Free Precipice (Tribe 2) by Audrina Cole

turn-arounds.”
    I laughed.  “Alex, sure.  But I’d hardly call Mrs. Ba xter’s condition a recovery.  At least not yet.  Nor would I call it a miracle.  Judging by the look on the nurse’s face when she came to talk to us after the surgery, I suspect that Mrs. Baxter almost died.”
    I saw him shift uncomfortably as he glanced at the files to his left.  I was right, I thought.  They did lose her…or close to it. Guilt swelled.  I should have healed her a little more.  What if she had died?
    Well, you wouldn’t be sitting here now .  I squirmed, and pushed the uncharitable thought from my mind.
    Weston narrowed his gaze.  “She’s recovering very quickly.  The surgeon said her wounds look as though he’d done the surgery two weeks ago…not four days ago.”
    Oops.  I healed her more than I thought.
    I shook my head.  “I’m still lost.  What does this have to do with me?  Are you implying that I’m some kind of genius with a secret lab in my bedroom closet, where I whip up experimental medicines, or something?”
    “Or something.”  He raised an eyebrow.
    I forced a giggle from my throat.  “Boy, the kids from my homeschooling group are gonna love that one.  I hate math.  And chemistry.  I’m famous for complaining about both.”
    The Sergeant Major swept up the reports and pictures on the table, slipping them into a file with irritation.  “I can see I’m getting nowhere with you.”
    A moment later the door flew open, and in an instant, both MPs were restraining a man in a grey suit.
    “Let him go,” Weston ordered.  “I told you to stay in the observation room—”
    “You’re not giving up, are you?” The man demanded, straightening his tie as the guards let him go and stepped back into their previous frozen positions. 
    My jaw dropped.  “Dr. Kline?”  What was he doing observing the interrogation?  At most, I assumed he’d just made a call to someone in high places after Alex had reported me to him.  So why was he acting like Weston’s equal?
    Kline fixed me with a glare.  “Admit it—we know it was you.  Those before and after scans prove it.  Something radical happened to Alex Baxter between those scans.  Whatever it was nearly eradicated the cancer within two weeks.”
    My stomach clenched, and for the first time I was glad it was empty.  Suddenly it all made sense.  Johns Hopkins, where Kline worked, was in Baltimore, Maryland.  Fort Detrick, where the MRMC was headquartered, was also in Maryland. 
    Somehow, the two men were working together.
    I swallowed over the lump in my throat.  “I don’t know what’s going on here,” I lied, “but I want to go home.”
    “You know exactly what’s going on here, Miss Perry.  And I can prove it.”  Kline smiled, regaining his composure.  He stepped toward the open door and leaned into the hall.  “Bring him in.”
    Kline moved aside, and Alex appeared in the doorway, escorted by a third MP.
    I felt the blood leave my face, and a trickle of sweat rolled down my spine.
    He was as handsome as ever.  More so.  His once-pallid complexion was sun-kissed, his dark hair was thick and luxurious—even more than it had been only three days before.  He walked in, arms crossed, his muscles standing out, straining against the sleeves of his t-shirt.
    He’s gorgeous, I thought, forgetting my situation for a moment. 
    As if echoing my thought, Kline snatched a file from the table and pulled out another photo, slapping it down.
    It was a copy of a photo that Jenna had shown me—one that had appeared in the newspaper, in an article about Alex’s fundraiser.  In it, Alex sat hunched in his wheelchair, frail and weak.  He looked years younger, and emaciated.  The juxtaposition of the sick boy in the photo, against the strapping young man in front of them, was almost laughable. 
    “That was taken five weeks ago,” Kline stated, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest, with a twist to his