Burning Secrets

Book 2 in the Deadly Secrets Texas Trilogy

Chapter 1

The percussion wave shook the ground under Adelaide’s feet. For a split second she thought it was a bomb. Jerking her head toward the mill, she didn’t see flames—not yet, anyway. But she was half a mile away, and the explosive force had been strong enough to rattle her field equipment. Then the sirens sounded—endless, blaring loops of wailing tones designed to induce brain‑rattling panic in anyone within earshot. It worked. Adelaide knew what those sirens meant. Get upwind. Get.Up.Wind. GETUPWIND.

       She looked up at the neon-orange wind socks that surrounded the mill. They were all pointing south like a circle of perfectly aligned glow‑in‑the‑dark sentinels. Unfortunately, they were all pointing directly at her.

       She put her hand in the air and studied the sway of the treetops estimating the wind speed at twenty miles per hour. Images of the road map she had been reading only a few minutes before flashed through her mind. At this distance, there was no time to get into a hazmat suit. Mercifully, so far all she could smell was the pervasive odor of the pines. But the hairs on the back of her neck were ramrod straight and her heart was racing.

       Adelaide scooped up her gear and threw it in the open hatchback of her Explorer. She jumped into the driver’s seat and hit the ignition. As soon as the engine sprang to life, she punched the button to shut down the AC, turned south on the two‑lane caliche road and floored it.

       The speedometer swept past seventy-five as the SUV fishtailed on the gravel road. The slipping tires kicked up a spray of limestone pebbles that clattered against her undercarriage as they joined the massive dust cloud she was leaving in her wake. She couldn’t see a thing behind her, and she was quickly losing visibility out her side windows as the nebula of powdered caliche enveloped the SUV. She could taste the limestone dust sneaking through the vents. Damn it. The car isn’t sealed.

        The farther she got from ground zero of the contamination—whatever it was—the better. Assuming the wind conditions held steady and she didn’t total the truck in the process, she should be okay. Problem was, she was still speeding downwind.

         The steering wheel jerked in her palms as the Explorer bounced over the ruts in the gravel road. For now, outrunning it would have to do. But pretty soon, she was going to need to cut east or west. Then, she would have to find a way to head due north and upwind. She recalled an east-west farm-to-market road she had passed earlier. Fumbling for the map, she pulled it to her lap and shot a glance at the X she had marked that morning. Sweat dripped from her brow, but she didn’t dare turn on the AC. God only knew what was in the air.

         As she came into a curve, the sign for the farm-to-market popped into view. The knots in her shoulders relaxed if only for a moment as she mopped the sweat out of her eyes. Holding the steering wheel in a death grip, she managed to slingshot the truck around the corner without ending up in the bar ditch. She pushed the Explorer through five kidney-bruising eastbound miles on the unpaved road before the interstate appeared on the horizon.

         Finally back on pavement, she did the math. She placed herself roughly thirteen miles southwest of ground zero. That should be safe. She hit the AC button on the dash and jacked the fan to full speed. Three Texas highway patrol cars zipped past her, their sirens whelping, undoubtedly headed to the mill.

         Adelaide swung into a rest area and screeched to a stop. She bailed out of the dust-covered Explorer and rushed to the tailgate. Hauling the heavy emergency bag out of the back of the SUV, she swatted at a mosquito on her neck. Even a toxic plume couldn’t slow down Texas mosquitoes. Another squad of sirens sped by on the highway as she made a beeline to the ladies’ room.

        Once inside, she scrambled through the laborious process of unpacking and putting on her Level A hazmat suit. Getting into the suit was no small undertaking. Doing it without help made it even harder. But she had no choice—she needed to be as ready as possible when she got to the site.

        She carefully pulled the suit on over her clothes, shoved her feet into the chunky rubber boots and duct-taped the suit to the boot tops. Then, she prepped the gloves, face shield and her self-contained breathing apparatus. That was as ready as she could be and still drive. As she left the ladies’ room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror—a frumpy green space invader. Pushing through the doors into the scorching East Texas heat, she thought, Good thing I’m headed to an industrial accident, not looking for a date. Hefting her bag on her shoulder, she made tracks back to her car.

        Halfway across the parking lot, she caught sight of movement near the back of her truck. Squinting, she made out a stocky white bull terrier belly-crawling out from under her Explorer. Free of the car, the dog waddled a few steps and sat down by the left rear tire.

