Читать книгу Deadly Contact - Lara Lacombe - Страница 11

Chapter 2

September

Professor George Collins strode through the parking garage toward his car, whistling cheerfully as he fished for his keys. He was looking forward to the promise of the weekend, ready to spend some quality time with his wife. Ruth’s oncologist had given them the good news about her remission on Monday, and they were going to a B and B in Annapolis to celebrate. The doctor’s words had lifted a weight off his shoulders, and for the first time in months, George felt as if he could breathe again.

He stopped next to his car, fingers still searching for the keys. Damn things must have slipped to the bottom of the bag again. He really should just keep them in his pocket so—

“Evening, Professor.”

He froze at the smooth voice behind him. Fear skittered across his skin like ants on parade, and his bag fell from his shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud. His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed convulsively a few times as he turned to face the man he had hoped to never see again.

His visitor cut a dashing figure in black slacks and a tan overcoat, a newspaper folded under his arm. His blond curls were perfectly tousled, and his wire-rimmed glasses lent him an academic air. No one would give this man a second look, much less think of him as evil. George, however, had come to think of him as the devil.

And it seemed the devil had come to collect.

“I thought we had a deal,” the man said calmly.

George forced himself to make eye contact. “What do you mean?”

“Did you see the headline this morning, Professor?”

George shook his head mutely in response, not trusting his voice a second time. He knew the man already thought him weak, and his quavering voice would only add to that impression.

The man unfolded the newspaper with a snap as he stepped forward. George resisted the urge to step back, instead fixing his gaze on the print in front of him.

Food Poisoning at Local Restaurant Kills One, Sickens Ten.

He looked up to find the man staring down at him, blue eyes blazing. “I don’t see the problem—it clearly worked.”

The man let out a sigh. “Not well enough. You told us it would sicken hundreds, not just ten people. Furthermore, the mortality rate is unacceptable.”

“Wait just a minute,” George began, the affront to his professional pride getting the better of his fear. “How can you say this is my fault? Maybe you guys didn’t distribute it properly or store it correctly. I told you after I supplied you with the bug that it was your show. It’s not my fault if you didn’t follow my instructions.”

The man took another step forward, forcing George back against his car. His bravado drained from his body like air from a balloon as the man leaned over him.

“We followed your instructions to the letter, Professor,” he hissed, his breath warm on George’s cheek. “We did everything you said, and yet it did not work.”

“But it did,” George protested weakly. “People got sick.”

He jumped as a gloved fist landed next to his head.

“As I said, not enough people were affected. We cannot use this as a weapon if it will be thought of as a natural outbreak.” The man pulled back slightly and reached into his coat.

George let out a sob as his knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. Gulping for air, he tried to focus on Ruth, but he couldn’t conjure up her face. All he could think was that he was going to die here, in the parking garage, shot by the devil.

The man rolled his eyes and withdrew his hand, holding out a business card. “I knew we shouldn’t have used you,” he muttered, reaching down and pulling George roughly to his feet. George leaned back against the car, not trusting his legs to hold him. He silently agreed with the man—he was not cut out for this. He had agreed to provide the bacteria in exchange for money to pay for Ruth’s treatments, but as soon as he had made the deal, he’d regretted it.

“Here’s how it’s going to work, Professor. You’re going to give us another sample. I want you to call this number when it’s ready for pickup.” He pressed the card into George’s sweaty hand and continued, “You’re also going to come with us, so that there are no mistakes this time.”

“What? No, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. And you will.” He reached into his jacket again, this time pulling out a photograph. “She’s looking much better, your wife.” He turned the photo around, and George blinked in shock as he recognized Ruth emerging from her doctor’s office, holding his hand. The picture had been taken as they’d left her appointment on Monday. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to her.”

George crumpled at the threat, knowing this man wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Ruth. “I’ll do it,” he whispered, hating himself for the weakness that had made him agree to the deal in the first place. “But I need time to modify the bacteria.”

The man stepped back with a satisfied smile. “I thought as much. Enjoy your weekend in Annapolis with your wife, but don’t keep me waiting. You have five days to deliver my product, or I will take it out on her.”

George watched him walk away, despair settling over him with every breath he took. He dropped to his knees and dry heaved, then leaned back against the car, gasping lungfuls of exhaust-scented air like a landed fish. There had to be a way out of this. His thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a solution. Maybe he could take Ruth and leave, flee the city and never come back. But no, they knew about the B and B, which meant they probably had him under surveillance.

