Edge of Black. J.T. Ellison

here. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

      Sam reached into her pocket. She opened the phone and saw a blank screen. It must have run out of battery on her walk home.

      “Whoops. It’s dead.”

      “That’s a seriously cheap-ass phone, lady.”

      “It’s a seriously old phone, and I should probably get a new battery for it. Otherwise, it does its job.”

      His playful tone changed.

      “How bad is it?” He didn’t need to say more.

      “I don’t know yet. Fletcher blew me off and Nocek said there were no casualties yet. It’s a biological agent of some kind. What’s the news saying?”

      “Multiple contradictory accounts. I’m so glad you’re home. I was worried about you. Are you...okay?”

      Sam knew what he was talking about. Since the flood, since she lost her family, these kinds of events had a tendency to shake her. Natural disasters—tornadoes, hurricanes, wildfires, floods—fed her anxiety and caused her to relapse into obsessive hand washing. She tried not to sit up nights watching the Weather Channel, but sometimes succumbed. She felt that the only way she could ever move past the fear was through immersion. If you’re afraid of spiders, you spend time letting tarantulas crawl on your arm. If you’re afraid to fly, you get on airplanes as often as possible.

      If you’re worried a terrible flood might sweep your life away...

      It wasn’t necessarily a healthy choice, but it worked for her.

      Xander, on the other hand, spent his time avoiding all things that could remind him of his own stormy past. He didn’t understand her need to watch, to experience, to relive. To punish herself through others’ pain. He’d served multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, seen things she could only imagine in her worst nightmares. He’d lost friends. He’d spent nights under fire, days in armored carriers driving IED-laden roads, weeks on foot in the desert, not knowing if each breath was his last. When he got out of the Army, he went to ground, alone in the woods, cut off from everyone and everything. Until Sam.

      They were a perfect fit. Each damaged, each desperate. Each so very alone.

      She considered his question. Was she okay? Strangely, she’d only had a few moments today where she wanted to wash. Instead, she’d been slightly jazzed by it all. She took that as an encouraging sign.

      “I’m good. I promise. I was worried about you, too. I’m really glad you’re here, Xander.”

      She poured a cup of tea, and they settled in the living room where Xander already had the television on. Every channel was in full-on breaking-news alert. Sam had enough experience with emergency situations to know that half of the information was wrong, and the other half would change fifty times before the end of the day. What they could glean so far wasn’t much more than what Sam already knew.

      She flipped channels while Xander used her computer to surf the internet, searching for anything he could find. As a former Ranger, he had a different set of contacts than Sam. When the news broke another piece of the story, Xander would confirm or deny based on what his military brethren were saying across their message boards and chat rooms.

      By 5:00 p.m. things had boiled down to a set of certainties no one could deny. Someone had released an airborne toxin in the Washington, D.C., Metro. It caused a progressive pulmonary distress. And two people were confirmed dead.

      Everything else at this point was just speculation. The tests were being done on the toxin; so far they’d ruled out some of the obvious—the ones that would have created different symptoms. Sarin, ricin. Anthrax was still high on the list of possibles. The words made chills slip through her system.

      The problem was, testing took time.

      Just the idea of that made her skin crawl.

      Sam decided she’d had enough. She went to the kitchen and began making dinner. She’d just unwrapped a head of butter lettuce when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, saw Fletcher’s number. She pretended not to notice the uptick in her pulse as she answered.

      “Fletch? Everything okay?”

      “No. I need you, Sam. I’ll be there in five minutes. Meet me out front, we don’t have much time.”

      “Need me for what?” she asked, but he’d already hung up the phone.

      She replaced the receiver and put the lettuce back in the refrigerator.

      Xander was on the laptop in her office. “Hey,” she said. “Anything new?”

      “No. Same old shit—speculation and fear mongering. No one has a clue what’s going down.”

      “I have to go. Fletcher just called. He’s picking me up in a few minutes.”

      He rolled back in the chair. “Go where?”

      “I don’t know. He just said he needed me and to meet him outside.”

      “Why don’t I come with you?”

      “I get the sense I may be a while. He sounded totally stressed-out. They might just need some extra hands.”

      “But there’s only two dead.”

      “Xander, I have no idea what he needs. I would assume it’s my services with the sharp end of a scalpel. Come out to the street with me, let’s see what’s happening. I’m sure he’ll tell us when he gets here.”

      She grabbed her bag and her phone, tossed a light sweater over her shoulders just in case. Xander held her hand as they walked down her front steps to wait for Fletcher. She appreciated that he didn’t nag her about running off with another man. He was special, he knew it, and he was comfortable with his place in her world.

      They didn’t have to wait long, Fletcher arrived with a squeal of tires a moment later. He put the passenger window down.

      “Get in, Doc. We gotta go.”

      She stuck her head in the window. “What’s up?”

      He shot a glance at Xander, who was leaning in as well, over her shoulder. His face tightened imperceptibly.

      “Classified.”

      “Come on, Fletcher. He has the right to know.”

      “Sorry. This one comes from above. You can call him later. Now, Sam. I’m not kidding.”

      She turned back to Xander, who had a frown on his face. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. Don’t worry, okay?” She kissed him lightly, then got in the car before he could protest.

      Fletcher slammed the gas and the car leaped from the curb. Sam grabbed the seat belt and jammed it into the lock.

      “Jesus, Fletch. What the hell?”

      He didn’t move his eyes from the road, spoke grimly.

      “Congressman Leighton is dead.”

      Chapter 5

      Sam recognized the congressman’s name, but that was all. She told Fletcher that. He glanced over at her and barked a small, humorless laugh.

      “You’re probably the only one in D.C. who doesn’t know everything about him. Peter Leighton is the head of the Armed Services Subcommittee. Four-term congressman from Indiana, Democrat, big-time dove. He’s been shooting down the military for years, authoring bills to cut spending, shutting down VA hospitals, the works. But lately, he’s had a change of heart. He authored an appropriations bill that will give more funding to the military. It’s a massive reversal. He’s been under fire.”

      “Now I’ve got him. Xander isn’t a fan.”

      “I can’t imagine why not,” he said drily.

      “So what’s the story?”