by RC Boldt
He frowns at the phone with narrowed eyes. “Urgent?”
“Yes, sir.” A trace of breathlessness in her tone intermixes with nervousness.
“Okay…” Suspicion colors his voice. His eyes flick to mine, and he rises from his seat. “I’m sorry for this interruption, but Sonya can show you to one of the meeting rooms so you can upload the file and look over everything. Feel free to ask any questions before you leave to work your magic.”
I follow suit and slide the strap of my briefcase over my shoulder. “No apologies necessary, sir. I’m ready to get started.”
He escorts me from his office and hands me off to Sonya, who keeps smoothing a hand down her chin-length bob. The way she tosses eager glances at the main entrance gives me the impression she expects someone like Chris Hemsworth to enter at any moment.
She hustles me over to a small meeting room diagonal from her desk and Chad’s office. I set my laptop briefcase on the polished surface of the table.
“Here’s the Wi-Fi password and directions on how to access the encrypted file.” Sonya hands me a sheet of paper with the instructions. Just as I withdraw my laptop from my bag and open it, Chad’s voice booms loudly, and we both jerk in surprise.
“Are you kidding me?” Something slams against a hard surface. “Why? What’s the reasoning behind this?”
Silence ensues, and I exchange a brief look with Sonya, who flashes me an apologetic smile. “I’ll close the door, so you’ll have some privacy.”
“Thank you, Sonya.”
Once she pulls the door closed behind her, I welcome the quiet solace of the room and immediately type in the log-in password to upload the file. It does so quickly, and I open it to scan the contents and notice that Chad has included the client’s account she’d originally given to police, along with his own typed notes.
Jodi Carshedi, thirteen years old, alleges that on the night of September 17th, she was at a dinner party at the mayor’s home to celebrate students who were recipients of scholarships presented by his foundation.
Mayor Paulson asked to speak to her in his office alone before she left, promising to have his personal driver take her home since everyone else had been leaving at that time.
Carshedi alleges that Mayor Paulson coerced her into drinking something. It wasn’t until after the fact that she realized it was drugged. She claims it tasted funny, and she was in and out of consciousness, which was when she believes he raped her.
Carshedi stated that once she fully gained consciousness, she felt “odd inside” and stumbled to the nearest bathroom, where she discovered dried blood between her upper inner thighs. She mentioned that she also “felt bruised inside.”
She asked Paulson what had happened. He informed her that she had fallen asleep and that he wasn’t able to wake her up, so he moved her to the spare bedroom and covered her with a blanket to allow her to rest.
She was too shaken and unsettled to ask about the blood. Paulson had appeared concerned for her, and she brushed off the odd feeling that something wasn’t right and left his house and went straight home. She took a shower, feeling the need to clean herself.
It wasn’t until a week later that her best friend was joking around and scrolling through a well-known porn site—XXXporn.com—that she discovered the uploaded videos of herself.
They were listed under the description “Underage unconscious virgin slut takes it deep by older man.”
Fingers curling into a tight fist, I press it against my closed mouth and close my eyes as rage fills me to the brim. Not because I’m assuming right off the bat that her accusations are true, but because I’ve seen this happen all too often.
These porn sites might seem hedonistic yet harmless, but they aren’t. No…they tend to be a goddamn minefield of illegal sex and rape.
I force my anger aside and read the rest of Chad’s notes before flipping to the few still-shot images taken from the video footage.
The man’s hands and forearms are the only body parts visible in the videos, which is par for the course. The abuser gets a thrill from having evidence that includes some feature of their body in the photograph or video of the assault.
Once I ensure I’m satisfied with the contents, I save the file in multiple places before closing my laptop and placing it in my briefcase. I’ll gather images from the Internet that include shots of the mayor’s hands taken by professional news photographers.
Rising from my chair, I slide the strap of my bag over my shoulder just as the door suddenly swings open.
I snap my eyes to the doorway and find a tall man there, one hand casually tucked into his pants pocket and the other braced against the doorjamb.
A long, wide strap of a well-worn brown leather briefcase drapes over one broad shoulder. Dressed in a neatly pressed gray button-down shirt paired with a black suit with dark gray pinstripes, each accentuates his lean body. The barest peek of black ink sneaks from beneath the cuff of one long sleeve.
The man gives a sharp salute, flashing his badge and identification. “FBI Agent Lattimer reporting for duty, ma’am.”
Chapter 23
Kennedy
FBI Agent?
Ominous dread tiptoes along my spine because if an FBI agent is sniffing around, it means this has the potential to turn into a colossal shitshow.
Slightly tanned skin tells me he’s not chained to his desk and enjoys the outdoors in some regard. Hair a light brown, it’s cut short on the sides with more length on top.
His cheekbones and square jawline are chiseled, as if someone hand-carved his features, but while his nose is straight, it has the slightest trace of a bump on the bridge.
Brown eyes hold a curiously astute gleam, and that poses a danger because it indicates that he’s much too curious for his own good.