They’ll find me. Of that he was certain.

He briefly considered going to the police but quickly dismissed the thought. He was an accomplice. Even though he had modified the bacteria to be less lethal, he was still involved. At times, the guilt of that knowledge was overwhelming, but he wasn’t willing to leave Ruth. She was still so fragile, and he knew the authorities would not hesitate to put him in jail, away from his wife.

Picking up his bag, George struggled to his feet, feeling every one of his fifty-five years. For Ruth’s sake, he was going to have to cooperate with the monster. He pulled out his keys and climbed into the car. His hands shook so badly that it took him three tries to get the key into the ignition, but he finally started the car and pulled out of the parking space.

This will be the last time, he promised himself as he drove, merging onto the freeway as he headed home to his wife. The absolute last time, he repeated.

But no matter how many times he said it, he didn’t believe it.

* * *

Caleb stood in the shadows, watching as Dr. Collins slowly picked himself up off the ground. The man was obviously flustered, and the pinched expression on his face communicated his distress as clearly as any words.

“Thank God he didn’t piss himself,” Caleb muttered, shifting slightly from side to side and shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

Collins had looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and in a way, he had. Caleb prided himself on staying behind the scenes, away from prying eyes. To be visible was to make yourself a target, and he had no intention of painting a bull’s-eye on his back. The fact that he’d had to make this little visit today was a nuisance but not a huge risk. Besides, some messages had to be delivered in person.

Given the fear that had entered Collins’s eyes at the mention of his wife, Caleb figured he’d made his point.

He waited for Collins to speed out of the garage before heading to his own car. He hadn’t bothered to forge a university parking pass—there were no guards or security cameras monitoring the area, so he wasn’t worried about being seen. Besides, there were so many students coming and going every day, no one was likely to notice or remember the nondescript black sedan he drove.

He slid into the driver’s seat with a sigh. Someday, he promised himself, I’m going to upgrade this POS. He glanced up at the dog-eared picture taped to the sun visor. The sporty, sleek roadster winked back at him, taunting him with the promise of speed. It was a beautiful car, all curvy, graceful lines and paint so glossy that it looked wet. A car he deserved, and one he would have—just as soon as he retired. A car like that was for a man who wasn’t afraid to show off, not one who had to live in the shadows.

His cell phone buzzed against his chest. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced down at the display, gritting his teeth as he recognized the glowing white number. Damn him!

“I told you not to contact me.”

There was a pause, as if his caller hadn’t expected such a harsh greeting. He heard the man suck in a breath.

“I don’t think this is working out.”

Caleb took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. God save me from whiny CEOs....

“And why is that?” he asked, working to keep his voice calm and even.

Dr. Glen Wilkins, CEO and heir extraordinaire of Wilkins Pharmaceuticals, lowered his voice. “Because I don’t think—”

“Are you alone?” Caleb snapped, his patience running thin. Customer or not, Wilkins shouldn’t be calling if he had company.

“What? Yes, of course I am.”

“Then speak up,” Caleb commanded. “I can’t hear you when you whisper like that.”

Wilkins cleared his throat. “I was saying I don’t think your methods are acceptable.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Did you see the paper today?”

Caleb glanced over at the newspaper lying in the passenger seat. “I did. What’s your point?”

“People are dying,” Wilkins said. “Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. The old man was such a hypocrite. “You hired me to do a job, did you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you knew my reputation, and the reputation of my organization, when you contacted me.” It wasn’t a question. Wilkins had received their information from another satisfied customer, a regular practice in his line of work. There was no way he hadn’t known the score when he’d picked up the phone that first time.

“Well, yes.”

“So why are you getting cold feet now?”

“It doesn’t seem to be working,” Wilkins said, his voice taking on a whiny edge that made Caleb’s fillings ache. “Drug sales haven’t improved in the wake of the outbreaks. I thought you said people would be clamoring for our medication!”

“I did say that,” Caleb replied, not liking the man’s petulant tone. “Do you remember what else I said?”

There was a pause, as if Wilkins was trying to recall their conversation. “I don’t know.”

“I told you to be patient. This isn’t going to happen overnight.”

Undeterred, Wilkins tried another tack. “I thought we were just going to make people sick. I didn’t know people were going to die!”

“Oh, please,” Caleb retorted. “Enough with the false concern for your fellow man. The only reason you’re upset is because dead people don’t buy antibiotics.”

