Critical Impact Read Online Free

anchor-woman holding a microphone was being filmed, and the Whisper Lake Crossing Sheriff’s Department was the backdrop for this scene.
    Most of the media action was centered ten miles south at Shawnigan, Maine, where forensics and bomb specialists were still sifting through the rubble. But since Anna Barker and Mayor Johnny Seeley were from Whisper Lake Crossing, this town was also prominently in the news.
    The mock disaster was to have been for the entire county of Whisper Lake, which included thecommunities of Whisper Lake Crossing, Shawnigan at the southern tip and DeLorme in the north.
    Of course, the disaster drill had been canceled due to the real disaster, something that the media was finding both ironic and newsworthy.
    Stu decided that he’d had enough of a walking-around break. Time to get back to work. All morning he’d been trying to track down the elusive Peter Remington, former boyfriend of Anna Barker.
    Anna had left California, “escaped,” she told him, from an ex-boyfriend who had “threatened” her. She’d given him Peter’s contact information, but the e-mails bounced. Stu had left countless messages to no avail.
    Alec looked at Stu. “Any more on Anna Barker? You going to see her today?”
    â€œPlanning to. After I make a few more calls here.”
    Because Stu had been the one who had found and rescued Anna, Alec had decided that he should be the one to keep in contact with her. This was fine with Stu. She was the pretty, dark-haired woman with the sad face who mostly kept to herself. She always looked so perfectly polished and therefore out of his league.
    When the explosion happened and he’d seen a woman fall, he’d had no idea it was her. His adrenaline had kicked in and he ran to help. It had donesomething to his heart when he discovered it was her underneath that rubble.
    But even with the scratches and gashes on her face, she looked beautiful to him. He had been saddened to learn that she’d been so hurt by a jerk in California. A jerk he was now having no luck tracking down.
    He searched the guy’s name on the Internet and came up with accolades on his great special effects. The company he worked for had even been nominated for an Academy Award once. Stu had run the guy’s name through the police databases they had access to and come up with no information. He had no criminal record.
    Stu sat down and called the studio in California where Peter worked.
    â€œNo,” a gruff female voice answered. “Peter Remington isn’t here. Who wants to know?”
    Stu introduced himself.
    â€œThe police? Maine? He in some kind of trouble?”
    â€œWe need to talk with him about something.”
    â€œAll I can say is if you find him, you can tell him to get his sorry self back here. He’s the only one who knows the correct bomb sequence and we can’t pro duce this scene without him. He’s holding up editing. He’s holding up production.”
    Stu straightened in his chair. “What do you mean by bomb sequence?”
    â€œFor the movie. He’s the one who’s putting it all together.”
    â€œSo Peter Remington knows a lot about bombs?”
    â€œHe’s the best.”
    â€œAnd you don’t know where he is?” Stu was taking rapid notes.
    â€œNope. Not a clue.”
    Stu thanked the woman and got her to promise to call him if Peter did show up.
    Well, well, thought Stu.
    He was finishing up his notes when a movement in the doorway caught his attention. A tall, hollow-cheeked young man with purple spiky hair and thick eyebrows stood there holding a black art portfolio. Since Stu’s desk was closest to the door, he got up. “Can I help you? Something you need?”
    The man shifted from foot to foot, clearly nervous. He wore shiny black boots, which came clear to his knees.
    â€œMaybe,” he said. “I found something. Don’t know if it’s important or