Cutting Edge

Maggie bad vibes. Maybe because he was so clean-cut, but she hadn’t seen him very well through the crack in the door.

“Sean-he’s a new student,” she said.

“Oh.” No one interesting. “I forgot Leif’s meetings were on Mondays. Sorry I kept you.”

Anya shook her head. “I wasn’t planning on going.” She sat back down on the edge of her bed. “It’s over,” she said.

“We’re not talking about it,” Chris snapped. That had been one of their strictest rules: Never discuss past actions.

“I’m not. I’m stating a fact. I can’t live with myself if there’s another accident, if someone else-”

“Anya!” Chris shouted. “That’s enough.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t like being yelled at.

Maggie played the part of her defender. “Cut it out, Chris. We’re all upset. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Scott stared at her, but he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t. He was as guilty as she was. Well, he hadn’t actually cut Jonah Payne, but he’d helped Maggie bring the body back from Tahoe, and he hadn’t said boo about it. Of course not. He was always too stoned to care much about anything but when he was getting his high. He was stoned now. Not too heavily, but enough to mellow him out.

“I’m sorry, Maggie,” Anya said. “I can’t do it anymore. It’s wrong.”

Wrong? Anya had said the wrong word. There was nothing wrong in burning to the ground corrupt businesses. There was nothing wrong about killing bastards like Jonah Payne who destroyed lives without a thought. Lives like Maggie’s father, who had just wanted a platform like everyone else …

“We’re done,” Scott agreed. “I’m out. Chris?”

“Yeah.” Chris acted like a tough guy, but he’d gotten sick earlier. He didn’t have the stomach for action, and Maggie was glad they were quitting.

“It’s unanimous,” Maggie said. “I’m relieved.” Relieved that she had a plan to take care of these fools.

Anya hugged her. “I’m glad you’re back, Maggie.” She tried not to feel guilty, but she squirmed.

“Me, too.” Maggie pulled back, blinking away tears.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I’m just-the ducks. I’m so angry and upset. They didn’t need to do it.” That was the truth. Agent Nora English, the things she’d said. The things she’d allowed to happen. Maggie couldn’t think about that now. Later, later when she was alone and didn’t have to worry about what she said or did or thought.

“I’m thirsty,” Maggie said. “Anyone for iced tea?”

“Water?” Anya asked.

“Sorry, none here.” She’d gotten rid of it, knowing Anya preferred water to anything else.

“Iced tea, then,” Anya said.

Maggie poured the tea into cups and handed them around. She reached into her pocket, looked at her cell phone. “Damn, it’s my mother.” She rolled her eyes. “I gotta talk to her. I’m going in the hall so she doesn’t think I’m having a big party or anything.” As she opened the door she said, “Hi, Mom.”

She closed the door, pocketed her cell phone, and walked quickly away.

“Something’s up with her,” Chris said to Anya and Scott.

“Maggie?” Anya shook her head. “She tried to get back into college, but Rose said they needed the money from last semester before they would readmit her. She doesn’t have enough. I gave her three hundred dollars, all the extra money I have.” She drank her tea. It was icy cold and tasted like oranges.

“Too much sugar,” Scott said after sipping, but he gulped it down anyway.

“I think this whole thing is fucked,” Chris said. “The accident, then the feds killing all those birds. I just want to get out of here. Do you think they might, you know, put it together?”

Anya put a hand on her stomach. She had gas, pretty bad, but she didn’t want to ask Chris and Scott to leave just yet.

“I think I ate too many cookies,” Scott said.

Chris didn’t say anything, but his face was turning purple.

“Chris?” Anya stood, stepped toward him and fell to the floor, her stomach clenching. Suddenly she vomited uncontrollably.

Chris started convulsing, and Anya panicked when she couldn’t catch her breath. Intense pain radiated through her limbs and she couldn’t get up.

She crawled-slithered-to the door. Behind her, Scott started vomiting, the sound so deep, so violent, that Anya feared for him.

She couldn’t see, her head was floating, her body so tight. Her throat burned as if on fire.

It seemed like hours, but it couldn’t have taken her more than a couple minutes to reach the door. She pulled herself up against the wall, could barely touch the knob. Her vision blurred and she couldn’t turn the handle.

“Help!” she called, but couldn’t hear her voice. “Help.” Her throat wasn’t working. All she heard was her own breath coming in raspy moans.

Her hand wasn’t cooperating. Her vision faded, the pain so intense she just wanted to die.

She was dying.

Leif.

Help.

She retched again, down her front, and saw blood. Help.

Her hand fell from the knob and she slumped against the door.

CHAPTER TEN

While Nora changed her clothes, Duke walked around her house, curious. He’d never been here before, and he was pleased to see that it was both what he expected-private, tasteful, neat-and what he didn’t expect: open rooms, lots of windows, large garden, and an extensive collection of knickknacks.

The house itself wasn’t large, but it rested at the end of a short, private street in a hidden community in the middle of Fair Oaks. Each room was oversized, with high, vaulted ceilings and large windows. The windows in the rear looked out into a yard that distinguished itself by being simple: A deck overlooked a wide expanse of mowed grass, with established oak trees along the back hillside, a small, elegant pool to the right, and a rose garden to the left. The lighting was well placed, and the yard was one that would be comfortable year-round-there was even a gazebo in the corner for rainy days.

Duke had expected Nora to be more of a minimalist, but her home had built-in bookshelves in nearly every room, bursting with books and knickknacks and pictures, mostly of her and her sister Quin. Nora seemed to collect … things. One shelf of small clear glass animals, another shelf of seashells, another of ceramic elephants, and yet another of coffee mugs from twenty-one of the fifty states. He counted them.

In the den there were stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes and vintage crowding a loveseat in the corner. It made him wonder why she couldn’t part with any of them, why she clung to mementos. Above the couch was a framed photograph of Nora accepting an award, rifle in hand. He looked closer and was impressed, but not surprised, that she’d made FBI Sharpshooter.

There were two bedrooms on either side of the great room, each with its own bathroom, but Duke avoided those, not wanting to walk in on Nora dressing. Not true. He absolutely wanted to watch her dress-or undress. But not tonight. They were exhausted, and he just wanted to make sure she was okay after the afternoon at the lake. The experience bothered her on many levels, and Duke had finally gotten her to start opening up.

He found her in the kitchen. She’d changed into sweatpants and a faded FBI Academy T-shirt. She still looked gorgeous. She’d washed her face, and though she wore little makeup during the day, now she was fresh-faced and looked younger than her years.

“I boiled some water-I’m having chamomile tea, no caffeine-nothing to interrupt my sleep tonight. I also have caffeinated bags-”