Wilkins sputtered at that, but Caleb ignored him. “You need to give this time to work. An outbreak here, an outbreak there—soon the authorities will piece it together and then it will be national news. People will be clamoring for your antibiotic, just like everyone stockpiled Cipro after the anthrax mailings.”

“And you’re sure this won’t be traced back to me?”

“As sure as I can be. It would help if you would follow my instructions and didn’t contact me again.”

Wilkins ignored the warning. “How much longer? We need to start turning a profit quickly, or the company will have to fold. I can’t let that happen—my grandfather built this company, and I’ll be damned if I let it die on my watch. We’re the largest employer in town. If we have to close, the town will collapse.”

Caleb sighed, his fingers itching to reach through the phone and strangle the old man. He was probably sitting in his mahogany-paneled office, swirling his fifty-year-old Chivas Regal and pondering how to spend his next bonus check. If the company did go under, there was no way he was going down with the ship, and his “concern for the employees” act was wearing a bit thin.

“I’m putting the final pieces in place now,” Caleb said, his thoughts drifting back to Collins. “I can’t give you an exact schedule, but soon.”

Wilkins harrumphed, evidently displeased with such a vague answer. That was just too bad. There was no way Caleb was going to share sensitive information, especially with someone as hotheaded as Wilkins.

“Let me remind you that I am in charge of this operation,” he said coolly. “I am speaking to you now as a courtesy, but I do not report to you.”

“You listen to me, you little snot,” Wilkins shot back, anger making him brave. “I paid for your services, and I want to know what’s going on. Do you know what I can do to you if you don’t cooperate with me?”

Caleb laughed. “Nothing. You can do nothing to me.”

Wilkins sputtered. “Now, see here—”

“What would you do, Mr. Wilkins? Turn me in? I doubt it—you know if you did, I’d sell you out before the lock clicked into place on the cell door. Do you think you can kill me? You can try, but I should warn you, I’m very well connected. What does that leave you?”

“You must have family,” Wilkins said, his voice now low and threatening.

Caleb felt a dull throb in his chest at the mention of family, but he ignored it. “Sorry to disappoint, but they’re all dead.”

“You’re not as untouchable as you think. I can come up with something.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Caleb agreed. “In the meantime, let me do my job and stay out of my way.”

Wilkins paused, clearly weighing his options. “Don’t try to double-cross me, boy.”

Caleb ignored the insult, knowing a careless tone would get under the man’s skin more than any verbal retort. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Don’t call me again.”

He hung up before Wilkins could respond, feeling a small, childish spurt of satisfaction at having gotten the last word. The man was a dinosaur, a throwback to the days of the three-martini lunch, when deals were sealed with cigars and handshakes. He was used to being in charge, accustomed to having his minions defer to his every word, but Caleb refused to play the game. Wilkins might be the customer, but that didn’t mean he was right.

He leaned over and pulled a D.C. city map out of the glove compartment, unfolding it across the steering wheel. Time to pick out the next target....

* * *

“Reynolds!” Kevin Carmichael stood in the doorway of his office, his summons a loud bark that carried over the hum of activity in the room. James made eye contact and held up his hand, silently asking for a few minutes. Carmichael narrowed his eyes at the delay but nodded and turned back into his office, allowing James a chance to finish up his conversation.

“Uh-huh. Yes. Well, I appreciate the call, and we will definitely keep an eye open....You, too. Have a nice day.” He hung up with a sigh and rubbed his eyes, taking a moment before heading into Carmichael’s office. It was only noon, and already the day was dragging.

“Any new leads?” Thomas asked, looking up from some paperwork.

James shook his head. “Mrs. Gerard was just telling me that she remembered a suspicious-looking young man hanging around by the salad bar that night and asked if we had checked him out yet. Based on her description, it sounds like she’s talking about the busboy who maintained the salad bar.”

“And he’s already been cleared.”

“Yeah.” James sighed. “The kid is a straight-arrow honor student, and there’s nothing to suggest he knew anything about the tampering. She’s just being a drama queen.”

“Were the surveillance tapes helpful at all?” Thomas held out the dish of jelly beans on his desk, and James took a few, popping them into his mouth before answering. As far as lunches went, it wasn’t the greatest, but it would do in a pinch.

He shook his head, swallowing the fruity glob of sugar and reaching for a few more. “No. Unfortunately, the angle of the camera didn’t cover all of the salad bar, so we can’t see the end with the cottage-cheese bin. No one remembers anything out of the ordinary or anyone behaving strangely, so we really don’t have any good leads.”

