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opening to the morning news.
    Maggie saw the international news station’s logo on the side of the camera and now she recognized the reporter’s voice as that of Jeffery Cole. She resisted the urge to wince. This wasn’t some local affiliate. The camera was rolling and Cole believed he had an exclusive interview.
    He moved clear around to the other side, shifting the angle as if jockeying for a better profile of himself even at the expense of exchanging the flames behind them for the building across the street.
    “Detectives, do you have some information about how this firestarted? Or who might have started it? Do we have a serial arsonist loose in the District?”
    “We’re not here to answer any questions at this time,” Maggie said. “I’m sure there’ll be a media briefing later.” She glanced at Tully and Racine, who appeared paralyzed in the camera’s laser beam of light.
    “Can you at least tell us whether anyone was hurt?” Cole continued. “Any fatalities? We haven’t seen any victims brought out yet.”
    Maggie recognized the tactic. The rapid-fire questions that didn’t wait for answers. Reporters did it all the time. Send out a barrage of questions, overwhelm, overload, tax the patience of the already exhausted cops in the hopes of getting a single piece of information. Cops were used to doing the exact same thing to criminal suspects. They just weren’t used to having it done to them.
    Racine started fidgeting and Maggie hoped the detective wouldn’t do something reckless, like tell them to shut the frickin’ camera off. Only Racine would come up with more colorful language or gestures that would require plenty of bleeps if ever broadcast. And Racine’s comments would probably be the ones that would make the 24/7 loop in the cable news cycle.
    Maggie also saw Tully’s hand come out of his coat pocket, but he flexed his fingers and thankfully resisted the urge to shove the camera away or to put his hand over the lens. Both gestures would ensure a top-of-the-hour breaking news spot.
    “Actually we need your help,” Maggie said calmly, addressing Jeffery Cole, not the camera. “I’m sure you and your news organization would want to assist us in this investigation.”
    It was enough to stop the questions. In fact, Cole lookedstunned. That’s when Maggie realized the camerawoman had, indeed, been including him in the shot. The young woman flinched as she glanced over for his instructions. The camera bobbed just a notch.
    “I’m sorry, Detective, but I hope I’m misunderstanding you and you’re not really asking us to stop filming.” He took several steps forward and so did the camerawoman.
    Maggie didn’t budge. She tried not to blink, although she now felt the camera’s spotlight directly in her eyes. “No, that’s not what I’m asking.”
    “Good, because that would be an infringement of our constitutional rights. There is such a thing, Detective, as freedom of the press. And we are allowed to film this and inform our viewers. It would benefit them if you could tell us if you have a suspect? Or if these random torchings will continue? Should they be afraid that it might be their neighborhood tomorrow night? Look around.” He waved for the camerawoman to span the buildings across the street. “It could happen anywhere in the city.”
    “What an asswipe,” Racine muttered behind Maggie and started walking away.
    That’s when Maggie heard a crack like thunder behind her. A second crack was followed by a whoosh that slammed her to the ground.

CHAPTER 10

    Maggie felt the heat press against her and kept her face down in the damp grass. Shattered glass pelted a thousand needles into her back. When she dared take a peek over her shoulder she saw debris floating like feathers and leaving trails of sparks. A glittery mist lit up the night sky, only it wasn’t rain.
    Bystanders ran, some screamed, others were flattened to the ground like Maggie. Some weren’t moving. Flames shot