Deadly Contact (9 page)

She leaned away and wiped her cheeks, and he released her, letting her take a step back. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied easily. If he’d felt her arousal, he wasn’t going to comment on it, a fact that made her pathetically grateful. “Ready to continue?”

She nodded and turned back to the office, then stepped inside to point out the drawers she had seen Caleb touch.

She could do this.

* * *

He had to stop touching her. All his cool, professional detachment went out the window when he touched her, and he needed to stay focused, now more than ever.

She was connected to his investigation—hell, she might even be a suspect—and he had to treat her as such. FBI agents did not go around holding suspects, no matter how much they might want to.

It was difficult to let her go. Despite the fact that only fifteen minutes ago he’d been questioning her involvement in this case, she had been attacked, and his protective instincts had flared to life. Still, he could keep her safe without touching her. Needed to, in fact, because touching her was a surefire way to distract him, and he had to be on top of his game right now.

It was when she’d started crying that he’d given up the battle.

The fact that his thoughtless teasing had set her off was what really tipped the scales. He had forgotten that she wasn’t one of the guys, wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of thing every day. Joking around was just the way they all got through it, but a civilian wasn’t as jaded.

So he had pulled her into his arms, trying to ignore the way she fit against him, the way her head tucked perfectly under his chin. The feel of her breasts pressed against his chest had nearly made him groan. The sensation short-circuited his brain and muted all rational thought. He was back on that damp sidewalk again, holding her close, drowning in the scent of honeysuckle and that indescribable note that was just
Kelly.

He should have kept his hands on her back, but he hadn’t been able to resist touching her, needing that skin-to-skin contact to reassure himself she was really fine. So he’d moved his hand up to rest on her neck, the softness of her skin affecting him like a drug. When her nipples had hardened against his chest, it had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to kiss her or to slide his hands around to cup her feminine weight. His thumbs had ached with the memory of rubbing over the rigid peaks, and he was desperate to touch her there again, craving the contact like a starving man longed for food.

He’d almost sighed with relief when she’d pulled away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep the hug platonic much longer but not wanting to push her away if she was still upset.

She had pulled herself together quickly; he’d give her that. You’d have to look closely to see that she had been crying, and no one would guess that she had lost her breakfast mere moments ago.

His doubts about her innocence were quickly fading in light of this turn of events. If she had been involved, she would have cooperated with the guy, not run away. She certainly wouldn’t be trying to help him now. No, he decided. She probably wasn’t a part of this world.

He watched her round the desk, pointing out the things she had seen her assailant touch. A cold ball of anger had settled in his stomach at the thought of him grabbing her, chasing her down the hall. He had felt the burn of satisfaction when he’d spotted the blood on the floor. Not only was the bastard injured, but now they had his DNA.

She stopped speaking, her hand flying to her forehead, a stricken look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wondering what she’d seen that caused this reaction.

“I just remembered.” She shook her head. “He was wearing gloves. There won’t be any fingerprints.” She looked up at him, her face a mask of despair.

Damn.
That was unfortunate, but nothing they couldn’t overcome. He tried to inject reassurance into his voice as he said, “That makes things a little more difficult, but not impossible. We’ll get his DNA from the blood, see if he’s in the system. We may also get some clues from what he was looking at—it may tell us where he’s going or what he wanted.”

She nodded, still wearing a worried expression. “I’ll have them dust for prints anyway,” he continued. “Maybe he’s been in here before, without the gloves.”

She pursed her lips in thought, drawing his gaze to her mouth like a moth to a flame. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “But I don’t recall seeing him before.”

His phone rang, stalling his response. He pulled it from his pocket. “Agent Reynolds.”

Kelly wrapped her arms around her waist while he took the call and she looked around George’s office. Hopefully she would notice something that would help them.

“That was my team,” he informed her, pocketing the phone. “They’re here. I’m going to meet them at the elevator bank. Do you want to come with me or stay here?”

“Actually, I was hoping to go back to the lab, if that’s okay. I do have some work to get done today.”

He admired that she was trying to carry on with her plans, but that wasn’t going to happen. “I’m afraid that after the team takes possession of the scene, you’re going to need to come with me back to the office.” Her brows came down in a scowl, and her mouth tightened into a line. He held up a hand to block her inevitable protest. “We need to debrief you, and you need to work with a sketch artist so we can get a good image of this guy.”

She sighed, but he held her gaze, refusing to back down on this. “Fine,” she said quietly. “Let me go turn off my computer and get my bag.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, happy to have avoided an argument. “I’ll meet you in the lab in a few minutes.”

He turned to go, but her hand on his arm stopped him. He looked down to find her staring up at him, gratitude shining in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, determined not to draw her into his arms again. “You don’t have to thank me,” he replied. “It’s my job.”

Her face shuttered, and she snatched her hand away as if burned. “Of course,” she said flatly, brushing past him to walk down to her lab.

He let out his own sigh.
Great.
Now she thought he didn’t care about her. Nothing could be further from the truth, but maybe this was for the best. If she thought he was aloof, she might stay away from him, and he might be able to keep his tenuous grip on his self-control.

It wasn’t the best solution, but he’d take it.

* * *

The meeting with the sketch artist took a lot longer than Kelly had anticipated. She wasn’t used to describing faces in such detail and didn’t really have a sense of how to talk about his features. Handsome but cold-eyed wasn’t too informative. She quickly grew frustrated with her descriptive shortcomings, but the sketch artist was a study in patience, guiding her through the process with professional ease. Kelly had to admit that the final product was a close rendering of the man who had chased her.

“This is basically him,” she said slowly, studying the image. The eyes weren’t quite right, but she didn’t think the coldness in them could be adequately captured on the page. Everything else was pretty close.