“Sounds like these guys are pros.”

“Well, they did their homework, that’s for sure.” James grabbed a notebook and pen and stood, knowing he couldn’t put off Carmichael’s summons any longer. “Thanks for lunch.”

Thomas grinned up at him. “Anytime, man.”

He wended his way through the maze of desks and rapped lightly on Carmichael’s partially closed door, then pushed it open after the other man beckoned him in.

“Any news?”

James sat in the metal-framed chair in front of Carmichael’s desk, stretching out his legs in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position. “Just Mrs. Gerard turning in the busboy.”

“Sanders? Was that his name?” At James’s nod, Carmichael snorted. “That kid is as innocent as they come.”

“I know, but in her mind, any young man who wears a hat indoors is clearly suspect.”

“Doesn’t she know that’s part of the uniform?”

James jerked his shoulder up in a shrug. “Probably not, and I wasn’t about to waste time trying to explain it to her.”

“Good. I have more important things for you to do.”

James leaned forward and uncapped his pen. “What’s up?”

Carmichael pulled a folder off the top of a precariously balanced stack of papers on the corner of his desk. “We got the lab report back from the science guys. They’ve identified the bacteria and have started characterizing the modifications.”

“Tell me we have something,” James said, feeling a surge of adrenaline at the possibility. He’d been working this case for weeks without a break, and he was exhausted and out of leads.

Carmichael’s smile was pure satisfaction. “We do.”

James grinned, his annoyance with Mrs. Gerard fading in the face of this good news. This could be the information he needed to break the case wide open.

Carmichael passed the lab report across his desk, and James took a moment to skim the printout. It was full of scientific jargon, which immediately made him think of Kelly. She’d know just how to translate these findings into plain English. He felt a pang of longing and regret, and firmly pushed thoughts of her out of his mind.

He had tried to get in touch with her a few days after their encounter, but she’d never returned his calls. It was clear she wanted nothing to do with him, so he’d left her alone. He wasn’t going to chase her down and demand an explanation, but he couldn’t deny her actions had stung. This was not the time to think of her, though, not when things were finally starting to look up.

“There are only four labs in the country that work with this particular strain of bacteria,” Carmichael said, his voice interrupting James’s musings.

“Three of them are on the West Coast,” James murmured. “But the last one...this one is local,” he said, looking up at Carmichael. “Do we think this is a neighborhood job?”

“Yes. The guy who runs the lab has been conveniently out of town for the past couple of weeks, which is pretty suspicious. We’ve sent field agents in California to check out the other labs, but I think this is our guy. I want you to head over there this afternoon.”

“Since the guy is out of town, is there anyone in particular we need to talk to?”

Carmichael nodded. “Yeah, there’s a postdoctoral fellow in the lab who seems to run things. A doctor.” He shuffled through some more papers, pulling out a Post-it note and squinting at the writing. “Dr. Jarvis. Bring him in for questioning.”

James sucked in a breath, his stomach dropping. “Dr. Jarvis? Dr. Kelly Jarvis?”

Carmichael frowned and checked the note again. “Don’t know about the Kelly part, but yeah, Dr. K. Jarvis. Do you know her?” He raised narrowed eyes, and James fought to keep a neutral expression on his face.

“If it’s Kelly Jarvis, then yes, I know her. We used to be friends.” What the hell had she gotten herself into? The Kelly he knew would never participate in something like this, but maybe she’d changed in the past few months.

He sucked in a breath as a new thought hit him. Was that why she’d left? So he wouldn’t discover her involvement? He gritted his teeth as he reevaluated their encounter in a new, ugly light. You deserve better than me, she had said before leaving. Was that her guilt talking?

“Used to be? What happened?” Carmichael’s question snapped him back to the present.

James deliberately relaxed his jaw, hoping the other man hadn’t noticed his agitation. If Carmichael thought there was something personal between him and Kelly, he’d yank him from the case. He hadn’t worked this long and hard to be benched in the final stages of the investigation.

He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “We just fell out of touch,” he explained, hoping Carmichael wouldn’t press for more details. It was mostly true—after that night, they hadn’t spoken again.

“At this time, she doesn’t appear to be involved.”

James felt a swell of relief, and some of his anger faded. It must have showed on his face, because Carmichael studied him intently for a beat. “If there is a conflict of interest here, I need to know about it now.”

