Coastal Fury Boxset (1-3)

by Matt Lincoln

  “Y-Yes, sir.” He nodded so hard I thought he might give himself whiplash. “Absolutely. I’m only going to look at budgets and stuff. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Promise.”

  “Wasn’t there another part you wanted to tell us?” Bonnie asked. She looked no sleepier than her caffeinated counterpart.

  “Farr reminded me of some history about nuclear waste disposal,” I told them. “It’s fairly common knowledge that radioactive materials used to be dumped into the ocean. They started in the forties, and it went until ninety-three. There was a list of approved sites where this was allowed.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Holm said.

  “Okay, maybe not common knowledge, but it’s not a secret.” I returned to my seat. “What’s available but not advertised is that there was a list of potential sites that were denied. These secondary sites could’ve been revisited if they ever felt the need. Since the whole thing’s been shut down for decades, people haven’t worried about it, but according to Farr, there are rumors that this kind of waste has been found at some of the other secondary sites.”

  The varying levels of shock and disgust around the table reflected how I felt about it as well. Tessa watched with an intensity that I couldn’t read.

  “If they know about the secondary sites, the culprit could have military or government experience,” she pointed out.

  “Or they could know how to use Google,” Warner suggested. He tapped the edge of the laptop he’d brought to the meeting. “I found it, no problem. Some of these locations are a little vague, but it wouldn’t take much to find them.”

  “Find them,” I ordered. “Okay, that’s what I got from talking to Farr.” They didn’t need to know every detail. “Are we all updated on the info from the tag I found on the first dive?”

  “We briefed these guys on the MediWaste thing before they went to bed,” Warner reported. He beamed like a kid with good news. I hoped it was. “About an hour ago, we got a hit on that towel you found. So, it has a number on its label. They have to do that now so that nothing gets left behind in surgeries. Anyway, we plugged it into the same system as the tag you found, and it was from a hospital in Orlando.”

  “Any chance they used MediWaste?” Holm asked as he smothered a yawn.

  “Bingo!” Warner’s smile got bigger. “Better yet, I found out that they subcontract radioactive waste to Sedin Disposal, also out of Tampa. Both hospitals are MediWaste clients but serviced by Sedin Disposal.”

  “Do we know anything about this business?” I asked.

  Warner looked toward Bonnie, and she gestured for him to go ahead. Interesting. They appeared to be working out a system for the tasks that overlapped their roles. It was good to see Bonnie getting more lab time, now that we weren’t relying on her to catch tech forensics that didn’t require help from Cyber. She had the skills, but her primary duties were in the lab. Such was the curse of the multi-talented. Diane’s decision to add Warner to our team looked more and more solid by the moment.

  “Sedin Disposal specializes in radioactive waste,” Warner said. He started to stand, hovered, and sat back in his chair. “The founders are Tim Sedin and Marci Anderson. They got licensed about two years ago, and they’re turning a profit.”

  “How much profit?” Tessa asked. At two or three sharp looks, she shrugged. “Nobody said I couldn’t ask questions. Besides, it’s relevant.”

  Warner pointed at her. “Bingo to the lady in white.”

  “Off-white. Or ecru.” She chuckled. “But I’m being pedantic.”

  “Fair enough, Miss Bleu.” Warner turned his laptop around to show us the screen. “Their profits have jumped way up. Their company has even been featured in Medical Waste Professionals, the trade publication. I scanned the article, and it doesn’t say where they dispose of their waste.”

  I met Holm’s eye. “Guess we’re going to have more interviews in Tampa.”

  He gave a slow, drowsy nod.

  “Well, I think we’re done now. See you all in the morning,” I announced, then I flinched a little. “Later this morning.”

  Tessa waited with me as the others left the room. Everyone was so eager to get more shuteye that they cleared out with haste. Although I was ready to pass out myself, I was glad Tessa had stayed.

  “Did you call Uncle Donald to make him send me home?” Her tone had a bite to it that did not bode well for me.

