Hot Water_a_novel.

Erin Brockovich.

Dedication.

He who has a mind to meddle must have a heart to help.

We dedicate this book to the victims of the 2011 Japanese earthquake and tsunami as well as the hard-working and self-sacrificing rescue workers who came to their aid during their time of need.

He who has a mind to meddle must have a heart to help.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Dear Reader, Thanks for joining AJ on another adventure!.

Turns out that nuclear energy is a touchy subject to research. When we interviewed several experts in the field we stressed that we did not want to use any scenarios that could potentially happen in real life-after all, our job is to entertain and explore new ideas through our stories, not to empower potential terrorists.

Unfortunately, writers sometimes have too-good imaginations. We discovered that our scenarios actually could happen-and in two cases they were things that the experts had never considered before (nuclear engineers not being prone to thinking like devious, cunning thriller writers).

So instead of setting Hot Water in a conventional nuclear facility we created an unconventional, fictional design that is a hybrid of several experimental reactors in Sweden, France, and Russia as well as emerging technology in "micro-reactors" from Oregon State University. However, for our contamination breaches we did use real-life contamination events that occurred in the past and have already been well documented in the public media.

The medical isotope shortage is also real. Currently the needs of patients in the United States are being met from the Chalk River facility in Canada, but it is scheduled for closure in a few years. Chalk River has been closed several times in the past, forcing the United States to rely on the Maria reactor in Poland for its isotopes. New methods of isotope production are being tested in the hopes of resolving this crisis.

We'd like to thank our nuclear experts (who declined to be named) for their patience-and we apologize for any gray hairs we caused with our wild imaginations. The men and women who work in the nuclear field have our respect and admiration for their profound attention to the public's safety.

Thanks also to our technical advisors, Bob Bedard and Melody Von Smith, to Toni McGee Causey for sharing her alligator wrestling expertise, and to Rebecca Forster for her help in researching the child welfare statutes as well as the amount of power and variability in interpreting those statutes that a judge could potentially wield. We also drew upon the knowledge and experience of several law enforcement officers from the Crimescene Writers loop, including Wally Lind, Kathy Bennett, Steven Brown, Robin Burcell, and MA Taylor.

As always, we very much appreciate the efforts of our publishing team at Vanguard Press/The Perseus Books Group, including Roger Cooper and Georgina Levitt; our editor, Kevin Smith; as well as our agents, Mel Berger (Erin) and Barbara Poelle (CJ), and our first readers, Kendel Flaum and Carolyn Males.

We'd love to hear from you! You can contact us through www.CJLyons.net.

Thanks for reading!.

Erin and CJ.

ONE.

Summer in the mountains of West Virginia has a magic of its own, like a fairy tale come true. For me, it was a fairy tale paid for with blood.

It was August. After five months back home in Scotia (population 864) I'd just about gotten used to folks looking away from me and mumbling about how I'd gotten the man I loved killed and almost got my dad and son killed and just about drowned the entire valley in toxic sludge.

"That's AJ Palladino," they'd say, crossing to the other side of the street as I passed, in case I rubbed off on them. "Yeah, that AJ Palladino."

I ignored them. Didn't much care what people said about me as long as they didn't take it out on my nine-year-old, David. And, I have to admit, Scotia did treat David like the hero his dad had once been. They embraced him despite his two disabilities (or abilities, depending on your point of view): having cerebral palsy, which left him mostly wheelchair-bound, and being a genius.

Despite the town's acceptance of him, David still wasn't so sure about Scotia. He was hit hard by the death of his dad. I tried everything, even enrolled him in some online courses. Stuff I didn't understand but he was interested in, like the Phonology of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics and Einstein, Oppenheimer, Feynman: Physics in the 20th Century. He'd bury himself in them, working like a fever, finishing a semester's worth of material in a few weeks, and then would promptly slide back into boredom and despair.

Given my family's tendency for obsessions-addictions, really, holding on too hard, too long-I was more than a bit worried.

My friend Ty Stillwater, a sheriff's deputy K-9 officer, and his partner, Nikki, a beautiful Belgium Malinois, finally broke David free from his mourning.

Ty somehow found a way to make wheelchair accessible every mountain adventure that a boy could love. He and David would leave at first light and show up again for dinner at my gram's kitchen covered in battle scars. Once, Ty took David rafting down the New River, and they came back half-drowned, sunburned, and sporting matching black eyes that they refused to tell us how they got. They would burst into laughter every time they caught sight of each other.

I loved hearing David laugh but couldn't help but worry each time he left. For too many years I'd raised David alone, and it was difficult getting used to sharing him with others who loved him as much as I did. Not to mention the fact that I was and am a total control freak, especially about David. But I suffered in silence-David hates it when I try to rein in his independence.

