by Renee Hart
Tessa almost told the girl no, but she didn't want to raise suspicions. If they were going to make this work, they would need the cooperation of the staff here. “Yes, please,” she said. “As long as he's not busy.”
“Just one moment.” The receptionist picked up her phone and pressed a button. A moment later she told whoever answered about the visitors, then she hung up and said, “It'll be just a moment.”
They didn't have to wait long before the manager, a middle-aged man with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie hanging loose around his neck, came into the lobby. “Hi,” he said, extending a hand first to Samson, then to Tessa. “Mike Carter, assistant floor manager. What's this all about?”
Samson stepped forward, showing Mike a copy of the inspection report from Elizabeth O'Conner. “One of your inspectors filed a report with our department, suggesting the need for more testing on some of the products. We'd like to take a few samples so they can be analyzed. Make sure everything meets with safety specs.”
Mike scanned the report, nodding. “All right. Yeah, I remembered her saying something about it. I didn't know there would be anyone coming down here, though.”
Samson leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Well, they're trying to keep this quiet. You understand, right? The media hears the words 'health hazard,' and the next thing you know, they've got OSHA and the USDA down our throats, people stop buying our products, and we get the goddamn hippie health nuts picketing us. Nobody wants that.”
Mike nodded, breaking out into a light sweat. “Right. I understand. Though I can assure you, everything at this facility is run according to spec.”
Samson smiled at the man and patted him on his arm. “Trust me, I know. No one blames you. This is just a sorting facility, after all. You're not responsible for what happens out in the fields.”
“That's right,” Mike said, a determined set to his jaw. “We just load everything up and send it off to the local distributors in each region.”
“Which is why we want to get samples right from the source,” Tessa said. “So we can run tests on the produce before it's even been handled by your people. That will prove that any contamination came before any of it even crossed your hands.”
Mike blanched at the word “contamination.” “Right. Right. Well, just let me know what I can do for you. We'll be happy to help.”
They left some paperwork with the receptionist for filing. By the time Mike led them onto the main floor, the girl was already tucking the papers into a filing cabinet, where Tessa hoped they'd be lost and forgotten.
The main part of the facility was a broad, high-ceilinged room, filled with machinery. Crates of produce were unloaded from trucks at the far end of the room, then piled onto conveyor belts. The belts ran them through sprinkler systems that washed and sanitized everything, taking the produce through a triple-wash system to maximize sanitation. The produce was then loaded back into crates and sorted, with the workers loading up shipments that would be taken off to Delaware, New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. After arriving at their destinations, Tessa knew the shipments would be split up into smaller orders for delivery to supermarkets local to each area.
Mike walked them through the facility, explaining some of the processes. “Everything meets all health code regulations,” he said. “Everyone wears gloves and hair nets, and we do a full scrub down of the machinery after every shift.”
“Everything looks good,” Tessa said. She looked around the room at all of the weekend workers, busy loading and unloading crates and operating the machinery. There were a lot of people here who might recognize her face if someone from Dunham started poking around, trying to find out what she'd done here. She suddenly wished she hadn't used her real name.
“Do you have anything that hasn't been washed yet?” Samson asked. “It'd be best if we got samples right off the truck.”
“Sure thing.” Mike led them to the loading docks, where several trucks were in the process of being unloaded. “How much do you need, exactly?”
“Just a few pieces from each,” Tessa said. “Preferably stuff that was grown in different fields. If there's anything wrong, we want to isolate where it came from.”
Mike had some of his people help them with selecting some fruits and vegetables from a variety of crates. Tessa made sure everything got labeled, and she took notes on where each shipment had come from. With the tracking numbers on the crates, she could search the Dunham computer network and find out the exact field these crops had been grown in.
They got some of Mike's men to carry the boxes of samples to the truck. They shook hands again, and before they left, Samson leaned closed and spoke quietly to the man. “Remember, it'd be best if you keep this as quiet as possible. We don't want to risk any bad publicity when there's a good chance this is all just a pointless scare, right?”
“Right,” Mike said, nodding. He licked his lips. “Look, my name isn't going to be associated with anything, right? I mean, I just work here.”
“Don't worry,” Samson said. “We won't even mention you.”
Mike wiped the sweat from his forehead and he headed back to the facility. Tessa and Samson got into the truck and drove off. Tessa held her breath until they were out of sight of the facility, then she let out a long sigh of relief.
“That went well,” Samson said.
“I hope so.” Tessa turned in her seat and looked back behind them, half-expecting someone to be following them. “I just hope no one starts asking any questions or following up on what we just did. This could really bite me in the ass.”
She consoled herself with the reminder that this could be for a good cause. If she got fired, but stopped people from getting sick in the process, then it would all be worth it.
Chapter 8
Tessa and Samson stopped at a gas station a few miles from the shipping facility. While Samson filled the tank, Tessa paced back and forth across the asphalt, fidgeting nervously with her hands. “Wow,” she said. “Wow wow wow. I can't believe we just did that.”