  “I called to see what the hell is going on.” I shrugged. “And maybe to suggest he’s being unfair to put you in harm’s way for the sake of achieving his objectives.”

  “How did that work for you?”

  “Not well, thank you.” A wry laugh got the best of me. “I was properly dressed down for my insubordination.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Her stern look melted into the most gorgeous smile. “I’m sorry this has been such a pain, but I’m not sorry to be here.”

  She stepped closer. I wanted nothing more than to sweep her off her feet and haul her to my room, but I did not want to behave like an ass. Instead, I held my hands out. If she wanted more, it was her move to make.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  “So I’ve heard,” I answered. “The feeling is mutual.”

  “I may have gotten that idea.” She held out her hands, and I welcomed them into my own. “It might be nice to remember why we miss each other.”

  I took a deep breath and caught the scent of apples from her hair. She pulled her hands from mine and wrapped her arms around my waist. I encircled her with my own arms and kissed her on the top of her head. Her arms moved up, and she locked her fingers behind my neck and looked up. Our lips met right as my phone buzzed the long, short, short pattern I’d assigned to Diane’s number.

  “Gotta take that,” I mumbled. Tessa nodded but kept her arms around me. God, it’d been so long since we were together. I answered the call. “Yeah?”

  “I just got word.” Diane sounded no more than half awake. “Dare Lemon passed away half an hour ago. I’m sorry, Ethan.”

  My stomach tightened. It wasn’t like I knew the man personally, but he was one of the few celebrities I remotely cared about, and he meant more to Jake Header.

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “There’s something else,” Diane told me. “I got an email that your flight was moved up to eight in the morning. Get some sleep. You have a long day ahead of you.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Think you’ll be able to sleep?” Tessa asked. She laid her head on my chest, and my heart pounded as hard as ever. “If you need some help…”

  “Oh yeah,” I told her. “I need a lot of help getting to sleep tonight.”

  18

  Tessa and I found Holm in the kitchen the next morning. Everyone else had left for the day, even Warner. I’d figured the guy would be up late and sleep in like most gamer types I’d met. It turned out that he played hard and worked hard in his own way.

  Tessa went straight for the cappuccino machine, and I went for orange juice. Holm leaned against the counter next to the sink with a smug grin.

  “Get any sleep?” he asked.

  Tessa’s cheeks reddened. “None of your business.”

  I chose not to answer, which would only encourage Holm to pick on me. The truth was that Tessa and I didn’t get much sleep in the past few hours, and that was just fine. I hoped to get another late night once we got back from Florida that evening. It depended on how long it took to handle things in Tampa.

  “Where is everyone else?” I asked.

  “Bonnie and Clyde took Warner to the lab half an hour ago,” Holm informed me. “Sylvia and Lamarr are going to hang out in the neighborhood and take turns guarding them while we’re gone.”

  “You ready to fly commercial?” I laughed at his flinch. “Come on, Tozin should have our clearance through Customs ready.”

  Before our department got the King Air… Bette, we usually hopped Navy or Air Force flights to avoid commercial airlines. Flying with the military al
lowed us to remain armed. Neither of us enjoyed stowing our sidearms for the duration of a commercial flight, but it was a necessary evil.

  “At least you get to carry your camera,” Holm complained to Tessa.

  “When I shoot something, it generally lives,” she said with an arched brow and a slight grin. She grabbed her camera bag and strolled out to the garage.

  We were airborne an hour and a half later. The flight was packed, many who were tourists who’d given up on visiting the Blue Hole. I ended up between Tessa and one of the disappointed tourists, someone who talked the entire time.

  “I saw you two got on the plane together,” the young woman said. She looked over at Tessa, who’d chosen the window seat and had her camera out once the seatbelt light was off. “Were you in Belize for a vacation?”

  “Work,” I answered as I unbuckled the lap belt.

  “Cool. What do you do?”

