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14
Logan had been inside the MRI machine for a while when the table began to slide out and he was met by the technician who’d helped him inside. He pulled the headphones off his ears.
“Your doctor has asked for some additional pictures,” she said. “So we’re going to turn you around the other way. I’ll also be administering some contrast fluid.”
“I don’t understand. What kind of additional pictures?”
“Images of your brain.” She smiled. “Nothing to be alarmed about. When someone experiences severe headaches, it’s just a precaution.”
Logan got up from the table and turned around. The technician gave him a soft sculptured headrest to help hold his head still and brought him a warm blanket, which felt great, before inserting an IV, which didn’t. She injected fluid that felt cold and made his mouth taste funny.
Then the table slid his head back into the MRI machine. Although he couldn’t wear the headphones this time, Logan thought of another one of Rich’s songs that reminded him that people were not always as strong as they thought they were. At that moment, that particular song seemed to fit. Why would Dr. Morton ask for images of his brain? Was the tech telling the truth? Was it really just a precaution?
The fear Logan had been trying to ignore all day intensified. Was his life about to change forever?
Alex decided to go out for a burger since she’d missed lunch and was getting hungry. She could have grabbed something from one of the vending machines, but she felt the need to get out for a while. To breathe some fresh spring air. To take her mind off Logan. A good burger place was just up the road, so she headed there in her car.
When she arrived, she went inside to order, intending to just pick up her food and head back to work. She hated eating alone in restaurants. It made her feel conspicuous. Were people wondering why she had no friends? No one to eat with?
She was waiting at the counter behind an elderly lady when someone else came in and stood behind her. A few seconds later she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find a young blond woman smiling at her.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I’ve never been here before. I’m picking up an early supper for me and my son. What do you recommend?”
Alex smiled. “I’d go with the double cheeseburger. If you like onions, ask for them grilled. And the onion rings are outstanding. Their chocolate shake is also the best I’ve ever tasted.”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Thank you so much. That’s really helpful.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Portia.”
Alex shook it. “Alex.”
“Short for...?”
“Alexandra. But no one calls me that.”
Portia smiled. “Even so, it’s a beautiful name. It’s nice to meet you. Do you live in Quantico?”
Alex nodded. “I work with the FBI, so I live close to work.” She turned around to check on the woman in front of her. She was busy counting out her change. This could take a while.
“Wow, the FBI,” Portia said. “How interesting.”
The door opened, and a man carrying a bag came in. They would have a long line soon if the woman in front of her didn’t speed it up. Alex was thinking about paying for the woman’s food herself, not only to bless her but to get her out of the way. Before she had a chance to offer her help, though, Portia said something that made her forget that idea.
“So you must know something about the woman who’s disappeared. My daughter looks a lot like her. Tracy ... someone. I can’t remember her last name.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Alex said. “Everyone just needs to keep their eyes open and play it safe.”
“But on the news Tracy’s parents said young women who look like their daughter should be especially careful. Frankly, women who resemble you. Any truth to that?”
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Alex just shrugged. “Like I said, everyone needs to do whatever they can to stay safe.”
She suddenly realized the man standing behind Portia was aiming a camera at her. “What are you doing?” she asked him. He refused to make eye contact.
“Look, Agent Donovan,” Portia said, “people just want to know what’s going on. You don’t have the right to keep important information away from the public when lives may be at stake.”
“Who are you?” Alex asked rather loudly.
“Why, honey, that’s Portia Meadows from channel 5,” the elderly woman said. It seemed she’d finally counted out enough change to pay for her order. “I thought everyone knew her.” She leaned toward Portia and smiled. “I never miss you. I just love you.”
“Thank you,” Portia said, her tone decidedly dismissive. “But, Agent Donovan—”
