“You’re doing fine, Ms. Flynn. Just keep answering my questions. When we’re done I’ll answer what I can of yours.”
“I don’t think so.” Georgie looked around her apartment, at the two agents who had begun sifting ever so gingerly through the mayhem of her living room. Clearly, something was going on that she didn’t understand. Agent Clinton had not given her a clue as to what it was. She didn’t like this one-sided conversation. She was the victim. “I want to know what’s going on. Or, do I need to call my attorney?”
“We’d rather you didn’t do that.”
“I bet you do.” She pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans. “And since you’ve not given me any reason why I should continue to answer your questions, I’d rather you leave. So, do what you need to do while I do what I need to do.”
Mr. FBI man stared at her while she punched buttons on her phone. When she put it to her ear, he reached out and snatched it from her. “Ms. Flynn, we suspect that you are the focus of interest for a domestic terrorist.”
Georgie’s mouth dropped open. And then sharp laughter burst from her, startling the others in the room. “Oh, for god’s sake. You can’t really think that.”
Mr. FBI didn’t smile. He clicked her phone off and handed it back to her. “We’ve been watching you for a while. You took pictures last week at an event where an unexploded bomb was discovered. We have reason to believe that the photos you took that night are what your burglar was after.”
The feeling went out of Georgie’s legs, dropping her back onto the sofa arm. “You’re serious?”
“Why did you leave town the morning after the event? No one has known where to find you, not even your colleagues.”
“The FBI spoke with my colleagues about me?” We’ve been watching you for a while. This was bad.
“Where did you go on such short notice? And don’t say relatives, Ms. Flynn.”
Georgie tried to do some quick calculations in her head. They had spoken with her contacts at the news services she regularly sold to. Perhaps they even had contacted her family about her whereabouts.
“I went to the Ozarks. Eureka Springs to be exact.”
“We couldn’t find a record of you purchasing a plane ticket.”
“I drove. Borrowed a friend’s car.” It occurred to her she had at least one colleague who had sought to protect her privacy by not giving them that information. She owed Frank a good bottle of Scotch.
The same idea must have occurred to her interrogator. “Whose car did you borrow?”
“I’d rather not say at this time.” Frank had enough problems without an angry FBI agent hassling him.
Clinton stared at her. “Your trip wasn’t scheduled. In fact, you blew off two scheduled jobs and just disappeared the day after the event you claim you don’t have photos for. What made you run, Ms. Flynn?”
“I didn’t run. Well, not exactly. It’s personal.”
“Something not go as you planned?”
She ignored the taunt. “I’d had one of those weeks where nothing goes right. The camera malfunction was just part of it. And then I got this e-mail rant from a guy. I just decided I needed to go somewhere entirely different and take pictures of legs.”
“Do what?”
Georgie could have bitten her tongue. Why had she said something so personal to a stranger? She shrugged. “When I want to clear my head I go somewhere I’ve never been and where I know no one, and I take pictures.”
He made a note. It probably said psycho artistic type. “What’s his name? The ranter on your blog?”
Georgia took a deep breath. “Secret Admirer.”
Clinton paused, his stylus hovering over his phone. “What?”
“That’s the name he goes by online. He’s a fanboy of my photos. He reads my photography blog and is my most ardent responder.”
Mr. FBI didn’t even blink. “What did you say his name is?”
“Secret Admirer. Seriously, that’s how he signs his account.” Georgie felt the irrational need to defend her cyber fan. “I know it’s weird. But he’s been a fan a long time. Probably four years now. Sometimes I think he knows more about my professional life than I do.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s much more detail oriented about my work than I am. He knows every time a photo of mine is printed or shows up online. He even keeps up with where they are reused online, or in print. There’s so much cyber theft that my photos show up in China and India without attribution all the time. But he’ll track it down and send me proof. He really gets worked up about my stolen or unattributed work.”
“That seems extreme.”
“I know.” Georgie nodded, and pocketed her phone. “It was starting to creep me out. Especially these last couple of months. He was furious that I didn’t win a Pulitzer this year. One of my photos of the bomb—” A hard shiver rocked Georgie. “Oh god.”
“Was that the bombing at George Washington University last year?”
Georgie nodded, feeling a little sicker with every moment.