James shook his head before the other man had finished talking. “No. No conflict at all. Like I said, we used to be friends, but we’re not now. Hell, that may even help us. Since she knows me already, she’ll probably be more likely to talk to me.”

Carmichael nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe. But if something comes up, I want to know about it. I won’t have this investigation put in jeopardy.”

“I understand.” James stood, wanting to leave and compose his thoughts before bringing Kelly in for questioning.

“Reynolds.”

He stopped at the door and turned back.

“You’ve done a great job on this investigation so far,” Carmichael began, sounding a little uncertain.

James frowned. What was he trying to say?

“Thank you, sir.”

Carmichael nodded. “You’re a great agent, and I know part of what drives you is your...family history,” he finished delicately.

James drew up his shoulders, waiting to see where Carmichael was going with this. Why the hell was his boss bringing up the subject of his father?

“What I’m saying is, if you have to withdraw from this investigation for personal reasons, I’ll understand. You’ve already proven yourself to me, and I don’t want to risk this case in any way.”

James met his gaze, resisting the urge to tell the other man to go to hell. Bobby Reynolds had tarnished the family name by taking bribes and botching investigations for the highest bidder, but James would never risk a case—he wasn’t his father. “I understand, sir,” James said stiffly. “I’ll be back with Dr. Jarvis in about an hour.”

Carmichael looked as if he wanted to say more, but he settled for a nod. “I’ll let the rest of the team know.”

James left the office and walked to the men’s room, which was blessedly empty. He splashed water on his face and swallowed a handful; the cool liquid relaxed the tight muscles of his throat. What kind of mess was Kelly in? And more important, did she even know, or was she truly innocent in all of it?

He blotted his face dry with a square of paper towel. Up until five minutes ago, he would have sworn Kelly didn’t have it in her to fall in league with a terrorist group. But if history had taught him anything, it was that people weren’t always who they seemed to be. His father, his friend Steve...both of them seemingly good people who had made all the wrong choices. Was he going to have to add Kelly to that list?

He glanced in the mirror and straightened his tie, then brushed his hair back into place. He looked calm and professional, his outer image at odds with the emotional turmoil this new lead had created. He had worked hard to put his disappointment and anger toward his father behind him, and he hated that it had popped up again after a few words from his boss. Get it together.

He was too close to breaking open the case to let his emotions get the better of him now.

* * *

Kelly pushed away from the microscope and stretched, arching her back as she reached up to massage her aching neck. She had been looking at slides most of the day, and although it was only two in the afternoon, she was heading home early. Two weeks of burning the candle at both ends had caught up with her, and she was exhausted.

She switched off the microscope and began gathering up her slides as thoughts of a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine danced in her head. It wouldn’t be the same as drinks with James, but it would do in a pinch.

She shook her head as a pang of longing hit, the way it always did when she thought of James. She missed him, missed their regular Friday night conversations. More than that, though, she missed his friendship.

Not for the first time, she regretted walking out on him five months ago. The irony of it all was that in the months since she’d left, she’d come to realize that not all men were Gary in disguise, just waiting to hurt her. James especially didn’t deserve that kind of suspicion. She’d obsessively gone back over their interactions, looking for any sign that she’d been right to leave, but in the end, she could only conclude that he was a genuinely kind and decent man.

Yes, she had been scared of what their night together had meant, but she had ruined things by running away. She had treated him badly, and she carried the regret with her on a daily basis.

Lost in her thoughts, she moved on autopilot as she placed the glass slides in their cardboard folder, paying little attention to the order in which they were stowed. After the last slide went in, she snapped the folder shut and grabbed her notebook.

She stepped into the hall, eager to get everything put away and to duck out before someone asked her a question. With Dr. Collins, the lab head, on vacation for the past couple weeks, Kelly was the de facto group leader. Normally she didn’t mind helping out the other lab techs and graduate students, but today she was tired and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. She moved quickly and kept her head down as she walked, trying hard to look unapproachable as she entered the main lab.

She noticed the shoes first. A pair of brown men’s dress loafers, to be exact, right in the middle of the aisle. Shoes that nice were never found in a research lab, and she frowned as she raised her gaze up suit-clad legs, a trim waist and broad shoulders. Her eyes finally landed on a face she never thought she’d see again.

Her body flushed hot then cold as she stared at James in openmouthed shock. She took a half step forward, wanting to touch him, to hug him, but his stern expression stopped her. With his mouth pressed into a thin line and his arms crossed over his chest, he looked rather forbidding and not at all happy to see her.

