Fatal Fallout. Lara Lacombe

the growing energy needs of our country.”

      One of the reporters—a short, round woman sporting large glasses and a frown—finished scribbling and opened her mouth to ask a follow-up question. Claire held up a hand before she could speak, shooting her what she hoped was an apologetic smile. “We’ll be having a press conference later today, and I’d appreciate it if you hold the rest of your questions until then.”

      The small group grumbled but began to disperse, freeing Claire to walk into the building. She waited until the elevator doors closed, then leaned back against the wall and rubbed her forehead. What a mess.

      The minor earthquake the day before yesterday had been a wake-up call. Although it was only a four on the Richter scale, the tremors were strong enough to trigger emergency shutdown procedures at the Central Virginia plant. While things had gone off without a hitch, it was only a matter of time before an accident happened. The plant was one of the older ones in the region and needed constant updating, and given budget shortfalls, money was tight. Paradoxically, Central Virginia’s stellar safety record put it at the bottom of the list for repairs—a fact that aggravated Claire to no end.

      She strolled past the reception desk with a quick smile for Eva. “I left you a gift on your desk,” the woman called out.

      “Is it coffee?” Claire asked, unable to keep the note of desperation out of her voice.

      Eva shot her a sly grin. “Maybe.”

      “Oh, you are a goddess.”

      Eva’s laugh followed her down the hall. She stepped into her office and there, on the middle of the desk, sat the distinctive black-and-white cup from her favorite coffee shop. She dropped her bag on the floor and snatched it up, holding it under her nose for a second to inhale the blissful aroma. Taking a sip, she nearly groaned aloud as the rich brew hit her tongue. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

      “Morning.”

      Jerry Witter stood in the doorway, his large frame leaving little room for anything else. “Hey Jerry, how’s it going?”

      He shrugged and stepped inside her office, rubbing a hand over his bushy goatee before replying. “All right, I suppose. Had to shoot me a dog last night.”

      She blinked, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “You shot a dog?” she repeated slowly, trying to understand. The lack of caffeine must be getting to her.

      “Yep. There was a dog in my garage last night.”

      “I see. Did you know this dog?”

      He shook his head. “Nope. Seemed mean though. Kept jumping up on the door, barking and snarling at me. I read his owner’s number off the tag on his collar and called. They’re out of town, told me to just send him home.” He shook his head. “Can you believe that?”

      She shook her head, sinking slowly into her chair. “So what did you do?”

      “Well, I threw some hot dogs out there, but the dog kept coming back inside the garage before I could get the door shut. I can’t have a vicious dog by my house—what if he hurts one of my girls?”

      Claire nodded, not sure she wanted to hear the end of this story.

      “So I got my gun and shot him.”

      She felt her jaw drop as she stared up at him. “Jerry, why didn’t you just call animal control?”

      “What for?” He looked genuinely confused, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “I took care of it.”

      “But...” She searched for something to say, trying hard to relate to a man whose first reaction to a problem was to pick up his gun. “You can’t just kill people’s pets when they annoy you!”

      “I didn’t kill him.”

      She frowned, confused. “You said you shot him.” I haven’t had enough coffee for this.

      “Yeah, but I used rubber bullets. He took off like his tail was on fire,” he said, chuckling at the memory.

      She smiled weakly. “Sounds like quite the adventure.”

      “I ’spose so. Did you have a good night?”

      She sighed, taking another sip of coffee. “Not bad. Prepping for damage control after this earthquake.”

      He snorted. “That wasn’t an earthquake. That was barely a tremor.”

      “Yes, well.” She pulled her laptop out of her bag, placing it on her desk along with a number of other papers. “The Central Virginia alarm went off, so it’s news.”

      “Yeah. Let me know if I can help with anything.”

      “Thanks—I appreciate it.” She powered on her computer, taking another sip of coffee as it booted up.

      Jerry turned to go but stopped at her door, snapping his fingers. “Almost forgot. Dr. Reed wants to bring me in on the Russian cleanup project, and he told me to get some contact information from you.”

      “No problem. Give me just a second....” She typed as she spoke, pulling up her contact list. It would be good to have another person on this project. There were so many nuclear power plants in Russia, many crumbling and unsecured, making them prime targets for terrorists looking to steal radioactive materials. The NSG had teamed up with their Russian counterparts in the hopes of reducing the threat, but it was an uphill battle, and they needed all the help they could get.

      The new-mail icon popped up at the lower right corner of her screen, signifying an unread message. She clicked out of habit, smiling when she saw the email was from Ivan Novikoff.

      “Actually, Ivan just emailed me, so I’ll forward this message to you and you’ll have his information.”

      “Sounds good. Thanks.” He walked out, his movements surprisingly quiet for such a large man.

      She clicked to open the email, frowning as a picture began loading. That was strange. Ivan never sent images—he was hyperparanoid about security, not wanting to risk his messages being intercepted and used against him. Concerns regarding the safety of nuclear power already ran high, and there were many protest groups who would not hesitate to take images out of context and use them to needlessly scare people.

      She reached for her coffee as she glanced at the screen, then gasped. The cup fell from her nerveless hands, hitting the floor and splashing the burning liquid on her legs. She ignored the stinging pain as she focused on the image in front of her, trying to process what she was seeing.

      No.

      She shook her head, putting a fist to her mouth to contain the scream that clawed up her throat. No!

      Leaning over, she retched into the trash can next to her desk. Suddenly Jerry was there, his hand on her back, his voice a buzzing drone in her ears.

      “Ivan...”

      She knew when Jerry saw the image by his sharp intake of breath. He reached out a hand, slamming down the lid of her computer. “Don’t look at that,” he said, his voice gruff.

      She nodded, but it was too late. The image was burned into her brain. All she had to do was close her eyes to see Ivan, her friend and collaborator, lying in a pool of his own blood, the horrible words painted in jagged red script across his chest.

      You’re next.

      * * *

      “Again!”

      Thomas looked down into his niece’s smiling face and couldn’t help but grin in return. “Okay, but this is the last time.”

      Emily watched in wide-eyed fascination as he pulled out his badge and flashed it at her. “Freeze!” he said in his best tough-guy voice. She dissolved into a fit of giggles, nearly crumpling to the floor in hysterics. Her reaction would have worried a lesser man, Thomas mused as he bent to scoop her up. Still, as long as he didn’t have to bust a five-year-old girl anytime