Chapter 35

It didn't matterthat 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?"

Chalmers inclined his head toward the TV. "I hate this woman," he grumbled. "She's got the top show in the time slot, and she's always belittling her callers."

"Then turn it off," Dix suggested, casting a sideways glance at Doc, still huddled on the couch, stroking Coby.

I need to do something about this, and fast.

The sharp-featured host spoke. "We've got an anonymous caller on the phone. Go ahead."

"Yeah, I've been watching the coverage, and I've noticed something no one else seems to be questioning."

"Holy fuck!" Chalmers exclaimed. "That's Sam!" He increased the volume.

"Oh, this should be good. Go on, caller who can't even work up the courage to identify himself. Dazzle us with your brilliance."

"You know, you're a sarcastic bitch."

Chalmers chuckled. "Yeah, that's definitely Sam."

She raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "Is that an example of your sparkling repartee? I call it weak and pathetic."

Chalmers pointed to her. "And this is why I hate this woman."

"Think on this," Sam continued. "The footage was shot by an amateur, right? How did he or she not get killed by the mist? There were people dropping like flies all around, but whoever was filming kept right on going."

For a moment the woman was quiet. "Maybe he used a drone."

"And that would be a great answer, except for one important fact. Reporters have been telling the public ever since the news broke to avoid contact with?—"

"And that's all the time we have." She smiled at the camera. "Tune in tomorrow, when we'll be chatting with?—"

Chalmers turned the television off. "And now that's out there." He met Dix's gaze. "Great minds, huh? What was I saying, hours ago? It's not just me who thinks this stinks." Then his face fell. "He shouldn't have done that."

"Why not? Like you said, it's put the idea out there."

"But what if Spencer gets to hear about it? He sure doesn't want anyone looking into it too deeply. It doesn't buy into the narrative he's putting out." He stared at Dix, his eyes troubled. "What if Sam just painted a big fat target on his back?"

Dix hoped to God Doc didn't hear that.

Josh gazed at Chalmers,stretched out on the couch. "How long has he been asleep?" he said in a low voice.

"Only about fifteen minutes. He was exhausted." Dixon touched Josh's arm. "We should probably get some sleep too."

Josh shook his head. "Not tired." Not physically tired, at any rate. His mind, however? Now that was another matter. It hadn't stopped, sifting through the information, pulling threads together, until an idea began to percolate, one he didn't even want to contemplate.

One he couldn't ignore.

"Doc? Where'd you just go?"

Josh didn't usually adhere to the theory that a problem shared was a problem halved, but he had to tell someone.

I want to be wrong.

The roiling in his belly told him the likelihood of his wish being granted was infinitesimally remote.

Josh walked into the kitchen, away from the sleeping Chalmers, Dixon following. He closed the door behind them.

"Look, we need to talk. I've been thinking about what Spencer said. You know, about some new terror cell. We know that's bullshit, but…." Josh swallowed. "He said its leader is a citizen."

"And?"

He looked Dixon in the eye. "I have an idea. You're not going to like it, but?—"

Dixon barked a laugh. "I haven't liked any of this since the beginning. Why couldn't we just meet, fall in love, and run off together?"

Right then, that sounded far more pleasant than what was running through Josh's head.

"A good dream, but…. It's not going to work out now."

"Doc, you're scaring me."

He shivered. "Not half as much as I scared myself when I realized what he's up to."

Dixon frowned. "You think you know?"

Josh nodded. "They're going to blame me."

"What?" Dixon gaped at him. "How the fuck can they do that?"

Josh leaned against the countertop. "It's the only theory that makes sense. Think about the timeline. They've tried to kill me at least three times." He scowled. "Why? I mean, I don't know much, so why am I such a threat?" He took a breath. "Then it hit me." Josh counted off on his fingers. "I stole the files. I had the formulas. I could easily have replicated them. I could even have been working on the toxin to make it more or less lethal, especially with the samples they claim to have found in my old place."

"But you didn't. Spencer, on the other hand…."

Josh nodded. "Spencer knows I'm a threat to his plan, and that means only one thing." He locked gazes with Dixon. "He had to eliminate me. Well, he's tried that, and it didn't work, so he changed his tactics and dropped hints that they knew who was responsible." He forced a grim smile. "I'll bet you anything you like he's gonna tell the world I'm the bad guy."

Dixon stared at him, aghast. "C'mon, Doc. That can't be right. Can it?"

Josh didn't break eye contact. "We're in his way. He hasn't been able to kill me, so this is the only avenue open to him. You wait and see. Any day now, someone will come on and accuse me of being the mastermind behind this attack. I don't know the reason they'll give, but I've gone over it at least a hundred times in my head, and I keep coming to the same inescapable conclusion."

"They want you out of the way."