They stared at each other for a few seconds until she shook herself free of the moment. She had to take control of the situation. Faking a confidence she didn’t feel, she asked “Can I help you?” in what she hoped was a professional tone. What the hell was he doing here? Why, after all these months, had he come to find her?

He arched a brow, disbelief plain on his face. “That’s all you have to say to me? ‘Can I help you?’ Are you kidding me?”

She tried to keep her voice aloof, wanting to seem unaffected by his presence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He took a step toward her and she reflexively stepped back, her shoulder bumping into the door frame.

Dammit, she thought. Act normal.

It had been over a year since she’d been hit, but whenever she felt anxious or upset, her nerves got the better of her.

While her mind knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, her body was taking no chances. He was a powerful presence when he was angry, his eyes bright and his body tense as he stood in front of her, staring at her with his angular features arranged into a fierce scowl. Her heart thumped in her chest and nausea gripped her stomach in a sickening fist. He won’t hit me. She wiped a slick palm down her thigh. He’s not Gary.

After what seemed like ages, James’s expression changed. His eyes grew considering as he stared down at her, and she had the sneaking suspicion he knew. Not all the details of her past, but enough to suspect something. He took a step back to give her more room, and she slowly exhaled, trying not to look too relieved at the return of some personal space.

He held her eyes for a moment, then looked down with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He turned away, and she caught a whiff of his cologne. Oh, God, he still smells the same....

“So, why are you here?”

He snorted and shook his head. “Just business, is that it, Kelly?” For a split second, he dropped his guard and she watched as confusion, hurt and anger danced across his face. The weight of guilt settled on her shoulders and she swallowed hard, hating herself in this moment for having hurt him.

“I—I thought after what happened...” she stammered. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me again.”

“You know, I could have forgiven you for running away,” he said slowly. “But when you didn’t return my calls...” He shook his head and looked down. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

Pushing down her regret, she repeated her earlier question. “What are you doing here?”

The question roused him from his introspection. He drew himself up, his professional mask back in place. “I’m working a case, and I need your help.”

He needed her? What could she possibly do to help him? She didn’t know anything about the law. Although, given the way things had ended between them, he probably wouldn’t have turned up here unless it was absolutely necessary. “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to come to the office with me, and we’ll talk there.”

“But...I have plans,” she sputtered, thinking longingly of the bubble bath and wine. After this shock, she’d need to add some chocolate, too. It was only fair.

“Going out for a drink?”

Ouch. She supposed she deserved that, but it still stung. “No,” she said, struggling to keep the hurt out of her voice.

A quick flash of what may have been guilt passed over his face, but before he could say anything, she held up her hand. “Just let me get my bag.” At his nod, she turned and walked over to her alcove of an office, taking a moment to shut down her computer. She stood with her back to him while the machine powered down, trying to arrange her features into a neutral expression. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her confusion and the attraction she still felt for him. First things first—figure out why the FBI wanted to talk to her, then deal with the shreds of her relationship with James.

She put the laptop in her desk drawer and grabbed her bag. “Let’s go,” she said, walking over to stand next to him.

They moved down the corridors in awkward silence, and he led her to a black sedan parked by the front door.

“How did you get this spot?” she asked, wanting to say something, anything, to break the tension. “I’m surprised security didn’t tow your car.”

“Being an FBI agent has its privileges,” he commented, waiting for her to slide into the passenger seat, then shutting the door firmly. He was careful not to touch her, and given the set of his jaw, she supposed he was still angry, but whether at her or the situation, she didn’t yet know. Probably a combination of both.

She was hyperaware of him as he drove, all her senses tuned in to the man sitting next to her. She thought back to the last time they had been in a car together, how she’d taken his hand in hers and stroked his palm. She doubted he would welcome such a gesture now.

“So why do you want to talk to me?” she said, hoping she could get him to open up a little.

He took the next exit and slowed as they approached a red light. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he replied, glancing over at her after the car stopped. “Just standard procedure.”

“Standard procedure for what?” she pressed.

“We’ll be there soon,” he replied, accelerating away from the intersection. “All your questions will be answered shortly.”

She sat back in the seat, dissatisfied with his response. Her stomach felt as if it were being squeezed in a vice, and she tasted the coffee she’d had at lunch. Why would the FBI want to talk to her? She wiped damp palms on her pants as she considered what James had told her, which wasn’t much. Standard procedure was vague and gave her no clue as to what they wanted with her. Of course, given the way their reunion had gone, he probably wasn’t interested in easing her mind.

