Page 115 of Broken Wheels

There was silence for a moment, and then the guard cleared his throat. “No, sir. She exited the building at five-thirty.”

A jolt went through him.

“Was she carrying anything?” Like a few folders of stuff Spencer didn’t want to see the light of day.

“I think she was carrying a purse, sir. Or maybe a messenger bag. I’m not sure. She was only here a little bit. I could check the video footage if it’s important.”

Messenger bag?

He went into the outer office and glanced at Kathy’s desk.

No laptop.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

That fucking bitch.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when everything was in place.

If his fears weren’t groundless and she was doing what he thought she was doing, then he would have to adjust his plans.

Adjust? Hell, he’d accelerate them, before Kathy could screw him over completely. Suddenly he was glad he hadn’t decided to spare her, and as for her death being pain-free?

Yeah, right. Kathy Robertson had just guaranteed herself a bucket load of it.

Chapter 35

It didn’t matter that more than ten hours had elapsed since the initial news report—Doc had cocooned himself in a bubble that neither Dix nor Chalmers could penetrate. He sat on the couch, cuddling Coby, and now and then there would be a fresh bout of tears. He hadn’t stopped crying since he’d seen what happened, and kept murmuring how it never should have occurred. Dix had put food in front of him, but Doc hadn’t touched it. It was all Dix could do to get him to drink.

If he goes on like this….

Dix had never seen Doc so… broken.

On TV, the news reports were constant. The confirmed number of deaths rose and fell as people who were thought dead were found alive in another part of the city. Then it rose again. The poisonous mist was so virulent that no one in the affected area had been spared.

The sheer number of people who spoke on television was staggering, each trying to find a new angle to exploit. Dix watched as congressmen, doctors, and the families of the deceased were interviewed. The latter sickened him, the reporters like buzzards, circling a prey too weak and bewildered to fend off the persistent and clearly intrusive questioning. More than one anchorman had mentioned that since the attack took place on US soil, the president would be addressing the nation, and that was the reason no one had thought to turn off the TV.

Gary had advised Dix not to leave Doc’s side, not that Dix had intended being anywhere but in their apartment. Chalmers was channel-hopping, and the constant flicking of stations grated on Dixon’s nerves.

When his frustration achieved critical mass, Dix exploded.

“For fuck’s sake, will you just settle on one show, instead of jumping around? Because if you keep this up, I might have to beat your ass.”

Chalmers pointed to the TV screen. “And here we go.”

Dix watched as the president stepped up to the lectern, the White House logo behind him between two white columns, the US flag to the left. A hush fell over those seated on the rows of chairs.

The president took a deep breath.

“My fellow Americans, only hours ago we suffered one of the greatest attacks on US soil in history. Over twenty-five hundred of our fellow citizens lost their lives, and our thoughts and prayers are with their families during this trying time.” He paused. “We are grateful for the efforts of Aaron Spencer, whose company has been handling the cleanup of these attacks since the beginning.” The president scanned the faces of the reporters. “Because this is just the latest in a line of attacks against the American people. The White House is working closely with Spencer, who has evidence as to the perpetrator of the heinous acts.” He squared his shoulders. “I vow that justice will be swift.”

Chalmers let out a low growl. “Fuck. He’s got the president in his pocket. Don’t think I can watch anymore.” He clicked the remote over and over again, until finally he landed on a talk show.

Dix gave an exacerbated sigh. “Haven’t you seen enough of this crap?”

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