“How on earth did you get this based on my crappy descriptions?” she asked the artist, thoroughly impressed with the woman’s skill.

A quick smile prefaced her reply. “I’ve been doing this awhile,” she said, packing up her supplies. “You did a great job.”

Kelly snorted and shook her head. “Not really, but that’s kind of you to say.”

“Hey, we have a good likeness, so that’s all that matters.” With a final smile, the woman left the room, handing the page to Agent Carmichael as she walked through the office.

He glanced down at the image in an offhanded way, but then he froze and Kelly noticed his eyes widen as he took in the drawing. He masked his reaction quickly, but he held the paper closer to presumably get a better look at the sketch.
Interesting.
It seemed Agent Carmichael recognized her attacker.

She wasn’t the only one to notice this development. James walked over and spoke quietly to the older man, and they conferred with each other for a moment, heads down, both faces absorbed by the image on the paper. What was going on here?

She couldn’t hear their conversation, but their urgent gesturing and facial expressions fed her growing sense of unease. She shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable, wanting to be anywhere else at the moment. If both James and Agent Carmichael recognized this man, then it was quite likely that she had landed in the middle of something big, and she did not want to get mixed up in trouble.

She sighed, and as if they had heard her, both men looked up to stare at her at the same time.
Oh, no.
Those intense, thoughtful expressions did not bode well for her. By unspoken consent, they started forward, marching in step until they reached the conference room. Carmichael entered first, taking his customary seat at the head of the table, and James trailed behind, quietly shutting the door before sitting down across from her.

There was a beat of silence, and then James spoke. “This is the man who chased you today?”

“Yes.”

More silence. “Are you sure?” Carmichael asked.

She turned to meet his eyes, not appreciating his skeptical tone or expression. “Yes,” she repeated, an edge to her voice.

James and Carmichael exchanged a loaded look, stretching Kelly’s patience to the breaking point. Enough of this cloak-and-dagger routine—she had a right to know what was happening, especially since it involved her.

“What is going on?”

Carmichael refused to meet her eyes, while James looked down and sighed. Fed up with being kept in the dark, Kelly slammed her palm down on the conference table; the loud
thwack
caused both men to look at her in alarm.

“Last chance, gentlemen. I’m tired of being kept in the dark. Either you tell me what’s going on, or I walk out of here and I’m not coming back.”

“You said his name is Caleb?” Carmichael asked, holding up the sketch and waving the paper slightly.

“Yes. That’s what he told me, anyway.”

“We’ve been tracking him for a while but never had a name until now,” James said, his gaze sliding to Carmichael as if silently asking how much to share.

“How can that be?” Kelly asked. “If you don’t know his name, how are you tracking him?”

“We have a grainy image taken from another suspected bio-event,” Carmichael said, apparently deciding to share.

Kelly felt her jaw drop. “There was
another
bio-event? When? Where?”

“Nine months ago,” Carmichael informed her. “In Richmond.”

“Was it the same organism?”

James shook his head. “Different bacteria, but the same M.O.”

“So you think the two events are related.” It wasn’t a question. Similar methodology and the same guy shows up again? She didn’t have to be an FBI agent to know this was probably not a coincidence. The only question was, did George have something to do with the first event, too?

She swallowed, dreading the answer but needing to know just the same. “Do you think George played a role in the first event?”

“Not at this time,” said Carmichael.

Her shoulders slumped, and the tension in her muscles eased with this news. It was bad enough that George was involved in the most recent event, but at least he hadn’t been a part of it from the beginning.

“We think Caleb is the go-to guy for this organization, the one the higher-ups use for their dirty work,” James said, tapping the sketch with his forefinger as he spoke.

“What organization?” Kelly said. “You know who’s responsible for these attacks?” Her voice rose at the end, and James held up a placating hand.

“We have our suspicions but no proof,” he said, his tone soothing.

“You can bet if we had solid evidence, we’d have already moved on it,” Carmichael interjected, his face a mottled red. “I don’t appreciate the implication that we aren’t doing our job.”

She met his gaze, refusing to be rattled by his angry expression. “You know what I don’t appreciate, Agent Carmichael?” She held up her fingers as she spoke, ticking off her statements. “Being hauled in for questioning and treated like a suspect, being chased by a psychopath and being kept in the dark about matters concerning my safety!”

“You’re perfectly safe!” Carmichael fired back. “There’s no reason to suspect that you are a target.”

“No?” she asked with a brittle laugh. “This man knows my name! Don’t you think it will be the work of a moment for him to find out where I live or the fact that I live alone? Do you honestly think I’m safe at home when he’s out there?”

“She’s right, Kevin,” James said quietly. “We need to put her into protective custody until we nab this guy.”

“She’s not in any danger,” Carmichael insisted. “There is no indication that Caleb or his group wants her for anything.”

“Aside from the fact that he chased me?” Kelly asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice. Was this man kidding?

Carmichael turned to glare at her again, and James held up his hand, shooting her an imploring look.
Let me handle this, please.

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
Be my guest.

James returned his attention to Carmichael, holding the other man’s gaze. “Think about it, Kevin. With Dr. Collins gone, the group needs someone who can provide them with the bacteria or manipulate the stuff they already have. She’s the only one in Collins’s lab with those skills, so it stands to reason she’d be a target.”

“I’m not convinced the group hasn’t moved on, like they did last time. I think they’re still refining their techniques, and this was another practice run.”

James nodded agreeably. “Could be. Doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be careful, on the off chance they’re still here.”

Carmichael set his jaw, clearly not convinced. James laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, and the pair stood and moved a few steps away. He lowered his voice, but Kelly could still hear his next words. “If we put her in a safe house, we can watch her. If she is involved, they’ll come for her, and we can scoop them up.”