  I pulled out the dive magazine I’d stashed in the pouch of the seat before me. Tessa couldn’t stop a soft snort that muffled a laugh, probably at my discomfort at being questioned. My career wasn’t one I advertised, and I liked it that way. People noticed when law enforcement was present.

  “This and that,” I told the girl. The dive magazine had an article that looked interesting about insulated wetsuits. “It’s not that interesting.”

  She took a look at what I was reading. “You’re a diver?”

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Cool. I always wanted to try diving, but I’m scared of swimming in deep water.” She smiled at me with her crooked teeth and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “My friends dragged me down here to go on a boat to the Great Blue Hole so they could dive it, but they closed it to tourists the other day. We explored some of the atolls instead. I waded around on some beaches and got cool shells.”

  “Sounds like you had fun.” I didn’t look up from the page I couldn’t read with Chatty Cathy blathering in my ear. “You said your friends were with you. Why didn’t they seat you together?”

  Tessa nudged me with her elbow. I looked over, and she mouthed, “Be nice.” I rolled my eyes at her and looked back at my article.

  She shrugged with an exaggerated sigh. “I flew on stand by, so I ended up on a different flight.” Cathy looked at my magazine again. “The news was talking about that famous diver who died last night. Did you hear?”

  I swallowed and nodded. That was not something I wished to discuss with an overcurious stranger.

  “It’s really sad, and they won’t say why, just that he got sick at the Great Blue Hole.” She pulled her phone out of her bag and opened a browser. “I got the wifi package,” she explained as she scrolled. “Here. Darrel ‘Dare’ Lemon. That’s his name. There are lots of theories about how he got sick.”

  “I’m sure.” I turned to the next page in my magazine. “Sometimes, that happens.”

  “He and his wife dove to the bottom of the Blue Hole,” Cathy went on. “Some people on their airplane felt ill after being around him and his wife. Did you know she’s in the hospital, too?”

  “Is that so? I don’t watch the news.” Why, oh why hadn’t they assigned Holm to our row? He was in the front, lucky bastard. There was no business class on this flight, and I was missing it more than a little at the moment.

  “People are trying to figure out what happened,” Cathy said in a stage whisper as if she were sharing some great conspiracy. Which wasn’t entirely wrong. “They go diving in the Blue Hole, get sick on the airplane, and then the people sitting around them get detained after feeling a little sick. Doesn’t that seem strange?”

  I laid the magazine on my lap and looked her in the eye.

  “Things happen all the time,” I said diplomatically. “Don’t believe what the media says right after something happens. The reports are almost never accurate. Just wait until they know for sure.”

  Chatty Cathy turned off her phone and laid it on her lap.

  “The authorities will bury the truth,” she told me. “I think something poisoned Dare Lemon, and it got spread. If he got it at the Blue Hole, then people should know.”

  Tessa leaned forward so the girl could see her around me.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it for now,” she said in a light tone. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some great teams are looking for answers as we speak.”

  Cathy narrowed her eyes at Tessa and then leaned back in her seat. She picked up her phone and dove into reading whatever it was she read. For the rest of the flight, she kept her nose in her own business, but what she’d said lodged in my mind. The public was getting closer to the truth, and we needed to get an answer before the media exploded with it. At best, we had until our medical examiner, Ethel Dumas, filed her autopsy report on Lemon.

  I, too, had wifi on the plane. After ensuring my nosy seat neighbor wasn’t watching, I sent Ethel an email via our encrypted service.

  How long can you put off filing the report re Lemon’s autopsy?

  Ethel’s reply came within a minute.

  Funny thing. I have two or three stiffs ahead of Lemon. Guess it’ll be tomorrow before his autopsy. Writeup depends on findings. Get your shit together within three days. Best I can do.

  I showed the exchange to Tessa.

  “Better work fast,” she told me.

  No kidding. I tried to pay attention to the article I was reading, now that Cathy decided to leave me alone, but I kept thinking about how and why someone would dump concentrated medical waste in sites on an old list. Nobody could explain to me how those pieces got more radioactive than they ever should be. Farr’s news about the finds in other secondary dumping sites complicated everything. How would a disposal crew from Florida manage to dump radioactive materials around the Caribbean without being detected?