She stared out the window at the downtown buildings, absently watching the people walking past. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so it was unlikely the FBI was investigating her. As far as she knew, she didn’t know any criminals, but who could really say these days? She watched enough late-night TV to know that people weren’t always who they seemed to be. Wouldn’t there be some sign of trouble, though? Her thoughts tumbled around and around, spinning like a centrifuge, getting her nowhere.

“Don’t worry.” She glanced over to see James watching her, his dark brown eyes looking like pools of melted chocolate. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I know,” she said, her voice ringing with a confidence she didn’t feel.

He didn’t bother to mask the sarcasm in his tone. “Right. That’s why I can practically hear you worrying.”

She dropped the act with a sigh. “Can you blame me? I’ve never been questioned by the authorities before, and you’ve got the cloak-and-dagger act going on.”

“Fair enough. It’s just easier to explain everything back at headquarters, so you don’t have to repeat yourself over and over again to the different members of the team.” His voice was deep and soothing, and she let the comforting words wash over her. She wanted so badly to touch him, to apologize with her body for the hurt she’d caused him. Even now, after messing things up so badly, he was still kind to her. Her stomach sank as she realized once again what a good guy he was and what a huge mistake she’d made when she’d left and turned her back on him.

He pulled into a parking space and cut the engine, then turned to face her. She refused to look at him, not wanting him to see the guilt and regret she was sure were written on her face. “We’re here,” he said softly.

He unbuckled his seat belt and moved to get out of the car, but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “James,” she began, then paused to swallow the lump in her throat. “I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered.

“I’m not going to lie,” he said softly. “Waking up to find you leaving was a disappointment. But...” He drifted off, staring out the windshield as if fascinated by the sight of the other parked cars. “But I think I know why you did it.”

She nodded, not wanting to correct whatever assumptions he’d made about her motivations for leaving. She wasn’t ready to have that conversation with him, and she especially didn’t want to tell him about Gary while sitting in a car in the FBI parking garage.

“Is there anything you want to tell me before we go in, Kelly? Anything at all?”

His tone was resigned, as if he knew he was about to hear bad news. What was going on?

“No,” she said, frowning at him. “What’s this about, James? I thought you said I wasn’t in any trouble.”

He sighed, the sound of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “You’re not. Come on. Let’s go. They’re waiting for us.”

* * *

James climbed out of the car and took his time adjusting his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the wrinkles out and reaching up to straighten his tie. Seeing her again had thrown him for a loop, and he needed to get his equilibrium back.

He’d been angry after she’d left, the sting of rejection quickly piercing the morning-after glow. He had thought their encounter was something special, the beginning of something new and exciting, but she clearly hadn’t felt the same way. It hurt to know she hadn’t cared about him the way he had about her, but more than that, he missed her friendship. He’d thought he was over it by now, but seeing her again had brought all those feelings rushing back.

It seemed his heart didn’t care that she might be involved with terrorists.

The sound of the car door slamming behind him shook him from his musings, and he turned to find Kelly standing with her arms wrapped around her waist, her eyes on the ground. A lock of auburn hair had slipped from her ponytail, making him want to push it behind her ear to keep it out of her face. Despite the brave front she tried to present, she looked so small and scared standing there alone. An ember of protectiveness flared to life inside his chest, along with the urge to tuck her against his side and comfort her with a hug. He squashed the desire like he would an invading bug—he had a job to do, and he had neither the energy nor the time to worry about what she was feeling. He’d made that mistake before.

“This way, Dr. Jarvis.” He gestured with his arm as he rounded the front of the car, indicating the bank of elevators to the far right. She waited for him to reach her side before falling into step with him. They walked to the elevators in silence, the only sound the echo of their footsteps in the garage. James fished his ID badge out of his jacket pocket, scanned it in front of the card reader and pushed the button to call the elevator.

While they waited, he glanced at Kelly out of the corner of his eye. She stood ramrod straight, her shoulders set and her jaw clenched. It seemed his earlier reassurances in the car hadn’t relaxed her for long.

“There’s no need to worry,” he said, turning to look at her fully. She glanced up at him, brows drawn together in a slight frown. Again he felt the urge to comfort her, to reach up and run his finger over the wrinkle between her eyebrows, to smooth away the line. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets with a bit more force than necessary.