        As she came closer, Adelaide saw the dog was sitting by two high-top tennis-shoed feet that were sticking out from underneath her bumper. The dog barked two quick yaps as she approached. The high-tops telescoped out from the shadows of the undercarriage. They were attached to a man who quickly got to his feet. He began brushing off his hands and dusting off his clothes.

       What the hell? Adelaide marched right up to him. As she got closer, all she could think was Wow! About six foot three or four, he was beautifully proportioned and well muscled. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans. The clothes fit just tight enough in all the right places. The effect was topped off with medium-brown hair in one of those devil-may-care messy-but-oh-so-hot styles, and his cobalt-blue eyes definitely qualified as a lethal weapon. He had the whole bad-boy-next-door thing down to a science.

       Another passing siren jolted her out of her reverie. Hot or not, she didn’t like this guy around her car. Anyway, she didn’t have time to waste on pleasantries.

       “Excuse me…would you mind telling me what you’re doing under my truck?”

        He was staring at her. Awkwardly, he stuck out his hand. Adelaide didn’t move. When she didn’t reciprocate, he dropped his arm.

       “Uh…I am so sorry, ma’am. I’m Brock Emerson. This is Rufus.” As if on cue, the dog pointed his egg-shaped nose to the sky and emitted a single, deep-chested bark. The man smiled. “We were just making a little pit stop when Rufus here got spooked by those sirens.” He held up the collar and leash dangling like an empty hangman’s noose. “He slipped his leash and hightailed it under your car.” She looked down at the dog as it toddled closer to his owner. He fidgeted a little and went on to fill the awkward silence. “He was not at all interested in coming out. I finally had to crawl under there on a rescue mission.”

       Following his gaze, she looked down and realized she was parading around a roadside picnic area dressed like a chartreuse Michelin Man. “I’m a chemical engineer. There’s been an incident at the mill in Pine Grove. If you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry.”

       He smiled as he backed away doing the “I surrender” thing with his hands. “No problem. Sorry for the confusion. You drive safe.” Then he winked at her.

       Winking? Honestly. Why is it that gorgeous men so often feel compelled to push it with such adolescent ridiculousness? Probably because those absurd little pre-mating rituals evoke just the response I’m feeling right now…which was a warm, tingling sensation that could make bad ideas seem really tempting. Times like this she remembered that pulling herself off of the dating merry-go-round wasn’t that bad…and it was certainly less confusing.

       She walked past him with a cursory smile and heaved her bag into the cargo area of the Explorer. Sliding her breathing apparatus, face shield and gloves onto the front seat, she jumped in and headed back north—upwind, toward the mill. As she sped down the highway, she forced herself to put the handsome stranger out of her mind—or gave it her best shot, anyway.

       Approaching the road that ran to the plant, she slowed down for the detour local law enforcement had set up. Lowering her window, she passed her Environmental Protection Agency credentials to the Nacogdoches County deputy manning the roadblock. He inspected the laminated card carefully. Satisfied, he spoke into his radio and waited for a response before he moved the barricade and waved her on.

       The road to the mill allowed an approach from the upwind side to the northern entrance of the property. Black smoke was oozing up from the horizon. A malevolent plume was forming to the south carrying the toxins in the direction from which Adelaide had just come. Her mouth was dry, and her heart was racing. She was so hot in the heavy suit, she could feel the sweat running down her back and chest. It was always scarier when you didn’t know what you were dealing with. She could hear her blood pulsing in her ears. Her palms were sweaty on the leather steering wheel as she struggled to calm herself. She needed a clear head.

       Just north of the main mill entrance, she saw the collection of response vehicles parked outside of the scene access-control point. Only the fire trucks had been allowed inside the mill property. She parked the SUV, secured her equipment and headed to the makeshift barricade.

       Oddly, the Fairfield County sheriff’s deputy manning the entrance wasn’t wearing protective gear. She offered her credentials to him. He reviewed them but made no comment—and no move to wave her through.

       Adelaide spoke into the microphone inside her breathing apparatus. “I’m a chemical engineer acting as a special consultant to the Dallas office of the EPA’s On-Scene Coordinator. I happened to be working in the area when I heard the alarms. I came straight away to see how I can assist. I need to speak with the scene commander.”

       He folded her ID case and handed it back to her. “You don’t need that getup. This isn’t anything besides a kitchen fire in one of the admin offices.”

       “Deputy, I heard a sizable explosion followed by toxic-release warning sirens. Chemical sensors that detect airborne toxins trigger those sirens.”

       Shrug. “Suit yourself.” He chuckled at his own joke.

       Adelaide was not amused. “May I please see the scene commander.”

