Dire Straits

by Melissa Pearl

  Jarrett approached the gate that closed off the back lot of the property from the main building. It was surrounded by a chain-link fence with a strip of barbed wire attached to the top. He could see piles of twisted scrap metal littered throughout the area, as well as dozens of old cars shoved off to the side, all of them with smashed-in hoods or missing windows. A large steel building with massive garage doors looked to be the guts of the operation, with several pieces of large construction-type equipment parked nearby.

  The lot extended as far as the eye could see, which seemed a little daunting, but Jarrett had a fairly good idea where he might find at least one water sample. If memory served, there was a creek at the back end of the property, one of the many small tributaries that fed into the Aspen River, which in turn dumped into the mighty Mississippi. He would head in that direction, and he could look for other potential water sources, too. He was hoping for some storm runoff, small pools of water that collected on pavement or concrete, or in other areas where water couldn’t soak through to the ground. However, the lack of recent rain might make that type of collection a little more difficult.

  Oh well. He’d give it his best shot.

  That was all he could do.

  He eyed the perimeter of the property, trying to see if there was a way on site that didn’t involve scaling the barbed-wire fence. But the gate was bolted shut, with lines of barbed wire attached to the top, and there didn’t appear to be any breaches in the fencing.

  Jarrett shifted the glass containers in his pocket and pulled out a pair of leather work gloves he’d brought along. He slipped them on and, after one last glance at his surroundings, gripped the chain link and began to climb. The fence was six feet high, and the lines of barbed wire extended the height another eighteen inches. It only took a few seconds to reach the top of the chain link and he hovered there for a minute, trying to identify where there might be a gap in the barbed wire.

  He found it. Dead center in this particular section. The top wire sagged a little and he shimmied closer, knowing it would be far easier to lift and slip through a slackened piece of wire than a taut one.

  Carefully, he pushed down on the wire, in the space between the barbs. It moved easily, effectively lowering the fence line, and Jarrett threw his left leg over. Straddling the fence, he kept his hand in position, holding the wire down as he swung his right leg over the fence. His jeans caught on one of the barbs and the sound of fabric tearing made him wince.

  At least it wasn’t his flesh.

  Free of the wiring, he jumped off the fence. Shockwaves rocketed up his legs, the result of his feet slamming into the pavement. But he couldn’t worry about that now.

  He needed to get in and get out. Fast.

  He didn’t dare turn on the flashlight on his phone. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, not with the recycling plant being so close to the road. But the dim lighting made it impossible to see every hazard, and he had to move much slower than he’d intended so he didn’t trip over the random pieces of metal that littered his path.

  He kept his eyes down, focused on identifying a route that didn’t involve dangerous debris, when his eyes lit on something shimmering just ahead of him.

  A puddle.

  It was more of a pothole, a divot in the pavement, but it was filled with dark, inky water. Jarrett felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. This was exactly what he needed.

  He crouched down, his hand already going for his pocket. It locked around one of the smooth glass jars and he pulled it out. His fingers shook slightly as he fumbled with the lid, finally unscrewing it.

  He dipped the glass jar into the water, surprised at how deep it was. It had to be a good eight inches deep, and at least twice as wide. A pothole like that on the street could cause serious damage, but he doubted the construction equipment used in the lot was affected at all, especially considering the massive tires attached to them.

  He held the jar up to his eye to check the level of water and smiled. He had more than enough to test. Hell, the lab he was taking it to could probably run a dozen tests, just to double-check the results.

  Jarrett grabbed the lid and placed it back on the jar. He twisted it, making sure it was securely attached.

  Satisfied, he put it back in his pocket. He moved to stand, but something hard pressed into the back of his skull.

  Something metal.

  Something that felt like the barrel of a gun.

  A voice spoke.

  A familiar voice.

  “Don’t move.”

  39

  Thursday, July 5

  9:45 pm

  Jessica couldn’t sleep.

  She’d gone through the motions.

  Pretended to eat the dinner Megan had made, a wild rice casserole that she was sure tasted delicious.

  And she’d showered, changed into pajamas, brushed her teeth.

  She was mentally and physically exhausted, and emotionally drained. Sleep should have come easily.

  But it eluded her.

  She stole a glance at the phone on her nightstand.

  She still hadn’t made the call.

  And she hated herself for it.

  It was the right thing to do. To bring Nate and Cam and Kellan in on what was going on.

  And she always did the right thing.

  She was the perfect cop.

  Except she hadn’t been.

  Not recently, anyway.

  She shook her head.

  None of that mattered. What mattered was bringing in the authorities so a proper investigation could be done. So that those responsible for any potential crimes or transgressions could be held accountable.

  Jarrett Pryor wasn’t equipped to do those things. He was a reporter, not a member of law enforcement.

  So why was she struggling to do the right thing? To make the call?

  She sighed miserably.

  Because she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.

