by Lara Lacombe
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?”
Chapter 3
Kelly stared at the man sitting at the head of the table, blinking in shock. She must be hearing things. There was no way he had actually asked that.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. “What did you just say?”
He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with a serious expression, all traces of his earlier smile gone. “I asked you how long you’ve known George Collins is a terrorist.”
“But...” she sputtered, at a temporary loss for words. James had told her repeatedly that she was not a suspect of any kind, but apparently this agent thought she was guilty of something. Had James lied to her, or was he just out of the loop? She glanced across the table to find James watching the other man, a slight frown on his face. Was he surprised by the question, too?
“Who are you?” she said, wanting not only his name but a few seconds to gather her thoughts.
“My apologies.” He sounded anything but contrite. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Kevin Carmichael.” He introduced the other people in the room, but she didn’t absorb their names.
Kelly traced the tab of the soda can with her finger as she spoke. “What makes you think George is a terrorist?” She glanced up to see Agent Carmichael lean back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Do you read the paper, Dr. Jarvis?”
She frowned at the non sequitur. “Not as often as I should. What does that have to do with anything?”
He opened a manila file folder and pulled out a piece of paper. He pushed it across the table and Kelly read the headline: Food Poisoning at Local Restaurant Kills One, Sickens Ten. She skimmed the article, which detailed an outbreak of food poisoning in a District deli restaurant.
She frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said, pushing the article back across the table. Agent Carmichael carefully placed
it in his folder before meeting her eyes.
“That outbreak was not your garden-variety cluster of food poisoning—the Health Department found that the causative agent was Bacillus cereus. The same bacteria that Dr. Collins works with.”
“There must be some mistake,” Kelly interjected. “The strain of Bacillus cereus we work with isn’t associated with food-borne illness. In fact, it’s actually used as a probiotic. People take it to help regulate their digestion, stuff like that.”
“Exactly,” James responded, drawing Kelly’s attention. “That’s why we got involved.”
“The FBI? That doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t the CDC get involved?”
“Because the evidence suggested this was a crime, as opposed to a natural outbreak,” James said.
“What evidence?”
“The bacteria was only found in the cottage-cheese bin of the salad bar, and only for the bin put out for consumption after 6:00 p.m. The Health Department tested the supply of cottage cheese found in the kitchen that was used to refill the bin, and there was no evidence of bacterial contamination. Also no evidence of the bacteria in the kitchen or any other area tested.” Agent Carmichael paused, and Kelly gestured for him to continue. “Taken together, these facts suggest the cottage-cheese bin was dosed with the bacteria sometime after six, making this a deliberate event.”
“I still don’t understand,” she said. “Even if someone drank a culture of our Bacillus cereus, it’s unlikely they’d get ill. It’s not considered a pathogen.”
“This particular bacteria had been modified to express the anthrax toxin. This was a calculated bio-attack, designed to look like a natural outbreak of severe food poisoning,” James said.
Kelly sat in silence, absorbing the news. A chill skittered down her spine, and she rubbed her hands over her arms in an attempt to smooth away the goose bumps that popped up on her skin. How many times did something like this happen? How many times was a supposedly accidental or natural event really a deliberate attempt by others to harm?