Escape to Morning

by Susan May Warren

  But what if it had been Sarah or Conner down there, hurt and dying? What if it had been her on the other end of the squawk, begging for help? That thought left Andee feeling hollow as she walked out to her Jeep, the lights of the parking lot pooling on the hood. How would she ever forgive the pilot who’d turned his back?

  The man thought he’d been chasing a terrorist. Instead, he’d taken down a drunk hunter who managed to spill over two hundred thousand gallons of oil on the ground. She opened her door and slid into her car. Yes, doom-sdayers said it could happen—sabotage of TAPS. But with the new age of Homeland Security, it felt far-fetched.

  Perhaps the FBI agent had concocted a cover story, something to keep him free from an accessory-to-manslaughter charge. People would do just about anything to dodge their own guilt. Look at her, running from one end of the continent to the other.

  She turned the engine over, pulled out, and headed to her efficiency apartment in Earthquake Park.

  If some terrorist was going to sabotage the pipeline, it wouldn’t be a lonely hunter with a magnum rifle.

  And it would take a lot more than a desperate FBI agent to stop him.