       The man smirked. “Well, he’s a little busy right now.”

       “I’m sure he is. However, if you would be so kind as to raise him on the radio and let him know that I’m here, I’ll go to him.”

       “No one is being admitted to the property. How about you leave your card, and he can call you later?” Nasty smile.

       Okay. Being polite hadn’t worked. “How about I call the EPA On-Scene Coordinator in Dallas and tell him that since the local scene commander is unavailable, maybe EPA should helicopter over some federal agents to come and help out?”

       The deputy straightened his posture and unhooked the snap on his holster. “Ma’am, please step away from the barricade. If you insist on attempting to enter this area despite my warnings, I will be forced to take you into custody.”

        Tapping the button on the chest of her suit with her gloved hand, she set her communication system to the central command frequency and spoke into her microphone. “This is Adelaide Reese with the office of the OSC of the EPA. I am at the access-control point. I need to see the scene commander or his deputy. The scene access-control officer—” she squinted through her face shield to read his name tag “—Deputy Jackson, has denied me access.” She saw Jackson redden as her voice came through his emergency response radio.

        Her radio cracked. “Scene Commander. Stand by.”

        Shortly, a golf cart pulled up to the main gate and disgorged a man in street clothes who walked toward the barricade.

        “I’m Darren Blackwood, the manager of this facility.”

After countless town hall meetings and depositions, she knew exactly who Darren Blackwood was. And he knew good and well who she was, too—though he didn’t let on.

“This fire is restricted to an administrative area of the plant. It began when someone left a stack of paper napkins too close to a coffeepot during an employee birthday celebration. We have secured all potentially toxic or flammable materials, shut down all plant operations and evacuated the facility. There are no injuries. The internal fire suppression system is operating properly. The fire is under control, and we expect to have it fully extinguished shortly.”

         He was talking too fast, and his eyes were darting around like a fly avoiding a swatter.

         “Mr. Blackwood, paper napkins do not explode when left near coffeepots. The warning sirens that sounded—” she looked at the watch taped to the arm of her suit “—forty-two minutes ago are activated by sensors that detect the presence of potentially life-threatening airborne agents. I am here to see how I can assist.”

         Just then, another golf cart pulled up. Adelaide recognized the man walking toward her as Remy Stone, the local counsel for the paper mill. As he inserted himself between Adelaide and the plant manager, he slapped the executive on the back. “I’ve got this, Darren.” Blackwood scurried back to his golf cart.

The lawyer reminded Adelaide of a car salesman trying to unload the biggest heap on the lot. “Ms. Reese, you don’t need that silly suit. This is much ado about nothing. We’ve got ourselves a little kitchen fire here. Everything’s under control.”

       Under control? Is this guy out of his mind? He’s standing in front of a burning paper mill. “Sir, with respect. You are in no position to make that assessment.”

       “Well, what I am in a position to do is to ask you to answer the call that should be coming through to your phone just about now.”

       As if on cue, Adelaide’s phone rang, the blaring tone ricocheting around the hood of her suit. She hit her chest button to answer the call. Momentarily, she heard the good-old-country-boy voice of Brett Pierce, the head of the OSC from the Dallas office. “You’ve sure got those folks at the paper mill in a twist.”

       “Right now, plant personnel report a Class A fire. However, we’ve got the risk of developing a Class B involving flammable fuel. Never mind all the paper stored here.”

       “Yeah. Well, the paper’s not our problem. The other flammable fuels might be. Is it true that you are acting as an expert witness for plaintiffs that are suing that mill on a toxic tort?”

        She could feel her anger rising like the toxic plume. She clenched her fist in the bulky glove as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Yes, sir. That’s true. But that’s irrelevant. I came here because I was following protocol.”

       “You and I know that, but they think you’re sneaking around, using the fire as an excuse to look in their underwear drawer. For now, I want you to stay out of their hair. But stay close in case I need you. Meanwhile, I’ll get some of our boys up in a chopper and let them take a look. I can’t afford to have the OSC tied up in some conflict-of-interest mess with these yahoos. And keep that suit on until you’re clear.”

       “Got it.”

       With that, she turned and marched back to her truck. She could feel the smug, self-satisfied grins like a hail of poison darts bombarding her back as she walked away. She got in the Explorer and slammed the door. What a complete waste of time! Dealing with bull-headed men like these just served to reinforce her decision to stay in the no-dating zone…

      But as she drove away, an image of the hot guy with the cute dog crept back into her mind. Damn it! She didn’t have time for men…no matter how cute their dogs were.