There is this one:
Buffy couldn’t help but start her own investigation. This young, upstart FBI agent would, undoubtedly, take the lead and botch the whole thing one way or another. But this man’s family deserved justice, and she couldn’t allow them not to receive it.
Nothing had gone according to plan that day, and she had no one to talk to about it. Porter, her confidant, was gone. Even if she did talk to him, she would only be talking to a pile of ash. She grabbed his pillow, which still smelled strongly of his shampoo. She thanked God that she had been too busy during Porter’s Annual Training to wash the bedding as she had intended and cried herself to sleep.
"Our John Doe was killed by VX — the same chemical agent that the Army was supposed to destroy years ago. I do not know how. I do not know where he came in contact with it. I do not know who could have gotten their hands on a supply. I do not know if this VX even came from Umatilla, or if it was cooked up in someone’s home lab. But, Buffy. This is bad. This is very bad. If there is more out there…”
“John Doe may only be the beginning,” Buffy finished.