"That was it initially, but now I think they also want me as a scapegoat. Spencer is going to use me as his first step to legitimacy. As for my would-be assassins, I think he killed them. Not because they failed, although that was part of it. He's removing the blocks. Anyone, even those involved tangentially, who knows what he's done will wind up dead. If he wants to be respectable, he can't have anyone knowing the truth." He grimaced. "Spencer is going to leave a trail of bodies on his way to the White House, and he fully believes no one will be any the wiser." He paused. "There's something else we need to consider. We have to stop him, because if they arrest me, I can guarantee you, I'll be the next Porter when I turn up in prison with a gunshot to the back of the head."

"No fucking way. We'll end him before we let it get that far."

Josh gave another nod. "So no, I don't want to sleep. I need to get back to working out exactly where Spencer was when all these attacks took place." He peered at Dixon. "So make me something to eat, why don't you? Man cannot live on coffee alone."

"Only if you promise to eat it this time."

He chuckled. "I promise. Now let me go prove I'm a genius."

Josh was more tired than he'd admit, but he needed to achieve something before he gave in to fatigue.

Spencer is dirty. I know it in my bones.

Now all he had to do was find the evidence.

Dix walkedbehind Doc's chair and kissed the top of his head. "Time to call it a day, Doc." He'd let Doc spend way too long focused on his laptop.

Doc stretched, his arms above his head. He gave a weary chuckle when Dix grabbed his wrists. "Well, I can't very well work like this, can I?"

"I'll let you go—only if you switch that off and come eat dinner. And before you ask, it's quesadillas."

Doc's stomach gave a loud grumble. "Anyone ever tell you that you fight dirty?"

"All the freakin' time. Now shut. It. Down."

"Can I at least show you what I've discovered?"

Dix sighed. "Go on."

Doc pointed to the screen. "This first attack? Spencer was two hundred miles away, visiting one of his companies."

"Doesn't exactly put him at the scene of the crime, does it?"

Doc blinked. "You think he'd be stupid enough to be there? But for the second attack, he was only fifty miles away, inspecting one of his factories."

"What about last night? Where was he when the plane flew over Stutton?"

Doc stilled. "Three towns over, as far as I can glean. Close enough to come running when he got the news." He snorted. "His people were on the ground in the affected areas within less than two hours. How? Does he have storage in every town? All the stuff he conveniently needs to step in and ‘help'?"

"And no one has looked into this? Unbelievable."

"Not really." Doc sighed. "When you have money, people give you a lot of leeway. In our country, those with money are regarded as better than most people. It's why we pay sports people millions, but teachers? They get a pittance. It's why those in Congress are willing to sell their souls to the highest bidder. They make more money whoring themselves instead of doing the job they were elected to do. Remember the golden rule: those with the gold make the rules."

"That's such bullshit."

Doc grinned, but it was devoid of humor. It was weary, sad, and laced with pain.

"It's why I don't talk about my money. I like being Wheels. Or Josh." He winked at Dix. "Or Doc. I don't want to be treated differently. Grandma showed me that being genuine was a lot better than being rich. When you're real, people help because they want to. When you're rich, they help because they think they'll get something out of it."

"I'd like to say you're wrong, but I can't," Dix confessed.

"Take Spencer, for example. He flaunts the fact that he's got money. I can pretty much guarantee you he's got plenty of people in his pocket. No normal person would be given such authority in the government, but if enough Congresspeople side with him, he'll have his in."

Dix groaned. "This cloak-and-dagger stuff fucks with my head."

"Tell me about it." He leaned closer to Dix, who was only too happy to wrap an arm around him, to try to keep the world at bay, at least for a little while. "I'm not going to lie or sugarcoat it. I'm scared. This isn't a formula I can figure out. This is trying to predict what someone will do. Someone who gives every indication of being a megalomaniac." He blew out a breath. "And Spencer won't be the worst of it."

That didn't sound good at all. "What do you mean?"

"Even if we take him down, show the world irrefutable proof, there will be those who'll side with him. I don't understand that whole mentality. It's like common sense goes out the window when dollar signs flash."

"Not that there's a lot of that to go around lately."

"Yeah, that." He yawned. "Can we just stay here for a while?"

"Sure, we can sit here and—" Dix's phone rang and he groaned. "I swear, these people have the shittiest timing in the world."

"Hey, you can't help being popular."

Dix swiped a finger over the screen. "Hey, Grayson, what's up?"

"You're not going to believe who just asked to speak to someone in charge."

Please, let it be Spencer. Dix was in the perfect frame of mind to lay him out with one solid punch. "Who is it?"

"She says her name is Kathy Robertson and she needs a bodyguard."

"Never heard of her. Why does she think she needs protecting?"

"Because she's Aaron Spencer's personal assistant, and she thinks he might try to kill her."