Pinned with my harsh stare, he winces and slides his identification back in his pocket. “That sounded a lot better in my head.”
I raise an eyebrow, and there’s more than a hint of a challenge in my voice. “Did it really?”
He shrugs, tone noncommittal. “Honestly, I thought it was at least a solid eight out of ten.”
“Mm.” I hold his gaze, my voice monotone. “Barely a two.”
His eyebrows jump, but his tone remains nonplussed. “That’s devastating to hear.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Agent.” I step toward the door he’s currently haunting. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way out.”
He doesn’t move aside, of course. “Now, I don’t know about you, but my mother taught me it’s rude not to properly introduce oneself.”
I skewer him with a disbelieving look. “It’s also rude to feign a lack of intelligence and act like you don’t already know who I am.”
One edge of his mouth tips up a fraction, drawing my attention to his lips. They’re not perfectly shaped, wider on top with a hint of a cupid’s bow. Yet this doesn’t detract from his attractiveness. Dammit, why can’t he have more of an obvious flaw?
“What can I say, Dr. Alexandre? When I got the memo the famed forensic anthropologist would be here, I came running.”
A loud and not even remotely subtle clearing of a throat sounds behind him, and he moves to allow Chad to come into view.
“If you had exercised a little patience, I would’ve properly introduced you.” Exasperation paints the attorney’s words.
Agent Lattimer’s eyes never veer from mine. “I couldn’t help myself when I heard you were in the presence of the Dr. Kennedy Alexandre.”
Chad shakes his head much like an annoyed teacher before turning to me. He shoves his hands in his suit pants pockets, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.
This does not bode well.
“Agent Lattimer has also been tasked with looking into the accusations against the mayor.” A muscle in his jaw works before he adds, “To ensure the integrity of the process is maintained.”
I digest his words, allowing them to settle before I ensure my tone is e
ven and controlled. Eyeing Agent Lattimer sharply, I tip my head to the side. “The implication in that statement is that the integrity of this investigation is on the brink of being or has already been compromised.” With raised eyebrows, I add, “And who is it that assigned you to this?”
“Orders came from higher up. It was a last-minute change.”
“How high up?”
He raises his hand as if estimating height. “If this is the top”—he moves his hand a fraction beneath it—“this would be a mark below that.”
Someone high up in the FBI wants to be involved in this investigation? Even with the local police having no record of Jodi Carshedi’s report but refusing to take action on her behalf?
Suspicion is ripe in my tone. “And they chose you?”
Agent Lattimer’s brow arches, his eyes gleaming with amusement that has my fingers itching to slap it right out of him. “Clearly, the lady does not know of my greatness.”
I snap my attention to Chad. “Is he for real?”
Chad’s expression is pained. “I’m afraid so.”
Gritting my teeth, I pointedly ignore the agent while saying goodbye to Chad and promising to update him regularly. Lattimer moves aside and gestures gallantly for me to exit the room. I stride past, and he sidles up beside me.
“Ma’am, I’d be happy to explain everything on the way to your next stop.”
I hold up a hand. “Please stop with the ma’ams.”
“As you wish.”
We approach Sonya’s desk, and I pause to thank her, but Lattimer steps up and raps his knuckles on her desk. “Always a pleasure to see you, Ms. Sonya. And your hair…”
Edging toward the exit, he walks backward and brings his fingertips to his lips to give a chef’s kiss. “Is absolutely stunning.”
A deep flush spreads across Sonya’s face, and she giggles like a schoolgirl. “Thank you.”
I think I might vomit. “Thank you for all of your help, Sonya. I’ll be in touch.”
She simply nods with a dreamy smile still clinging to her lips. I turn and find Lattimer holding the door open for me. Sweeping past him with a polite, “Thank you,” I step out onto the sidewalk.
And I start walking.
Quickly.
Chapter 24
Agent Landon Lattimer
Damn, she can walk surprisingly fast in those heels.
“Dr. Alexandre.” I rush to catch up to her. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”
She stops abruptly and spears me with a challenging look. “By barging in uninvited and unexpectedly? Or announcing that my contribution could compromise the”—she hooks her fingers in air quotes—“integrity of this investigation?”
I frown in faux concentration. “Is barging in uninvited and unexpectedly the left foot? Or is it the right?”
Her eyes practically shoot daggers at me before she spins around and resumes her rapid pace.
“I’m sorry,” I call out. “I was just trying to break the ice.”
She doesn’t bother to respond or stop. She just strides along the sidewalk in those heels like she owns the city of D.C.
And damn if that confidence and fire aren’t hot as fuck. The rear view doesn’t disappoint the least bit, either.
“It’s not gentlemanly to check out my ass, Agent Lattimer,” she calls over her shoulder.
I scowl. Dammit. My mother’d be embarrassed by my slipup, but I can’t muster too much shame. Dr. Alexandre is a bona fide work of art.
Also, how the hell did she know I was looking?
