Terri Reed - Danger at the Border

The gleam in his eyes made her think he’d noticed her reaction to him. She resisted the urge to put her hand to her warm cheeks. No sense in confirming her initial attraction.

“I look forward to working with you.”

His smooth-as-silk voice wrapped around her. It took a moment for his words to process. “Working with me?”

She couldn’t imagine what he could do to help her or the work she did. He’d only be a nuisance. A distraction she didn’t want.

Instead of answering, he gestured to the man beside him. “This is Sheriff Larkin.”

Tessa jerked her gaze from the too-handsome Agent Steele to acknowledge the sheriff with a handshake. “Sheriff.”

“We’re counting on you to deal with this,” the sheriff said.

“Have there been any fires in the area recently? The contamination could be chemicals used in firefighting that seeped into the soil or into the water.”

Sheriff Larkin shook his head. “No. Not for a couple of years.”

So much for that theory. “I’ll need to test samples of the water and the soil along the lakeshore on both sides.”

“I’ll have a boat ready to take you wherever you need to go,” Ranger Harris promised.

“You have the fish samples?” She’d asked that they collect as many different samples as possible from various points along the lakeshore. That way she would have a better chance of figuring out if the contamination was widespread or localized to a specific section.

“Yes. I have at least two dozen waiting for you.”

Anxiety spurted through her. She was careful to keep her voice even. “Two dozen dead fish?”

“Yes, ma’am,” George stated. “From up and down both sides of the lake all the way to the borderline. Each is labeled where on the lake it came from, like you’d asked.”

Her stomach sank. So much for hoping the contaminant was limited and hadn’t had a chance to cover too large a portion of the lake or to settle in the sediment. With that many dead trout turning up, the toxin had spread.

She looked at Agent Steele—Jeff. “You’ll need to alert the Canadian authorities that the lake is contaminated.”

Agent Steele exchanged a glance with the sheriff. “We’ve communicated to the Canadians that there is an issue with the lake water. They are taking appropriate precautions.”

“Could an oil or gasoline spill cause the fish to die?” Ellen asked.

“And swimmers to get sick?” George added.

Tessa shifted her gaze to the older couple. “Has anyone reported a spill?”

George shook his head.

“I doubt a tourist would report an accident like that. Too eager to save their own bacon than protect the water,” Henry shot out.

“What happens if it is a spill?” Ellen asked.

“We’d skim the spill from the surface by using a boom or skimmer device that sucks up the contaminant.” Cleaning up even a small portion of the lake wouldn’t be an easy task, but it would be doable.

Jeff’s intense gaze held hers. “And if it’s not oil or gas? How do we clean it up?”

“If the pollutant has settled into the sediment, then dredging will be necessary.”

“How long will that take?” George asked.

Looking at the lake, she said, “I don’t have a definitive answer.”

“Your best guess?” the sheriff interjected.

“I don’t make guesses,” she said.

“Try,” Jeff prodded.

The weight of his stare pried the words from her. “Considering the size and depth of the lake, maybe a week or two. Maybe more.”

George groaned.

“Summer’s not over yet. We still have several weeks of good weather. We can’t afford to lose the tourism,” Ellen said, distress ringing in her tone.

“See, I told you, we’re doomed!” Henry interjected in a loud roar.

Tessa held up a hand. “I won’t know what to do or what we’re dealing with until I locate the toxin and assess the damage.”

“What do we do first?” Jeff asked, his intense gaze drilling into her.

“We don’t do anything.” Tessa hoped he understood where the boundary line lay. She didn’t need him getting in her way. She turned to Ranger Harris. “I need to examine the fish.”

* * *

Jeff tapped his foot against the linoleum floor of the Glen Lake ranger station as he talked on his cell phone. He stood in the hallway outside the room where the “fish doctor” was doing her thing. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed, loud enough to make it difficult to hear the man speaking on the other end of the phone. Jeff’s blood pressure ratcheted skyward. The summer heat invaded the rangers’ break room, making him sweat. He tugged at the collar of his uniform shirt.

“We can’t let this turn into an international disaster.” Deputy Director Darrin Moore’s deep voice held an intense tone that never failed to make Jeff think of his father in lecture mode. But for some reason, Jeff accepted his boss’s instruction better than his father’s. “Contain the situation, Agent Steele. Determine if this is an accident or an attack.”

Jeff detected the note of concern underlying Moore’s words. “Are you suggesting this could be an act of terrorism?”

“I’m erring on the side of caution.” The deputy director was as buttoned-down as they came. All of the men and women Jeff had met from Homeland Security headquarters were the epitome of professional.

Protecting the great nation of the United States was serious business.

And tough. For all Homeland Security and Border Patrol agents.

The nation’s security was more than a job. At least to Jeff.

Stationed at the port of entry in Blaine, Washington, Jeff worked to keep the northern border between the U.S. and Canada safe from threats against the American and Canadian people. He’d been honored when his boss tagged him to be a part of the IBETS—Integrated Border Enforcement Teams, a binational task force working to enhance border integrity and security along the shared U.S./Canada line.

The deputy director had told him yesterday to hustle to Glen Lake. Jeff had complied without hesitation. When he’d arrived at the Glen Lake ranger station a few hours ago, he’d found frightened people wanting answers.

He prayed the woman in the next room would provide them.

“Dr. Cleary’s dissecting the dead fish as we speak,” Jeff explained to Deputy Director Moore. “We’ll have answers shortly.”

At least Jeff hoped so. Tessa seemed like the type of person who worked methodically and efficiently. She’d certainly turned out to be a surprise.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Someone older, earthier, less curvy.

Instead, Tessa Cleary, with her striking auburn hair, liquid-amber-colored eyes and smattering of freckles crossing the bridge of her pert nose, was trouble with a capital T. He knew her type. He’d dated his fair share of them.

Smart—the woman was a Ph.D.—bossy and demanding. High maintenance.

He could almost hear the sputtering that would happen when Tessa saw the accommodations. The cabins on the edge of the lake used for the Forest Service were barely a step up from a tent.

He’d hazard a guess the doctor’s idea of roughing it was not having reservations.

Hmm. Okay, they could have that in common. He didn’t particularly like sleeping on the ground or a saggy cot but certainly would if needed.

He’d noticed there was no gold band or tan line suggesting a ring recently had graced her slender hand. Not that her marital status was any of his business. He didn’t do commitment because commitment equaled heartache, a state of being he’d rather not experience again.

“Call once you have the doctor’s findings,” Moore said before hanging up.

Jeff walked into the makeshift autopsy room.