Fireproof

only a slightly better chance for those given an unregulated, unapproved vaccine.
    That Maggie had survived amazed her doctors and the experts at the army research facility. Since then Cunningham’s replacement, Raymond Kunze, had been sending both Maggie and Tully on wild-goose chases, either impossible or simply ridiculous cases, brazenly telling them that they needed to prove their worthiness to him.
    It was ridiculous. Both of them were veteran FBI agents. Both had gained hard-earned reputations as expert profilers. It was Kunze’s way of interjecting his authority over a department that held their previous director in high regard. Maybe Kunze felt he couldn’t possibly function in Cunningham’s shadow, so his solution was to tear the agents down and rebuild them in his image, to his standards.
    Tully had little respect for the man. He viewed him as a bullymore concerned with power and politics than with solving crimes or deflecting criminals. Kunze slid down even further on Tully’s scale when the last wild-goose chase the man sent Maggie on ended up getting her Tasered, left in a forest, and shot in the head. All because the man wanted to repay a political favor.
    Which made Tully wonder—what was it about this case that had Kunze sending in two of his top profilers? Who did he owe or want to please? Had he already suspected last week that the case would take a violent turn?
    “Hey, Tully, Racine,” Ivan called out, interrupting Tully’s thoughts as he waved at them from the opening of the alley. “We just found another one for you inside.”

CHAPTER 13

    Maggie already regretted her decision.
    A nurse had poked and cleaned and prepped her wounds, murmuring a few “uh-huhs” with the appropriate inflections for the bloodier ones. She left Maggie with a sterile towel to hold against the back of her head.
    “Don’t be lifting this off now to take a look,” she warned.
    As soon as the nurse cleared the doorway Maggie lifted the towel and took a look. There was enough blood on the towel that it looked as if someone had wiped up puddles of it. She fingered the same wounds the nurse had just cleaned. The one on her neck would require sutures. The others were minor scrapes. Scalp wounds bled a lot. Didn’t mean much. None of it was worth a trip to the ER. The guy sitting next to her in the waiting area had had his lip hanging down on his chin. Now, he needed to be here.
    In the waiting area Maggie had spent the time watching the others, checking for burns, especially on the hands. Sometimes criminals made mistakes, got hurt, and didn’t think twice before going to an ER. Gunshot or knife wounds would require a police report, but burns were easily explained away. It wouldn’t be thefirst time an arsonist sat in an ER waiting room while a blaze he’d started still burned.
    Now Maggie considered getting up and leaving the exam room to continue looking at the other patients. At least she’d be doing something. Would anyone notice if she left? The place was crazy busy. The fact that she was law enforcement moved her up the list. However, she had insisted they treat the man with half his lip ripped off before they took her.
    She had scooted to the edge of the table, ready to hop down, when the door opened.
    “I am Dr. Dabu. You are O’Dell, Margaret?”
    The man was short, had an Indian accent, and looked too young to be a resident, let alone a doctor.
    “Yes. It’s Maggie actually.”
    He looked at her over the computer tablet, then back at the screen as if checking to make sure the name hadn’t changed.
    “Explosion, yes?” He sounded eager, like a contestant on a game show.
    “Right.”
    “We need sutures, yes?”
    We need our head examined , was what she wanted to tell him, but she simply nodded.
    Regret suddenly became a lump in her stomach. She realized she wouldn’t be able to put off Kunze’s psychological evaluation now. She wasn’t sure which was worse—listening to her career regurgitated in psychobabble or seeing that scared concern on R. J. Tully’s face.
    She paid little attention when Dr. Dabu pulled open a suture tray. She could feel the needle poke into the back of her neck. Thenurse had returned to assist and Maggie tuned out their bits of communication. Neither asked about her blurred vision or the jackhammer at her temple. Had she mentioned either to the paramedic who had shined the tiny laser-beamed flashlight into each of her eyes? He had asked her a series of