Page 93 of Power Switch

“Yep.” I click on an interesting article about the upcoming July 4thholiday and the ten best dips to bring to a picnic. “I want a picnic.”

“Randi, focus.”

“I am focused,” I say. I shut the phone off and slide it back between my jean-clad legs. “I'm just distracting myself….” I cock my head to the side, not understanding the panic flaring in his honey brown eyes. “What?”

“Where did you get this water?”

I hook a thumb to the door. “Down there, where I always have water waiting. Why? If you want more, I'm sure there's another bottle in the other door.” I glance across the SUV, tilting forward slightly to look into the other door’s side pocket.

“Randi, baby, we don't leave water for you in the SUV. Too many ways for it to be tampered with. So where did you get it?”

“Right here.” I point down with more emphasis. “And yes you do. I've always had a bottle in here. Well, since… since recently, I guess. Huh. I just assumed it was just a new service you were offering.” Shrugging, I lean back against the cool leather, letting the AC seats help keep the stress sweats at bay. “I broke the seal myself. I heard it. So what's the big deal? It was sealed, so no harm, no foul.”

“Thereisharm, because there are other ways to tamper with the contents without breaking the seal.”

The hair along my arms prickles, standing on end as I put two and two together. Mouth gaping, I shift my unfocused, shocked gaze out the front windshield.

That's not right though… right? It can’t be something as simple as tampering with the water in the SUV.

“Benson, stop,” T says his voice tight. “Let's not freak her out before we know.”

“Too late,” I squeak.

The bottle in question dangles from Trey's fingers as he holds it up to the light.

“Tank's right. We don't know for sure, but it's suspicious.”

“Besides the fact that it's not supposed to be in here, what else is suspicious about it? It looks perfectly normal to me.”

“The smell.” Settling his hand around the top, Trey twists the hard plastic top off and holds the open bottle back to me. “Smell it.” I give it a quick whiff to appease him before leaning back, putting as much distance as I can between me and the bottle. “Smells off, right?”

I nod, then shake my head. In defeat, I raise both shoulders in a dramatic shrug. “I don't smell anything.”

I shiver under his assessing once-over. “Could be the long-term effect of the poisoning from last year. The doc said your taste and smell might be off for a while, and since you've continually gotten small doses, it would never return to normal. It smells like almonds. It's a sign of cyanide being present. But like Tank said, we don't know for sure. I could be way off base and overreacting.”

“But you don't think you are.” I wrap my arms around my chest and rub my hands up and down my thin sweater.

“No, I don't. The biggest indicator is that the bottle is in here, in the seat you always choose.”

“I don't always choose this seat,” I say absentmindedly.

“Sure you do. It gives you a better visual of me.” His cocky smirk looks forced, but he's doing his best to lighten the mood, so I'll take it. “Which means whoever planned it knew your usual routine.” His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching beneath the passing streetlights. With one last hard look, Trey turns in the passenger seat. “What are the odds both my motherandShawn have eyes on the inside?”

“You're thinking it’s one and the same?” T responds. He flicks the blinker, the yellow flashing and clicking seeming too normal for their conversation.

I stare out the window once again, watching the cars drive by, unaware of what's about to happen. At the stoplight, I watch a couple holding hands, laughing as they stroll down the somewhat busy sidewalk. Everything is as it should be for a Friday night in our nation’s capital.

And here I am like some kind of atomic bomb circling, readying to slam to Earth, altering everyone's lives. Some for the better, others for the worse. I won't go easy on those in this town who think they're better just because of money or a title. My DC will be different. I'll put the focus back on the American people, on their core issues and needs.

“Shawn did say he'd be vice president one way or another,” I mutter, sealing my forehead against the cool glass. “What a sicko.”

Both men grunt, their anger and tension now almost palpable in the confines of the SUV.

“We're here.”

The black Suburban lurches forward as T pulls to a stop outside the restaurant entrance. Tense silence fills the cab as I inspect the entrance to the restaurant, desperately wishing it would somehow get sucked into a black hole, saving me from what has to happen.

The weight of their stares shifts my attention to the two men.

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