Page 38 of Collateral Damage
“I’m surprised you use email. It seems a little too ordinary for Hightower.”
He holds my gaze, the faintest flick to the corner of his mouth. “They’re encrypted end-to-end and routed through our own servers. It’s not standard email.”
“Impressive.”
“Necessary,” he says.
Above me, the lights flicker.
It isn’t a gentle dimming; it’s a total cut, followed by a harsh, buzzing surge as the power claws its way back.
Silas is on his feet before the bulbs steady. He snaps from relaxed to lethal in one motion, his eyes sweeping the room.
“Probably too much load on the grid,” he says, already moving toward the window to study the storm.
“Will we lose power?”
“If it keeps up, yes.”
“And if we do?”
“We’ve got the generator. Enough fuel for several days if we’re smart about it.” He moves into the kitchen and pulls two heavy-duty flashlights from a drawer. “But it won’t power everything. Just the essentials.”
He tests each light twice. His movements are methodical—the actions of someone who expects the worst possible timing. He sets one light on the counter near me and the other by the door. Next, he pulls out a headlamp and batteries, lining them up with the practiced precision of a surgeon.
“I need to check the generator,” he says. “Make sure it’s ready. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
A quiet dread coils in my chest. “Are you sure you want to go out in this?”
He shrugs into his coat. “Better now than when the lights are already gone.”
The wind slams against the cabin as he opens the door. Snow swirls through the gap before he pulls it shut. I listen to the storm batter the walls and breathe out a prayer. Lord, watch over him.
I move toward the window, but a distinct buzzing draws my attention to the couch.
My phone. It must have slipped out of his pocket.
I peer at the screen, and my heart rate jumps. Unknown Number. Silas would tell me to leave it—let it go to voicemail so he can check it. But hospitals don't always call from recognized numbers. Nurses use personal phones; consults get routed through whatever line is available. If it’s about Mom and I ignore it…
I grab the phone before I can talk myself out of it. “Dr. Morrison.”
Nothing. No one speaks.
I hold my breath.
“Guilford’s not the same without you, Doc.”
I bite back a retort. He set the trap, and I walked right into it.
“Anything I should take care of while you’re away?”
I’m too furious with myself to speak. He laughs, a sound that slices through me like ice.
“You must have been in a hurry,” he says softly. “You left your Bible on the nightstand.”
The words crush the air out of my lungs. He’s mocking me.
“Get. Out. Of. My. House,” I say.
