“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.”