  Just because Jarrett didn’t wield a badge didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of doing the legwork of an investigation. Plenty of reporters broke new stories, or had a hand in reopening cold cases. They had the time, the diligence, to put into those investigations, to dig deep and ask questions, to explore avenues that might not even be on the police’s radar. Individuals often talked easier, looser, to people who weren’t law enforcement. Jess was pretty sure that had been the case with both Alison, Katie’s roommate, and Chance, the coworker Jarrett had managed to talk to.

  Her eyes drifted back to her phone. If she were being honest with herself, she’d admit that she was itching to call someone.

  It just wasn’t who she should call.

  She reached out her hand, her fingers gripping the smooth case.

  Tentatively, she brought it close.

  Stared at the darkened screen.

  She took a deep breath.

  And made her decision.

  40

  Thursday, July 5

  10:00 pm

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Gary Desmond, the manager of Superior Metals, was glaring at Jarrett. The gun in his hands was now pointed squarely at Jarrett’s chest.

  Jarrett swallowed, trying to quell the anxiety and fear building inside of him. He’d thought he might, at worst, encounter a security guard who he’d need to explain his presence to. Or maybe members of AFPD, swooping in to raid the place after Jessica made her phone call.

  But the manager of the recycling plant holding him at gunpoint? Despite his pretty wild imagination, that scenario had never occurred to him.

  But it did point to one thing.

  Gary Desmond knew something that had him on the defensive.

  Which meant Jarrett’s suspicions about the plant were looking to be more and more accurate.

  All he had to do was figure out a way to get off the property—alive, and with the water sample.

  “Didn’t know you guys kept such late hours here,” Jarrett said, trying to kee
p his tone light.

  Gary wasn’t buying it. “Answer my question,” he growled.

  Jarrett hesitated. He knew he couldn’t charm his way out of this particular scenario. He was standing on private property, well after closing, clearly trespassing. Depending on when Gary had come upon him, the man had probably seen him collecting the water sample.

  But if he told him the truth, then what?

  The man had a fucking gun.

  And it was pointed right at him.

  A buzzing sound startled both of them.

  Gary zeroed in on Jarrett’s jeans pocket.

  “What is that?” he demanded.

  “My phone.” Jarrett tried to keep his voice calm.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  The phone vibrated against Jarrett’s thigh, ringing several times before finally quieting.

  Gary’s hands were wrapped around the gun. Shaking.

  It was obvious to Jarrett that Gary was out of his element; anyone could see how jarred he was to be holding a gun, much less pointing it at someone.

  Which meant maybe Jarrett stood a chance.

  It was a gamble—any fool would know this—but Jarrett didn’t know if he had any other options.

  He was about to ask him a question when his phone buzzed again.

  Gary’s eyes bulged. “Who is calling you?”

  “I have no idea,” Jarrett told him. “Since you won’t let me touch it.”

  “Pull it out. But don’t answer it.” He jerked his head toward the left. “Throw it over there!”

  Jarrett did as he was told, slowly reaching into his pocket. He kept the screen facing him and held it up high.

  But not before he pressed the button to answer the call. He flung it over his shoulder, listening as it clattered to the pavement.

  Gary watched it sail through the air before returning his gaze to Jarrett. He still looked shaken, his face an ashen gray in the muted light, but his eyes had lost a little bit of their wild hysteria.

  “Tell me why you did it,” Jarrett said.

  “Did what?” Gary asked. “I didn’t do nothing except take money and keep my mouth shut.”

  “You’re holding me at gunpoint,” Jarrett said, nodding toward the gun still aimed at his chest. “That’s not doing nothing.”

  Gary chuckled. “Yeah, I guess not, huh?”

  Jarrett decided to try a different approach. “How bad is the water here?”

  “What?”

  “The water,” Jarrett repeated. “How badly polluted?”

  Gary shook his bald head. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

  “I do,” Jarrett said quietly. “Do you know how many people have gotten sick? People who live downstream from this plant?”

  Gary said nothing.

  “My dad,” Jarrett continued. “He died of cancer last year. My mom is sick. Both our neighbors. A little boy has cancer. And I think it’s tied to this plant.”

  Gary made a face. “Everything makes you sick, man. This whole Earth is polluted. You think what leaks out here is bad? Look around. We’re killing ourselves. The air we breathe, the food we eat. It’s all toxic.”

  “And the water,” Jarrett added meaningfully. “The water, too.”

  The gun in Gary’s hand dropped a little, but he soon righted it. “Look, this plant has been falling apart for years,” he said, his voice almost defensive. “That’s no secret.”

  “So that’s what happened?” Jarrett asked. “Old equipment?”

  Gary grimaced. “PCA was underfunded, and we never saw anyone come out to test or take samples.”

  Jarrett’s temper flared. Because he knew where this was going…and he knew he’d been right.

  It was the water.

  Dammit.

  “But then the state budget got increased. Feds kicked in some money to jump start the program again, get us back up to speed with regulations.” He shook his head in disgust. “We were going to fail. Be slapped with fines, maybe even have to shut down. And I was gonna be out of a job.”

