LITMIR.BIZ

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laid the papers in her in-box and straightened. “What’s up with you?”

      Her brain wasn’t engaged in Gordon’s words and she shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Huh?”

      “I said, what’s up with you?”

      “Nothing.” A ghost just came to life and I’m supposed to pretend he didn’t. Other than that, nothing. What bothered her more was that kiss. If only he hadn’t kissed her. Her lips still tingled from the contact. That spark was still there, damn it! He was a liar and a fake. She shouldn’t have any other feelings than contempt for the man calling himself John Newman. Anger boiled within. Not so much at Sean, but at herself for falling right back into his charade.

      “Are you still hurting over the guy that died in the bombing? Let me take you to dinner and we can talk about it.”

      The blond-haired, blue-eyed, boy-next-door good looks appealed to every other intern or single staffer on the floor. But not TJ. Unfortunately, she leaned toward black hair and green eyes. And she didn’t have time to lean. A killer possibly lurked in the halls of the Rayburn Building. Scarier still, the killer could be Sean McNeal, aka John Newman. She should be searching for clues. “You know how I feel about dating coworkers, Gordon.” In the meantime, she had to pretend to live her life as an ordinary legislative assistant. She laid a hand over his and softened her expression. “The offer is tempting, but…no.”

      Gordon’s brows drew together and he covered her hand. “You can’t give up on all men just because of one, TJ.”

      “Who said I was giving up?” Slipping her hands free, she pushed her chair away from her desk and stood, moving to the far corner of the room, out of reach. “Gordon, did you ever think the Dindi bombing might have been someone other than a terrorist?”

      He leaned against her desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you ask?”

      Sean’s words had been worrying her. That, on top of the information her CIA connections had unearthed. Could that American be in this building? “Just for the sake of conjecture, what if someone wanted it to look like a terrorist job? Who would want Congressman Haddock dead and why?”

      Gordon blew out a stream of air. “Wow, I hadn’t thought of that.”

      “Surely, Haddock had enemies,” she pressed.

      Gordon shrugged. “Every representative has their share of dissatisfied constituents and competitors.”

      “Why would someone want Haddock dead though?”

      “Could be a number of reasons.”

      TJ leaned against the wall. “Name some.”

      “His pro-choice views on abortion for one. There’s always someone willing to bomb an abortion clinic. I guess they could target a congressman against the pro-life movement.”

      “Maybe. But why bomb an embassy in a foreign country when they blow up abortion clinics in the States? What else?”

      “If it were an election year, I’d say a worried opponent facing a loss at the polls. But the election’s not for another thirteen months.”

      “No, election year isn’t right.” TJ paced the length of the office and back. “What about the committees he’s on? Is there anyone vehemently opposed to his decisions?”

      “No more than usual.” Gordon rubbed his chin and stared at the ceiling in the far corner of the office. “He was in Africa working on securing the Millennium Challenge funding for the Dindi government. Maybe someone didn’t want him to get that funding.” His gaze moved to hers. “You think someone around here had it in for Haddock? If it was the MC funding, they could go after Malone. She’s backing Dindi like Haddock did.”

      “No, I’m sure it’s nothing. No use getting Malone all worried.” TJ didn’t want to alarm Gordon or anyone else in the building because she’d had a wild thought and a small piece of unsubstantiated evidence. “I keep thinking about when that building exploded. It’s still all a blur to me. I was outside the building when the bomb went off. What if I saw something that could help identify the killer?”

      Gordon’s brows rose high on his forehead. “Did you see something?”

      “Not that I can remember. That’s just it. From the moment I stepped on the embassy grounds to the time I woke in the hospital is all a big black hole.”

      “Have you thought about a hypnotist?” Gordon’s eyes narrowed and he stared hard at her. “You should try that.”

      She shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. Besides, it’s been a month.”

      “Then why’d you bring it up?”

      “I keep having dreams about it. The whole thing replays in my head and I feel like I’m missing something.” At least Gordon had given her some ideas to pursue. TJ stood. “I left some documents with one of Crane’s legislative assistants. I need to collect them before I head home.”

      “What about the report and the speech?”

      “Leave them here on my desk. I’m not done for the night. Thanks for listening.” TJ stepped into the hallway and almost ran into Congresswoman Malone and Congressman Crane.

      The congresswoman was dressed in a simple black cocktail dress. Crane wore the same suit he’d had on earlier that day.

      “Oh there you are, Gordon. Glad you could come back in on such short notice.” Malone nodded briefly at TJ. “Are you headed home, Ms. Barton?”

      “In a little while. It’s been a long night.” TJ smiled at Congressman Crane. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

      “No, thank you. I’m just collecting a report from my office before I head home myself.”

      “Then you two have a good evening.” Malone moved down the hallway dictating a list of tasks for Gordon to accomplish.

      Did the woman never know when to quit? She often worked Gordon late into the evenings. Haddock had had his occasional late night, but not as often as Malone.

      Crane’s gaze followed Malone and Gordon. “Couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Harris. You still thinking about the bombing?”

      TJ nodded and fell in step with the congressman, entering his suite of offices. “The dreams haven’t gone away. I keep thinking I could have seen someone and I can’t make the memory surface.”

      “You could be suffering post-traumatic stress syndrome. Have you considered seeing a psychiatrist?”

      “Not yet.” Between Crane and Gordon, they’d have her going to every shrink in D.C. for her “problem.”

      “Don’t wait until you can’t think straight.” He unlocked his office door. “Have a good evening.”

      “Good night, sir.” TJ collected her documents and walked away shaking her head. Crane giving her advice wasn’t something she’d expected out of this evening.

      Thirty minutes later, she climbed into her compact car and drove out of the parking garage. On the short drive to her apartment, she had all the quiet she could stand with thoughts of Sean resurfacing at every corner.

      Who would have wanted Congressman Haddock dead and why? If they wanted to stop the Millennium Challenge funding, the bombing hadn’t accomplished that. Congresswoman Ann Malone had taken up the fight to get that money approved. Sean hadn’t said anything about other attempts, but could Malone be next?

      As TJ slowed to round a corner leading to her street, she noticed another set of headlights behind her on the deserted street. Hadn’t she seen those same headlights for the past two turns she’d made on her way home?

      She drove past her apartment complex and turned down another road, just to be sure.

      Two blocks sped by and the headlights appeared

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