Page 2 of Rescued Duty

Naya sat straight but kept her mouth shut, resisting the urge to correct him that she and Tucker were theonlytwo reporters at the Tribune. Given the size of the town and the readership of the paper, there wasn’t money for more staff—or better equipment.

“Which makes my job here very difficult. Clearly, I have two great candidates.” Drew leaned back in his chair.

“Whatever I have to do, I can show you I have what it takes for the position.” Tucker scooted his chair in front of Naya and closer to the desk, then leaned forward.

Naya opened her mouth with a rebuttal, but Drew shooed his hand. “No need. I’ve already made up my mind on what we’re going to do.”

“You have?” Naya and Tucker said in unison.

“You each have one week to write a story on the water contamination catastrophe that’s all the buzz right now. Whoever’s story I like better, that person will receive the promotion.”

Tucker sat back and lifted his chin. “Great idea.”

“What about bias?” Naya added. Had Drew considered the possibility of the playing field being skewed if either of them tainted the story with a certain view to win this promotion? She would write the truth with a clear call on how it impacted the reader, whereas Tucker would no doubt write whatever he thought would get him the job. “We’ve always been taught to avoid bringing an agenda when writing a story. How will you ensure you remain objective in your decision and don’t let your own bias influence whose article is better?”

Tucker let out a cough. “I have full confidence Drew will be assessing our writing, not us as individuals.” He turned to Naya and lifted his brows. “Or our ability to spin a sensational tale that has nothing to do with the truth.”

Naya bit her tongue to keep from saying something she’d regret. Even though she’d been hurt and strung along by this man, it didn’t mean she had the right to retaliate. Still, she had a responsibility to speak the truth like Jesus—in love. Not out of her fleshly desire. “I guess our stories will speak for themselves.” Naya crossed her arms.

“That’s a valid question.” Drew steepled his fingers on his desk. “You will each submit your story to Kelly, who will remove your name before sending it over to the editorial team who will vote. After they’ve given their feedback, I’ll review the articles.”

Naya stood. “Thank you, Drew. I’m honored to submit a story.” She’d accept the challenge and give Drew the best story she could write.

Tucker caught up to her in the hall. “If you run out of contacts or need help, let me know. I might be able to give you one or two from the city council.”

Of course he’d flaunt his access to the mayor. He’d written a story on the mayor during his campaign four years ago, and now the two were best buddies.

Naya lifted her chin. “I appreciate the offer, but I have my own methods of research. I wish you all the best.” She turned her back and stepped into her cubicle.

Rely on him for help? As if.

He’d shown his true colors, and life had taught her the hard way—more than once—that people never did anything just out of the kindness of their hearts.

It proved easier to do things alone and avoid a fallout.

Naya gathered her notepad, recorder, and purse and headed for the door. One week wasn’t long.

The clock was ticking toward the deadline, and Tucker would already be on the phone with city hall. She needed to get to the site of the protests that were happening. She could interview people on the scene and have something to write up by the endof the day. He might have connections, but nothing compared to getting firsthand eyewitness accounts from those directly impacted by the situation. That’s where important details were that could contribute to the story.

She maneuvered her Impreza into a parallel parking spot two blocks down from the river. Thanks to the sun peeking through the clouds, it wouldn’t hurt to log a few extra steps on her smartwatch today.

Chanting was audible, even from this distance, and police cars sat nearby. She made a quick stop in Bridgewater Café for apple cinnamon muffins, then headed to the park.

It had been a week since the protests started.

And two weeks since a medical report had come out with information on individuals being hospitalized. Doctors had found high levels of heavy metals and perfluoroalkyl substances, or PFAS, in those who’d come into the hospital with ulcerative colitis.

Police officers were still stationed by the pedestrian bridge where most of the Green Warriors environmental group congregated. A light breeze swayed the branches of the elm trees that covered the landscape.

Naya zipped up her windbreaker.

The extra hours of daylight were nice, but the beginning of spring still brought with it thawing temperatures.

The river had begun to rise again, and leftover winter debris had made its way into the water source. The environmental group blamed the pollution on poor water quality measures, but nothing had been confirmed yet. No one knew how the water had been contaminated with heavy metals. Right now it was just a whole lot of pointing fingers and people wanting answers.

Which was where she stepped in. People deserved to know the truth, to be empowered, so they could move forward with their lives. She would find the answers for them.

Officer Ramble and Lieutenant Basuto from the Last Chance County Police Department had staked their claims on either side of the sidewalk that led from the park to the bridge and from the bridge to the water. Ramble was maybe a year older than her and wore a mischievous look in his eye. One that would have spelled trouble if she’d accepted his invite to coffee. On the other hand, Basuto was older. Married.

---