  Jarrett stared at him in disbelief. He’d sacrificed the health of the town for his own damn job.

  “So what? You bribed Bill?” Jarrett asked. It was hard to keep the anger, the accusation, out of his voice. “Asked him to falsify the records? Paid him off?”

  “Who the hell is Bill?” Gary asked.

  Jarrett frowned. How did he not know who Bill was? He was the one from PCA who had altered the reports.

  “You didn’t pay him off?”

  “I didn’t pay anyone. People paid me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Who?” Jarrett’s head was spinning. “Who paid you?”

  A familiar voice spoke from the shadows.

  “I did.”

  41

  Thursday, July 5

  10:15 pm

  Jessica listened in horror.

  Her heart had been in her throat when she finally pressed the button to call Jarrett.

  It quickly dropped to her stomach as soon as he picked up.

  Because he didn’t respond. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t say anything.

  All she heard was the phone slamming into some hard surface.

  And then she heard voices.

  His and someone else’s.

  She strained to hear what they were saying. Their voices were muffled, but the roaring in her ears as she picked out words and phrases tried to drown them out.

  “You’re holding…gunpoint.”

  “How…water here…”

  “…think…tied to this plant.”

  Jessica almost dropped the phone.

  Jarrett was there, at Superior Metals.

  And he was in danger.

  She stared in horror at the phone, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest.

  She had to do something, but she couldn’t end the call. Not with Jarrett in danger. She couldn’t hang up and be left to wonder if he was still alive. But hearing his voice, knowing his life could be within seconds of ending, was an agony unto itself.

  She leaped out of bed and raced across the hallway to Megan’s room. She burst through the door.

  Megan was half-dressed, fresh out of the shower. She looked in alarm at Jessica.

  “I need your phone!”

  Megan glanced at the phone Jessica was holding.

  “It’s important.” Jessica’s voice was hoarse. “Please.”

  Megan took one look at her friend and didn’t ask questions. She rushed back into her bathroom and hurried the phone back to Jess.

  Jess fumbled with the keypad, hoping her memory would serve her. She couldn’t access her contacts because she didn’t want to do anything that might accidentally disconnect Jarrett.

  The phone began to ring.

  “Please pick up, please pick up,” she murmured.

  “Hey, this is Nate. I can’t get to the phone right now…”

  She wanted to scream.

  She needed him, and she knew he would come.

  It was Jarrett who was in trouble.

  And he was one of Nate’s best friends.

  She looked down at the phone.

  There was only one number left to call.

  It was the call she should have made hours ago.

  “AFPD, Camila Perez.” Camila’s tone was brisk, businesslike.

  Jessica could have cried, she was so relieved. It was late, and she hadn’t held out much hope that Cam would still be there.

  But she was.

  “Cam. I need help.”

  “Jessica?”

  Jess swallowed.

  “What’s going on?” Cam’s voice was sharp.

  “Jarrett. He’s…he’s in trouble. I need help.”

  There was a brief moment of silence.

  “What are you doing?” The sharpness intensified. “Is this about the Simmons case?”

  “No! I mean, I don’t know.” Jess drew in a ragged breath. “Look, I just need help. He’s…he’s at Superior Metals. Someone has a gun
on him.”

  “A gun?” Jess couldn’t see Cam but she could picture her. Sitting up straight, her thin eyebrows arched, her mouth set in a tight line. Jess knew she had her attention.

  “Yes. At the recycling plant.” She pivoted out of Megan’s room, ignoring the look of shock and horror on her roommate’s face as she headed back to her own bedroom. She shimmied out of her sleeping shorts and reached for a pair of jeans crumpled on the floor.

  “Why didn’t you call 911?” Cam huffed, and Jess knew she’d already pushed away from her desk and was strapping on her belt.

  “I don’t know.”

  But she did. She didn’t want it broadcast through dispatch and run the risk of officers responding with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Not with Jarrett’s life potentially hanging in the balance.

  Jess slipped into her shoes. “I’m leaving now,” she told Cam. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “No you won’t.” Cam sighed. “Look, now’s not the time to talk about this, but you need to back off.”

  “Now isn’t the time to talk about what?”

  “About you. And your job.”

  Jess swallowed hard. “What about my job?”

  She could hear Cam’s heavy breathing and knew she was hightailing it out to her car.

  “Now’s not the time,” Cam repeated.

  Jess heard the engine roar to life.

  “I’m meeting you there,” Jess repeated.

  “You won’t have a job to come back to if you do.” Cam’s voice was ominous. “Kellan will make sure of that.”

  Jess’s heart plummeted.

  “Fine. He can fire me,” she snapped. “After I make sure Jarrett is okay.”

  She hung up the call and headed for the door. She froze when she realized something.

  She didn’t have her gun. It was sitting in her locker, along with her other equipment.

  Slowly, she turned back toward her room. She still had something she could use.