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down.”
    Her heart sank. Mike was sleeping away yet another day. In all the years they’d been together, Annabelle had never known him even to take a nap on a Sunday afternoon. A day off from the firehouse meant he was really physically ill, and those days were exceedingly rare. Now, day after day, week after week, Mike’s hours were spent alone in the apartment, lying in bed with the shades pulled down, alternately sleeping and thrashing dark thoughts over and over in his mind.
    Even the twins couldn’t pull him out of his misery. Mrs. Nuzzo told her that Tara and Thomas had stopped trying to go in and talk to him when she brought them home from school each afternoon. The children had been rebuffed too many times. Instead, they stayed with their baby-sitter until Mommy came home from work, waiting to tell their other parent how their day at school had gone.
    “Did you get the kids to school all right?”
    “Yeah, the poor things were actually excited that I was taking them.”
    “They love you, Mike.” She was tempted to add, “And they’re worried about you,” but she didn’t want her husband to feel worse than he already did. Editing herself was a way of life now, choosing her words carefully so as not to upset him. She ached for the not-so-long-ago days when they could say anything to each other.
    “How’s work?”
    He was interested? A hopeful sign.
    “Not great. I’m about to go into a meeting with Yelena Gregory and the rest to get raked over the coals for this anthrax thing.”
    “What anthrax thing?”
    Her hopes were dashed.
    “Remember? I told you about it this morning before I rushed to work? That’s why you had to walk the twins to school.”
    “Oh, yeah,” he answered dully. “Well, I’m sure you’ll work things out. KEY News is lucky to have you, Annabelle.”
    “I’m glad you think so, honey,” she answered, feeling very alone. “After this morning, I hope they do.”

    Annabelle took a quick look around the president’s office. She had never been in here before, and she had somehow expected something more. Television monitors, each tuned to a different network, were mounted on the bookcase behind Yelena Gregory’s massive desk. Framed journalism awards decorated the dove gray walls, and an Oriental rug covered the floor. But the room wasn’t especially large, nor was the view out the windows particularly impressive. Snarled traffic on Fifty-seventh Street.
    Security Chief Joe Connelly sat in one of the chairs across from Yelena’s desk; Linus Nazareth was in another. Feeling like an errant schoolgirl called down to the principal’s office, Annabelle took a place next to John Lee on the sofa.
    “Let’s get right to it,” Yelena snapped. “I want to know how this happened.”
    All eyes went to Linus, but he was looking at John Lee. The force of the stare directed the others to turn in the direction of the sofa.
    “Yelena”—Lee squirmed—“I realize now that I shouldn’t have unilaterally decided to do what I did, but I was afraid if I told anyone I had gotten the anthrax and was planning to bring it on the broadcast, the plan might have gotten the kibosh.”
    “So you took it on yourself to make this decision? Without discussing it with your producer or running it by the executive producer?” Yelena asked with skepticism.
    Annabelle felt the heat rise on her cheeks as the room waited for Lee’s answer.
    “Yes. I did it all on my own. And in my defense, it was a story worth telling. America needs to know.”
    Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Be that as it may, you had no right to go on air with something of this magnitude without running it by anyone up the chain of command. Now, for legal and reputation reasons, KEY News is put in the position of having to defend you and your actions, and I resent it. If we had known what you were planning to do and gave the green light on it, we could have been prepared with a response. Now we’re scrambling with damage control.