“It sure was a trip,” Samson said. He took off his suit jacket and tie, tossing them into the truck, then rolled up his shirtsleeves. He almost looked like his normal self again, though the gray silk pants were still quite out of character.
“I thought for sure we were going to get caught.” Tessa ran her fingers through her hair, feeling pent up with too much energy. “Every time he asked a question, I thought, 'This is it. We're screwed.'”
“It didn't show. You played it totally cool.”
“Really?” Tessa smiled bashfully, her face warming up. “I was just trying to keep him from being able to think too much about what was going on. I loved the way you kept pushing him about the risk of the media finding out. Keeping him too nervous to think things through.”
Samson leaned against the truck and stuck his hands in his pockets. “All in a day's work for Bond. Samson Bond.”
Tessa laughed and stepped forward, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, thank goodness you were here. Thank you for doing this. I can't imagine why you agreed to it. We could have been arrested.”
“Well,” he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and slipping them around her waist. “I guess I just couldn't say no to you.”
She leaned back and looked into his eyes. There was something there. Something unexpected. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She'd never really looked at Samson like this before. He was just her hippie neighbor, the man who grew herbs in his garden and made tea for his neighbors. Though he was looking rather handsome, now that he'd cleaned up a little.
The gas pump clicked off with a loud snap, jarring Tessa from her thoughts and making her jump back. She laughed nervously and brushed her hair back just to give her hands something to do. “Well, we should get going,” she said. “I'd like to get this stuff to your professor friend right away.”
Samson topped off the tank, then they got back in the truck and drove off. Most of the drive was quiet. Tessa kept glancing over
at Samson, wondering. She chewed on her lip, trying to sort through her thoughts, but they were all jumbled.
They arrived at the university in mid-afternoon. The campus was mostly empty, with no classes in session on Saturday, though there were some students mingling about here and there. They parked near the science building and Samson led Tessa in to meet his friend. The professor was a young man who fit the image of his job perfectly, from his nerdy glasses to the tan suspenders holding up his pants. Samson made the introductions, introducing his friend as Gregory Harcourt.
“So, what kind of samples is it you want me to look at?” Gregory asked after the introductions.
“We tried to get a little of everything,” Tessa said. “I wasn't really sure what would be best. But it's all labeled, based on where it came from and all.”
“Let's take a look,” Gregory said.
They hauled the boxes of produce up to Gregory's office, then started sorting through everything while Gregory took notes on the invoice numbers Tessa had recorded for each sample. “This is a lot of stuff,” Gregory said, looking over all the samples. “I'm going to need a few days for all this.”
“All right,” Tessa said. “Whatever you need. And...thank you. For doing this. I wish we could do something for you...”
Gregory gave her and encouraging smile. “It's all right. Samson explained the situation to me. I guess I consider this my civic duty as a scientist.”
He walked them to the door and shook their hands. “I'll let you know as soon as I get the results,” he said. “Just keep in mind, all of this will have to be off the record. I can't go on record with any study that hasn't been cleared by the university's Institutional Review Board. If it turns out there's something there, you'll need to report it to the USDA and get them to conduct an official investigation.”
“I want to at least find out if there's anything worth reporting first,” Tessa said. “After all, there could be thousands of people's jobs on the line here.”
“Don't worry,” Gregory said. “I'll keep things hushed on my end.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a grateful smile.
When Tessa and Samson got back to their apartment complex, Samson invited Tessa over for a drink. “After the day we've had,” he said, “I think we both deserve a chance to unwind and relax.”
“Sounds perfect.”
She stopped at her own apartment to change out of her fancy suit and into sweatpants and a tank top, then headed over to Samson's. When she got there, he was in the middle of getting changed himself. He'd traded the suit pants for a tight pair of jeans, and he was still pulling on a clean t-shirt when he opened the door. She got a brief glimpse of his toned abs, and for the first time she appreciated the kind of physique a man could develop when he rode a bicycle everywhere all the time.
Samson poured them each a glass of white wine, then raised his glass and said, “To a successful heist.”
Tessa clinked her glass against his. They sat together on his sofa, drinking wine and trying to unwind. Tessa couldn't quite get settled onto the couch, and kept fidgeting. She felt stiff, her back and shoulders all knotted up with tension. Part of her still kept expecting the police to show up at the door. She wasn't sure if anything they'd done was technically illegal. It was possible she'd just get fired instead of arrested. Not that that was much comfort.
“You look tense,” Samson said. “Here, let me help.”
He moved next to her and she turned her back to him. He set down his wine glass, then started rubbing her shoulders. Tessa closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. The aches in her muscles slowly started to fade away. “You're really good at that,” she whispered as Samson's fingers massaged her worries out.
“Professional training,” he said. “I spent six months training as a physical therapist before I decided it wasn't for me.”
“Well, you're just full of endless surprises.”
“All part of my charm,” he said.