I catch up to her easily. She might be fierce, but she’s still petite with shorter legs than me. That black, long-sleeve sweater dress covers everything above the knee, but it highlights her lean body, curves in all the right places.
I suppose I’m noticing all this because I haven’t found a woman this intriguing in a long time. Which is dangerous since I’ve got a duty to uphold.
This isn’t like my usual investigations—especially not with the Vice President expecting updates.
Or having to also report to him.
“This your first time in D.C.?”
No response. She just keeps walking. We’re almost to the steps leading up to the Library of Congress entrance, and I wonder if that’s where she’s actually headed. What the hell would she need there?
“Depending on where you live, these temps might be a little—”
She whirls around on me. Her expression is placid except for those eyes. Damn, they’re expressive. Golden brown with what looks like a touch of gray to them, they pierce me straight through.
“Can you explain exactly why it is that anyone would think I’d compromise an investigation? Because I’ve consulted on hundreds of—”
“Actually, three hundred and eighty-seven, not including this one,” I interject.
Her lips snap closed, and those pretty eyes narrow on me. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve consulted on three hundred and eighty-seven investigations to date.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I do my homework.”
She stares at me, and I stare back, and I know it’s juvenile as hell, but I never backed down from a staring contest when I was a kid, and I sure as shit won’t do it today.
People brush past us on the busy sidewalk. Her stare morphs into an icy glare that I’m sure sends pansy-ass beta guys running with their tails between their legs. Similar to my former partners who couldn’t hack it.
Dr. Alexandre needs to realize I’m not like the others.
I tip my head in the direction of the library without breaking her gaze. “Ready to head to your destination?”
She doesn’t bother to answer. Nope. She just strides on up the steps, not even teetering once or bothering to hold the railing.
I take the steps two at a time to catch up to her, but I’m not worried in the least.
She doesn’t strike me as the type to bother with bullshitting anybody.
She’ll soon realize I’m the same damn way.
Chapter 25
Kennedy
My icy glare normally has most people—men included—fidgety as hell. Of course, it doesn’t work with him. He simply smiles at me like I’m a grand source of amusement.
Drawing open the heavy library door, I stop at the main desk, offer my identification, and sign in for the room I reserved. The young guy, looking to be in his early twenties, slides me a key with a long lanyard.
Agent Lattimer flashes his badge and follows suit, signing in as well, and thanks the kid manning the desk. Evidently, his potency works on him, too, and he joins Sonya in falling prey to Lattimer’s charming persona.
The deep, raspy quality to his voice sounds like it’s been raked over gravel yet somehow manages to sound intimate, as though he’s letting you in on some big secret. It must pack an extra punch because the kid blushes, nervously shoving his thick black frames up the bridge of his nose while never once tearing his eyes off Lattimer.
No way in hell I’m sticking around to subject myself to watching this. Turning on my heel, I weave my way through the Library of Congress until I find the door leading to the designated room I reserved.
The motion image research screening room here is perfect and vital for an investigation of this caliber. I don’t always have this kind of technology at my fingertips—it means zooming in constantly, which can be painfully time-consuming—so this is a blessing.
I unlock the room and enter while Lattimer holds the door for me. As soon as I set my briefcase down on one of the large tables, I heave out a silent breath before unpacking my things.
“Look,” I say without turning his way. I set up my laptop, file, and legal pad and pen. “I know this game. You’re playing the whole ‘Look at me, I’m a good-looking and powerful authority figure, so disregard the fact that I’ll be towering over you at every turn.’ But I don’t buy into any of that BS, so you’re wasting your time. I work best alone, and it’s what I’m used to.”
When nothing greets me but silence, I turn to find him peering at me solemnly.
“Hmm.” The barest hint of a smirk teases at his lips as he sets his briefcase down. “So, you think I’m good-looking?”
A torrent of irritation courses through me. “That’s what you chose to take from all that?”
He shrugs. “That’s the most important part.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because you said it.”
Gritting my teeth, I forge on. “I don’t work well with others. Hence, the job I do is normally a solo one.”
“Normally,” he reiterates.
“Meaning, this is outside of my usual working protocol.”
He steps closer and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I’ve never worked with a forensic anthropologist before.”
Without missing a beat, I lower my voice to mimic him. “And I’ve never been assigned my very own FBI agent.”
His lips quirk up, and his brown eyes gleam with amusement, tiny lines fanning out from the corners. I blink, forcing myself not to be mesmerized.
Wait. I’ve never been mesmerized by men. Shit, shit, shit.
Tearing my eyes off him, I clear my throat and focus on connecting my laptop to the projector, making quick work of pulling up the first video. I lower myself into the chair, ensuring the sound is muted, and pause it on the initial frame where the man’s hands are illuminated on the large projection screen.
I need to get my damn head on straight. And that means I need to immerse myself in my work. I can ignore the pesky man for now and wait until he leaves. Then I’ll make my complaints heard, regardless of whichever “higher-up” power-hungry asshole set this into place.