possibilities. We do believe the wildfire and the animal deaths are two coincidental, unrelated events, and we are treating them as two separate investigations. And we’ve recently followed up on an important new lead, which, as you can appreciate, must remain confidential for the time being. But our recent tests have not detected any contaminants of any kind, so we no longer believe there is any cause for concern over the public’s health. Starting today, we’re lifting the water recreation advisory for the surrounding area.”
It was a bluff, and Carter knew from the look on Bishop’s face that it hadn’t come off quite as he’d intended. The press weren’t too thrilled with the lack of detail either, and as Carter thanked them and turned away, he caught a few disgruntled expressions and some looks of — what was it? — derision.
Bishop, however, knew better than to point out any of that to Carter, and he let the silence speak for itself. He tended to regard the media as an unnecessary evil, one that usually hampered investigations or sent the perpetrators advance clues, and so his attitude toward reporters was gruff at best.
What Carter had done was thrown them off the scent, but he’d also given them some actual breaking news in the cause of the wildfire and the lifting of the water recreation ban. It would be good enough for now, but time was running out.
Every person in the campground wildfire had a file with the FBI, even the Jennings family. Two people in particular stood out to Carter — the “Reston Superhero” and her sidekick — but his quick review of Nicole and Amy hadn’t sounded any alarms. The girls didn’t fit the profile of a terrorist or an anarchist.
“Take a look at this.” Agent Carter brought up AmesAndNix.com and started one of the girls’ more recent postings. Bishop watched as Amy appeared and whispered “… I’m going to put my personal safety at risk just to show you what a sleeping superhero looks like. Let’s see if she exhibits any of her superpowers this morning… ” Agent Bishop formed a small grin and struggled to withhold a laugh while watching the show unfold. Carter was not amused and stared in poorly concealed disgust as his partner enjoyed the video.
“Come on. Really? I don’t think these girls have anything to do with this,” Bishop said. “They’re just goofy kids. Look at them. The only tragedy taking place here is the one girl filming her friend without makeup.”
Carter snapped Bishop back to reality. “One just went on national TV to talk about the wildfire and how she rescued a child. These girls were central to the event, and that makes them people of interest.”
With leads and angles leading nowhere, Bishop searched in his memory over his long experience at the FBI for something — anything — he and Carter could be missing. Biological? Chemical? Military? Still could be terrorists. And if somebody was trying to send them a message, it wasn’t a clear message. Right now, they had nothing.
A Box Marked “Weird”
Nicole eased the messenger bag strap from her shoulder and got out her English homework. She rubbed her neck, reddened from the weight of the bag’s books. Then, kicking off her Converse sneakers, she dived onto the bed and lay there, face down.
It was Wednesday. Only Wednesday, and it had been the longest of weeks already. A small groan escaped her.
Her mom gave a brief knock before entering. Nicole raised her head from the pillows to offer some kind of lively response. She’d thought she had the house to herself, having forgotten that her mom had swapped shifts and was on a late one again tonight.
Her mom came in with a pile of folded-up laundry and set it down next to Nicole’s dresser.
“How was school today?”
“Yeah. OK.”
“Really?” Her mom didn’t seem to believe her, and she sat down beside Nicole on the bed.
School had been challenging because the main topic of discussion had been her and entirely
It was a bluff, and Carter knew from the look on Bishop’s face that it hadn’t come off quite as he’d intended. The press weren’t too thrilled with the lack of detail either, and as Carter thanked them and turned away, he caught a few disgruntled expressions and some looks of — what was it? — derision.
Bishop, however, knew better than to point out any of that to Carter, and he let the silence speak for itself. He tended to regard the media as an unnecessary evil, one that usually hampered investigations or sent the perpetrators advance clues, and so his attitude toward reporters was gruff at best.
What Carter had done was thrown them off the scent, but he’d also given them some actual breaking news in the cause of the wildfire and the lifting of the water recreation ban. It would be good enough for now, but time was running out.
Every person in the campground wildfire had a file with the FBI, even the Jennings family. Two people in particular stood out to Carter — the “Reston Superhero” and her sidekick — but his quick review of Nicole and Amy hadn’t sounded any alarms. The girls didn’t fit the profile of a terrorist or an anarchist.
“Take a look at this.” Agent Carter brought up AmesAndNix.com and started one of the girls’ more recent postings. Bishop watched as Amy appeared and whispered “… I’m going to put my personal safety at risk just to show you what a sleeping superhero looks like. Let’s see if she exhibits any of her superpowers this morning… ” Agent Bishop formed a small grin and struggled to withhold a laugh while watching the show unfold. Carter was not amused and stared in poorly concealed disgust as his partner enjoyed the video.
“Come on. Really? I don’t think these girls have anything to do with this,” Bishop said. “They’re just goofy kids. Look at them. The only tragedy taking place here is the one girl filming her friend without makeup.”
Carter snapped Bishop back to reality. “One just went on national TV to talk about the wildfire and how she rescued a child. These girls were central to the event, and that makes them people of interest.”
With leads and angles leading nowhere, Bishop searched in his memory over his long experience at the FBI for something — anything — he and Carter could be missing. Biological? Chemical? Military? Still could be terrorists. And if somebody was trying to send them a message, it wasn’t a clear message. Right now, they had nothing.
A Box Marked “Weird”
Nicole eased the messenger bag strap from her shoulder and got out her English homework. She rubbed her neck, reddened from the weight of the bag’s books. Then, kicking off her Converse sneakers, she dived onto the bed and lay there, face down.
It was Wednesday. Only Wednesday, and it had been the longest of weeks already. A small groan escaped her.
Her mom gave a brief knock before entering. Nicole raised her head from the pillows to offer some kind of lively response. She’d thought she had the house to herself, having forgotten that her mom had swapped shifts and was on a late one again tonight.
Her mom came in with a pile of folded-up laundry and set it down next to Nicole’s dresser.
“How was school today?”
“Yeah. OK.”
“Really?” Her mom didn’t seem to believe her, and she sat down beside Nicole on the bed.
School had been challenging because the main topic of discussion had been her and entirely
Similar Books
