BooksBarbecue
Back Season of Fear
Chapters (67)
  1. Contents
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONETHE EXTREMES
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. PART TWOSOMETHING BAD
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. PART THREECHAYLA
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. PART FOURHIT AND RUN
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. EPILOGUE
  67. AUTHOR’S NOTE

Inside the office, she stared over the beige fabric walls of the cubicles. She heard the cacophony of voices and the rattle of keys. It was campaign season, and everyone worked late. She followed the building wall toward her brother’s office. The wall was taped over with news about politicians and policies. It was a low-tech bulletin board where researchers shared information that didn’t necessarily make it online. Gaffes. Issues. Photographs. Things they could use against people.

She flopped down in Deacon’s guest chair and rocked nervously back and forth. Her brother sat in front of his computer, and his fingers flew.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey, good job today. You got the recorder?’

Peach reached into her pocket and handed him the Sony voice recorder that she’d used with Walter Fleming and Brent Reed.

‘I’ll run it through Dragon and get it back to you,’ Deacon said.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I talked to Caprice. She said to keep the lid on the news. She thinks if the story about the Governor breaks too early, it’ll force him to deny it and stay in the race.’

‘Duh.’

‘You going back to the convention tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, probably. I don’t have anything else to do.’

Deacon stopped working and stared at his sister. ‘Look, why don’t you knock off for the day? Go home. Forget about the weekend. Someone else can cover it.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Did you eat?’

‘I had half a salad.’

‘You need to eat.’

‘Whatever,’ Peach said. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I know you’re upset.’

‘I’m not upset. I’m nothing. That’s what bugs me, you know? I don’t feel a thing, and I don’t know what to do about it.’

‘I told you, go home,’ Deacon said. ‘Get some sleep. Or go work out. Go for a run.’

‘Maybe,’ she said again. ‘You going home soon?’

‘Later. I want to hit the gym.’

Deacon worked out every day. It was the only way to get past the stress of politics. He was skinny and strong, but he had a soft-edged face with unruly red hair and bedroom-blue eyes. He was a dead ringer for their father. Same long nose with a little hook. Same dreamy smile. He rarely shaved, giving him a stubbly strawberry beard. Women really went for Deacon. At the gym, girls homed in on him as if there were some kind of pheromone in his sweat. He never got serious about anyone, though. The two of them were all about work.