After Samson worked the kinks out of her back and shoulders, Tessa leaned back against him, sipping her wine. She felt more relaxed and at home than she had in a long time. Samson's fingers kept gently running along her arm, tracing delicate touches across her skin. She let out a soft sound of contentment and nestled against him, almost feeling like she could drift off to sleep. She wasn't sure if it was the wine, the massage, or the aftermath of a day filled with adrenaline, but she was ready to crash right there on her neighbor's couch.
Samson's hand slid down her arm until his fingers glided across the back of her hand, then intertwined with her fingers. She held onto his hand, not wanting to let go. His breath felt warm against her neck.
She suddenly stiffened, sitting up a bit straighter. “Samson?” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“What are we doing?”
He was silent for a long moment, though he didn't let go of her hand. “Sitting on the couch,” he said, speaking softly. “Drinking wine. Enjoying each other's company.”
“Is that all?”
She twisted around to look into his eyes. He looked at her in a way he never had before. His eyes traced the lines of her face, then strayed down to look at her lips. Tessa licked her lips, wondering what he was thinking in that moment. Wondering what was about to happen.
A sound from outside jarred them out of the moment. They both jumped up, looking towards the window.
“What was that?” Tessa asked.
“Probably nothing,” Samson said. He stepped over to the window and pulled the curtain back, peering outside. Night had fallen, and the garden plots were draped in darkness.
They headed outside, looking around the plots. After a minute of searching, they came across a jumble of pots and trellises that someone had dropped by the edge of one of the plots. “This wasn't here this morning,” Tessa said.
“Ahh,” Samson said. He gestured to the shadow-enshrouded plot. “Of course. The Mystery Plot.”
“Damn.” Tessa looked around, searching for signs of anyone in the darkness. “We must have just missed our mystery gardener. I swear, one of these days, I'm going to set up a camera and see who comes out here.”
Samson chuckled. In the dim moonlight and the gentle illumination coming from the apartment building's windows, he looked quite stunning. Tessa looked up at him, stepping closer.
His hand reached out for hers. Their fingers intertwined.
Samson's other hand reached up and he caressed her cheek. Tessa held her breath.
Then he kissed her, there under the moonlight, beside the mysterious garden, while the cool spring wind blew between the apartment buildings and wrapped them in its embrace.
Chapter 9
Monday at work, Tessa kept looking over her shoulder. There hadn't yet been any word about her escapade over the weekend, but she was sure that someone was going to find out. She searched through the newest box of paperwork that had been delivered that morning, hoping to intercept any reports that mentioned her and “Mr. Morgan” stopping by the Pennsylvania distribution facility. Of course, there weren't any reports yet. Even if someone mailed one in, it wouldn't be there for a couple of weeks.
When Tessa was getting her third cup of coffee—admitting to herself that her nerves probably didn't need any more caffeine—Mindy walked up to her and asked, “So, did you hear?”
Tessa froze with the coffee pot and her “Gardeners Do It in the Dirt” coffee mug in her hands. “Hear what?”
“About Mr. Morgan?”
Tessa's hands started to shake. “What about him?”
Mindy leaned closer, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on them. “Well, Tracy said that Rebecca told her that someone from Mr. Morgan's office saw him slipping out the door Friday night with Mary from Accounting.”
Tessa stared at Mindy for a long moment, then she blinked. The tension fled her body when she realized it was nothing more than the usual office gossip. “Isn't Mary married?”
“Pfft, like that would stop he
r.” Mindy crossed her arms and shook her head. “You know all about her and Carl, right?”
Tessa sighed, closing her eyes and wishing for strength. “I don't really have the energy to keep up with all the latest rumors. I've got a lot of work to do.”
“Fine, Miss Grumpypants,” Mindy said. “I just thought you'd be interested.”
Tessa gave her friend a patient smile. “I'm not trying to be Miss Grumpypants. I just have a lot going on right now.”
“Okay.” Mindy looked her over with concern in her eyes. “Well, you let me know if there's anything you need, all right?”
“All right.”
Tessa kept her head down the rest of the day, focusing on her work. She entered reports into the computer at a steady pace, making surprisingly good progress and putting a nice dent in the backlog of files. She wondered if being on edge was somehow helping her work faster. She was trying so hard to force herself to stay focused on her work that it seemed she'd found a great rhythm. If only she were this anxious every day.
Near the end of the day, when she was shredding files and getting ready to go home for the day, Mr. Morgan walked into the office. Tessa avoided eye contact, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. But he walked right up to her. “Tessa? Can I see you in my office for a moment.”
Tessa silently cursed herself, but kept a stoic expression on her face. “Sure.”
She followed him to his office. He shut the door behind them and offered her a seat. Mr. Morgan sat down and folded his hands on the desk, then asked, “Have you talked to anyone about that issue you brought up to me the other day?”
“Me?” Tessa faked a laugh and shook her head. She kept her hands firmly in her lap to keep them from shaking. “No. Why?”
“Because I just got a call from a reporter,” he said. “He was asking for information about pesticide use in our products. He claimed he was contacted by an anonymous source who said they worked for us. That this source said something about toxic pesticides in our products.”