“I can’t help it,” she said a little sheepishly. “I’m a worrier—it’s what I do.”

They stepped onto the empty elevator car in unison, and he swiped his badge again before pressing the button for the eighth floor. “We’re just going to ask you some questions as part of our investigation. You’re not under any suspicion, and this isn’t going to be an interrogation.”

“No bright lamps shined into my face and a ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine, then?” she asked with a weak smile.

He appreciated her attempt at humor in the face of her fear. “You watch too much TV,” he replied and was rewarded with a quick grin before her lips returned to a thin line.

“Sometimes my imagination gets the better of me,” she admitted, her voice trailing off as the elevator doors opened and he guided her out of the car.

She hesitated, seemingly taken aback by the activity in front of her. The floor had an open configuration, making it one large room with the desks arranged in rows, forming a maze of sorts. The space buzzed with life as agents spoke on the phone, typed or moved about the room. Afternoon light streamed in from the wall of windows on the right, while the left wall was dominated by a map of the greater D.C. area and posters of the FBI’s most wanted.

James directed Kelly to the back of the room, walking her through the maze of desks and agents. Her head swiveled from side to side as they moved, and he could tell she was taking it all in. For the most part, the agents ignored them, a few raising their hands in a wave or acknowledging him with a quick nod. He returned their greetings with a nod of his own and steered Kelly into one of the conference rooms lining the back wall.

“Have a seat.” He pulled out a chair and she sat down, folding her hands and placing them on the table.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Do you have Coke? I could use the caffeine.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.” He walked out of the room and turned right, snagging a Coke from the group fridge in the corner of the room. On his way back to the conference room, he stopped at Kevin Carmichael’s office and rapped on the door.

“Yeah?”

James stuck his head in and found his boss behind his desk, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, wearing a sour expression, as if he had just taken a sip of bad coffee. His salt-and-pepper hair stuck out in multiple directions, and he was even now reaching up to run his hand through it for what had to be the millionth time today.

“Dr. Jarvis is here,” he said, and Kevin’s expression morphed from disgusted to pleased.

“Excellent,” he said, standing up and rolling his sleeves out. “She’s in the conference room?”

“Yes. She’s a little nervous, too,” James added.

Kevin paused in the act of putting on his jacket. “Why do you think that is?” he asked, slowly sliding the suit coat into place. “Think she has something to hide?”

James shook his head. Although he wasn’t convinced she was completely innocent, going after her with guns blazing was not the way to get her to cooperate. “I think she’s just worried about being here. She’s not used to dealing with the law, and I don’t think she has any idea of what’s going on.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kevin muttered, moving toward the door.

James held up a hand. “Um, Kevin?” The older man stopped, a puzzled look on his face. James gestured to his own hair, moving his hand around to pantomime the frazzled mess sitting atop the other man’s head. Kevin reached up and winced, then spun around and grabbed a comb from his desk drawer.

“Thanks,” he said.

James nodded. “Meet you in there?”

“Yep. I’ll just be a few seconds.”

James returned to the conference room and placed the can in front of Kelly. She looked up with a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she said quietly as she reached for the can and popped it open. She took a swig, closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “Perfect,” she breathed.

James swallowed hard and took a seat across from her, trying not to stare at the smooth column of her neck as she took another sip of her drink. She had a small freckle at the base of her throat, right where her neck met the arch of her collarbone, and he had the sudden, vivid memory of pressing his lips to that spot.

He shifted slightly in his chair, dropping his gaze to the tabletop. He hadn’t slept with anyone since their encounter, had been too busy and exhausted with work. His body remembered their night together, though, and was flaring to life at being so close to her again.

He glanced back up in time to see her lick her lips as she set the can down, and he almost groaned. Where the hell was Kevin? He didn’t need this distraction in the middle of a case. He absolutely, positively could not get involved with this woman again, with her silky hair, hazel eyes and delicate features. No. He refused.

“Well,” she began, her voice quiet. “Are we waiting for someone?”

As soon as the words left her lips, Kevin breezed into the room carrying a manila folder, his earlier disheveled appearance transformed into that of a polished professional. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat, then scooted forward and rested his arms on the tabletop. Other people streamed into the room as he got settled, taking the remaining seats around the conference table. Kevin shot Kelly a dazzling smile, and she smiled in return, the expression freezing on her face as he fired his opening shot.

“So tell me, Dr. Jarvis. How long have you known your boss is a terrorist?”