t stop the FBI from getting into my account anyway. You have my pass codes.”
Brad ignored the jab. He had asked, politely.
When she had scooted her chair back he leaned in and scrolled back to the beginning of the responses. It had become clear pretty quickly that while her fans were quick to offer sympathy, most responders wanted to share their own experiences with burglary, some going so far as to relate the experiences of relatives and friends. Everyone loved disaster.
Georgie glanced around. When she’d returned after work with Brad as her escort, she’d been stunned to find her apartment in perfect order. Someone had put it back together and removed all signs of the invader and FBI evidence-finding. Brad said they’d hired a cleaning service to do it. She should have felt grateful. What she felt was invaded a second time without her permission.
When he was done, Brad straightened and looked at her. “I don’t see anything from Secret Admirer.”
Georgie closed the lid. “I’m not responsible for when he posts or doesn’t.” She reached up and squeezed the bridge of her nose with her fingers.
“Headache?”
She nodded.
“You didn’t eat.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You’re probably hungry.”
Georgie shot from her chair. “Don’t tell me what I am. I’ve agreed to allow you to be in my life and to listen in on my every private conversation because I have no choice. But you don’t get to tell me how I feel. Got that?”
“Stop.”
She didn’t even realize she was poking him in the chest until he wrapped his fingers around her pointer. He held on when she tried to pull away. “I get it. It’s been a tense day which, by the way, you handled well. You need to eat something, then turn on the TV or listen to music, or read, or whatever you do to relax and let the day be over.”
“But it’s not over. There’s tomorrow, and the day after that. And maybe a lot of days after that that will be just as awful as this one.”
When he released her finger she moved away from him. “I hate lying to my friends and editing my words. I’m not good at lying and pretending. It feels awful.”
“And you’re scared. You don’t know who to trust.”
His voice was calm, too calm. She shot him a suspicious look. “I suppose they train agents in how to handle the irrational and hysterical. I’m not either of those things. I’m angry. And I can handle that alone. Don’t you have somewhere to be? Fighting for truth, justice, and the American way, maybe?”
“That’s Superman. Our motto is Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity: FBI.”
Georgie flashed him a ghost of a smile despite her anger. “Then take your doubtful integrity and go be loyal and brave somewhere else.”
He turned and walked out.
Curious to have sent him into retreat so easily, she followed. He was heading toward her kitchen. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs, turkey bacon, and a bowl of grapes.
“I didn’t buy that.”
He smiled but didn’t glance at her as he handed her the fruit. “I did. If we’re going to live together for a few days we needed to have supplies.” He set a container of feta cheese next to the other items and pulled out a bag of spinach. “I’m having an omelet. Want part?”