She stopped just shy of turning the knob, glancing back at him from over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“You said a friend sent you here?”
That bit was interesting given they hadn’t yet opened their doors.
“Well he’s not a friend so much as a source, but yeah.” She nodded. “He said yours was the newest team within the R.I.S.C. organization and that you guys were the best in the business.” Her hand fell from the knob as she turned her body to fully face his. “From what I’ve been able to find, I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”
“And you’re in the market for a private security company to help you with?—”
“Finding someone who’s missing.”
Emmett blinked. “Missing persons isn’t exactly the kind of thing we take on. Something like that is usually handled by the police.”
“The cops are refusing to look for her, which is why I came here. But since you can’t help me, either, I won’t waste any more of your time or mine. Sorry to have bothered you.”
She went for the door a second time.
“Who’s missing?” He took another step forward, feeling compelled to ask.
“Does it matter?” The woman’s tone had bite. A much softer, “I’m sorry” immediately followed. When she faced him again, a defeated sigh fell from her bow-shaped lips. “Her name is Amy Weaver. She’s an intern with the White House Press Corps, and I think she’s in some serious trouble.”
The White House?
That alone spelled trouble. Especially when you added the wordinterninto the mix. Actually Emmett found this entire interaction rather bizarre. Even sothere was something unexplainable about this woman that seemed to draw him in.
“And you’re sure she’s missing?”
A look of genuine concern filled the beautiful eyes staring back into his. “For the past two days. But if you ask the cops, Amy has never even worked for the White House, and I’m just an idiot tourist. But the thing is, I’m not an idiot, and I know for a fact that they’re wrong.”
“How do you know that for a fact?”
“Because two days ago, Amy Weaver was listed on this year’s roster of White House interns. But now . . .” She shook her head with a frown. “Now, her name isn’t there, and it’s as if the woman herself has vanished into thin air. For some reason, I seem to be the only one in this city who cares.”
He should wish her well on her quest to find her missing friend and bid this woman a good night. Or perhaps, he should encourage her to give the Capitol Police another go or direct her to one of the private investigators in town.
But rather than do any of those things, Emmett motioned toward the chairs behind them.
“Why don’t we have a seat so you can tell me a little more about your missing friend?” he offered. “If I think there’s anything we can do to help, I’ll bring the case to my team in the morning.”
Excitement flashed through her widening gaze. “Really? You’ll really help me find Amy?”
“I saidif,” he reminded her bluntly.
“Right.” She nodded. “Of course. I’m just happy to have found someone who’s actually willing to listen. I’mJanie, by the way.” The woman held out her hand. “Janie Reynolds.”
“Emmett Shaw.” He slid his palm against hers.
A jolt of electricity raced through his veins the very moment their hands met. It was different than those tiny sparks one felt from the static in the air. This was stronger. It traveled deeper. And for the briefest of seconds, Emmett struggled to pull himself free.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it—Janie made the decision for him. She dropped her hand back down to her side and waited for his lead.
“After you.” He forced his gaze from hers to look back at the chairs once more. “I can make us some coffee if you’d like. We also have bottled water or a few different types of soda?—”
“I’m good, but thank you.” She walked past him without hesitation.
Emmett followed her from a few feet behind, doing his best to keep his focus straight ahead despite the temptation to stare at her feminine form. He chose the chair directly facing hers, and when he was settled against the smooth, black leather, he prompted her to begin.
“Why don’t you start by telling me a little more about yourself,” he suggested. “You mentioned the cops called you a tourist. I take it you aren’t from the area?”
