Bringer of Fire Read Free Page B

offered. “We don’t assess you on your housekeeping.”
    However, Agent Burroughs appeared to be intently focused on the items lying across the room on the floor, not far from the dining room table.
    I bet that guy catches everything.
    “Can I get either of you something to drink? I have juice and bottled water,” I said. “Oh, and 7Up.”
    They both declined, so I perched on the edge of the reading chair that was relatively devoid of laundry.
    I really should try to clean this place up.
    Not that I’d expected to entertain the FBI anytime soon. And it wasn’t like I’d been having dinner parties, either. I’d discovered that not knowing if you’re going to be among the living in the near future or not tended to put a damper on one’s social activities.
    “No, nothing for us, thanks,” Agent Sanders replied.
    I couldn’t help thinking that she had striking eyes, and I liked the way that her short, auburn hair framed her features. Of course, the fact that such things came to my attention punctuated the fact that I hadn’t been on a date in a long time, either.
    “What can I do for you this evening?” I asked.
    “Mr. Bringer, we’re investigating the expl---” Sanders began.
    “Mr. Bringer, can you tell me your whereabouts this past Monday evening and until Tuesday morning?” Agent Burroughs abruptly cut her off.
    To her credit, Agent Sanders glared daggers at him.
    Despite my unexpected circumstances, I’d been carefully observing my visitors in much the same manner that they appeared to be assessing me.
    I determined that while they were close to my age, Burroughs was definitely the senior. For that reason and more, I also estimated that Sanders was not only the junior partner, but none too pleased about that fact, either.
    “Here at home. I was ill with a stomach virus,” I smoothly replied.
    Burroughs scribbled on a notepad that he had extracted from his jacket pocket. It appeared in his hand like such a classic FBI prop that I almost laughed aloud. I remembered when my Dad used to watch old Dragnet episodes on TV when I was growing up.
    “Can you name any witnesses who can corroborate that?”
    So the guy was going all “Joe Friday” from Dragnet on me, after all.
    Just the facts .
    “I took part in a number of phone calls during that time, and my sister came over Tuesday morning after she called to tell me about the building explosion.”
    I had no illusions as to why the FBI was visiting me. Hell, I was a patient in that building, after all.
    “Is it correct that you were receiving treatments at the Nuclegene cancer treatment center in the Wallace Building?”
    “Yes.”
    “What type of cancer were you being treated for?” Sanders asked.
    “Terminal brain cancer.”
    I added terminal for dramatic effect. Sanders’ expression softened but Burroughs seemed unimpressed.
    “When did you last visit the Wallace Building?” Burroughs asked.
    “A week ago Tuesday.”
    “When were you due to go there again?” Sanders asked.
    “Tuesday morning of this week.”
    Sanders stared at me and her lips parted slightly with the undeniable recognition that I had dodged one of fate’s biggest bullets.
    “Why didn’t you go to the Wallace Building on Tuesday morning as scheduled?” Burroughs pressed.
    I stared back at him.
    “Because I had a stomach virus.”
    Somebody’s not paying attention.
    “Mr. Burroughs, your army personnel file indicates that one of your specialties was in demolitions. Is that correct?”
    I quickly realized where the direction the conversation was headed.
    “Yes.”
    “Describe that in more detail for us,” he said.
    “I was on a fire team during two tours in Afghanistan and one of my specialties was in demolitions. I helped to render useless a variety of weapons caches, as well as fight Islamic insurgents.”
    “Only two? A lot of soldiers have served more than just two tours overseas,” Burroughs said.
    I frowned, unsure where he was going with that.
    “I