  We landed in Tampa a little over two hours after we took off in Belize. I didn’t visit the Gulf side of Florida that often, but it wasn’t for lack of charm. Tampa had a slower pace than Miami, and the Gulf breeze chased off some of the oppressive heat the day we were there.

  Holm picked up the keys for the navy-blue Toyota Camry we had for the day. “You and Tessa ride in the back,” he said with a wink. “Besides, I know Tampa better than you.”

  This was true. Holm’s family lived south of the city, and he made the drive up two or three times a year, depending on how our caseload looked.

  “Why do you always have to drive?” Tessa asked me as she got in the car.

  “Yeah, Ethan, why do you drive all the time?” Holm tossed back at me with a laugh. “I drive just as well as you.”

  “That’s a story that’s between Robbie and me,” I told her. Nobody needed to know that pile of embarrassment. It’d ruin my image. “Let’s go,” I grumped.

  19

  MediWaste Removal Services occupied the first two floors of a mid-rise building downtown, which wasn’t far from the airport. The lobby was three stories tall with a wall along the front that had a waterfall made from stone and various tropical flora. Its location next to the building’s glass wall seemed to offset some of the heat transferred from the sunlight.

  The receptionist’s desk at the far end of the lobby was cut from the same white and gold marble as the floor so that it seemed to rise up from the ground. A middle-aged woman in a floral blouse and overly large glasses stood up from her seat behind the desk to greet us.

  “We’ve been expecting you,” she said in a welcoming tone. “Mr. Cole cleared his morning schedule so he can accommodate you in whatever way you need.”

  I glanced at Holm. This was a change. Most executives at the center of investigations lawyered up faster than I could show my badge.

  “Thank you,” I ventured. “I’m—”

  “We know who you are,” she said through a smile. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

  Follow her, we did. She brought us in through a keycard door and led us down a hall that opened into what I’d call a mid-sized cubicle farm. Large enough to fit a bunch of people, but not so la
rge that it was overbearing or loud. We turned down a corridor and then into a small reception area with a hardwood desk.

  “Mr. Ames, these folks are here to see Mr. Cole,” she told the young man at the desk. “I’m going back to the front unless there’s something you need.”

  The twenty-something straightened his suit jacket and stood. He looked down his nose at the receptionist.

  “Mr. Cole wants his lunch delivered today,” Ames ordered. His sharp tone didn’t make the receptionist flinch, but it wasn’t kind. “I need a coffee, black, with a shot of espresso.”

  “Yes, sir.” With that, she scurried away.

  “Are you Devon Cole’s secretary?” I asked with casual indifference. Some jackasses need to be knocked down a peg or three.

  “I am his aide,” Ames snapped. “I’m the one who has to reschedule the meetings he canceled this morning.”

  “Is that so?” I went over to his desk and loomed. “If this is an inconvenience, we could come back with a warrant and discuss this on a busier day.”

  That shut him up nicely.

  Ames leaned over, picked up the phone, and dialed a number. He waited, and then said, “Yes, they’re here. Yes, sir.” He met my gaze with his own icy blue stare but couldn’t maintain it and looked away. “You may go in.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled and resisted the urge to flick his nose. “Pleasure dealing with you.”

  Devon Cole’s office was simple yet elegant. In other words, there wasn’t much character. The furniture was typical of an executive office, with black leather-upholstered seats with nailhead trim for visitors on the near side of his desk, and a larger version of the chair behind it.

  Cole stood and walked around the desk to meet us. He was shorter than me by a good five inches or so, but the charisma that oozed from his every movement made the height difference a non-issue.

  “Special Agents Marston and Holm, I take it?” He shook our hands and then turned to Tessa. “And you are?”

  “My name is Tessa Bleu. I’m an observer on the case.”