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“I didn’t mean for you to see any of that. I feel terrible.”
“I don’t need a fainting couch, Dad. But what the hell happened? It feels like our remit just shrank.”
“You know how territorial these pricks can get. I’ll sort it out.”
Madison didn’t seem convinced, but Chase ended the call before she asked any more questions. He wasn’t ready to come clean.
He barely registered the ride back to the District. When traffic backed up suddenly before the Key Bridge, Chase hammered his fist into the steering column. The first blow felt good, so he brought it down again twice more in quick succession. He caught a look at himself in the rearview mirror. Breathing hard. Dark circles around wide eyes. An expression somewhere between rage and terror.
Christ, was this how I looked to Captain Wade? To Miles Gillen?
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed the driver next to him, a middle-aged woman, staring. She had been angling to get ahead of him as their lanes merged, but the look of horror on her face told him she now thought twice about cutting him off. When the space opened up, he nodded sheepishly and pulled ahead.
Come on, Weldon,he thought.Get it together.
So Plan A hadn’t worked. Neither had Plan B. That still left plenty of letters in the alphabet.
The phone rang.
He tensed, but it was only Madison again.
“I have good news and bad news,” she said.
“Let’s start with the good news.”
“Your friend Will just called. WMATA found a package with a suspicious substance inside the Foggy Bottom Metro station. They think it’santhrax, Dad.”
“Jesus. Was anyone hurt?”
“The sweep team is getting checked out, but they were masked and gloved up. Too soon to tell for sure, but they should be fine.”
Chase blew out a long breath. “If that’s the good news, I really don’t want to hear the bad news.”
“I’m worried, Dad.”
“I know. Me too, baby girl.”
“No,” she said, the word an angry dart. “I saw the text yesterday. The BOOM. Then today, I’m suddenly persona non grata at the plant. You’re hiding something.”
“I’m not,” he lied.
“I thought we were a team.”
“We are. It’s going to be all right, Mads, I promise. You just have to trust me.”
“Please come home…”
“On my way.”
The last mile home felt good. He hadn’t gotten the money, Wade had been a prick, and he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet, but FIRST’s actions had disrupted the Voice’s plot. At least for now. Buoyed by Madison’s call, he swore he’d figure out a way to outsmart the bastard on the phone for good.
For once, the rush-hour bustle of the District held some appeal. The traffic was bumper to bumper, the brake lights of the cars casting a warm, red glow in the shadows as the sun dipped below the tops of the buildings to the west. Along the sidewalks, men and women happy for the end of another work day entered restaurants and coffee shops and boutiques.
He thought nothing of the first police car, sirens blaring, speeding in the opposite direction. The second, moments later, got his attention, and by the third, he began to get a bad feeling.
He arrived home in minutes, took one look at his family gathered in front of the TV in the den, and knew it was bad. Madison was crying. Shay held their son, who for once didn’t shrug off the affection. Over the top of Luke’s head, her lips were pressed into a thin line.
“Metro,” she said. “Collision.”