Besides, I was busy enough with work to take my mind mostly off David's scrapes and bruises and poison ivy. My new business partner, Elizabeth Hardy, the legal half of our consumer advocacy firm, turned out to have a gift for negotiation, so our first few cases ended quickly and happily for our clients and were profitable for us. All in all, summer felt enchanted, magical.

Even the weather cooperated. The storm clouds that gathered every afternoon remained empty threats. They'd scowl down at Scotia, then scurry away to dump their rain elsewhere.

But sooner or later, the storm has to break and you're going to get soaked.

Which was how I came to be yelling at the man in the Armani suit.

I knew it was an Armani suit because I'd dealt with enough of them when I'd worked in D.C. Not sure how they did it, but it seemed as if every suit jacket had an attitude sewn into the lining: money can buy anything.

Well, it wasn't buying me.

Elizabeth and I hadn't risked everything-including our lives-to start this advocacy firm just to be dictated to by a guy who happened to have enough money to indulge his taste in designer suits.

Armani guy's name was Owen Grandel, and he'd flown all the way up from South Carolina to consult with Elizabeth and me. He was in his late thirties, trim in that personal-trainer executive way, with a shaved head that focused your attention on his dark eyes and spray-tan complexion.

He had not come to Scotia to be abused. Or so his expression informed me without bothering with words.

"We aren't in the business of whitewashing a corporation's dirty laundry," I continued, in the mood for a fight and quite happy that Grandel was obliging.

He said nothing. Simply crossed his arms over his chest, leaned his shoulders back, and smiled. The kind of smile you give a precocious kid who's acting out and you're tolerating his behavior just because you know how wrong he is.

David hates it when I smile at him that way.

Thankfully Elizabeth stepped between us before I tried to wipe that smile off Grandel's face. We were in the living room of her house-which doubled as our office space-and she had just brought coffee on a tray. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grandel, we're out of cream. Will milk do?"

I rolled my eyes as she almost curtsied. Then, while Grandel busied himself mixing and stirring his coffee, finally taking a seat in the Queen Anne chair beside the fireplace, Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at me with a glare that could have sparked tinder.

Play nice, she mouthed at me, as if I were the one making trouble. She sat down across from Grandel, smoothing her skirt and crossing her ankles like a lady before reaching for her own cup of coffee.

This is why I usually let Elizabeth handle the suits. I'm more of a field person-get me out there with the regular folks and I'll get to the truth of what's what and who's who and figure out a way to fix things. Then it's up to Elizabeth to cross the legal "t's," negotiate a workable solution for all parties, and collect our paycheck.

So far it's been a pretty good system. Until today.

"I'm not sure that you understand exactly what we do, Mr. Grandel." Elizabeth leaned across the table to snag a sugar cube, her sleeve brushing against his knee.

I barely contained my snort. It was very obvious Grandel didn't understand anything except what his money could buy.

"Oh, but I do, Ms. Hardy." He leaned back and crossed his legs, watching her through half-shut eyes.

When I worked in D.C., I knew men like him. Smooth, charming. Sociopaths. Women would fall all over themselves to do whatever they wanted. Poor sod, he had no idea who he was up against. Elizabeth wasn't like that.

"Which is why I'm willing to pay extra. Above your customary fee schedule." With an elegant flourish of his manicured fingers, he slid a check from his pocket and placed it in front of her.

Elizabeth has a pretty good poker face, but I could tell the amount on the check rocked her. She took a sip of coffee and set her cup down beside the check, ignoring it.

"That's half," he persisted when she didn't leap at his offer. "You get the same when you finish."

"And who decides when the job is finished?"

I stepped forward, unwilling to believe she was even considering. She glared at me and I froze.

"You do, of course." His voice was a low bedroom purr.

Her mouth twisted as she considered. Then she stood in one graceful movement, taking the check with her. "We need to consult about this."

"Of course," he said with a gracious wave of his hand, as if it were his house, not hers. "Take all the time you need."

I know my mouth dropped open because I felt it snap shut again when she took my arm and dragged me out of the room and across the hall to our shared office in what used to be the dining room. She closed the door behind us, then sagged back against it.

"Holy shit, AJ."

The check dropped from her fingers, flitting through the air on the sultry August breeze wafting in through the open windows, and curled up on the hardwood floor, face down. I picked it up, turned it over.

My face went cold as I read the amount. Counted the zeroes. Five of them. My mind did a back flip-no, that figure couldn't be right-then sloshed right side up as I looked again.

Half a million dollars. Which meant a million for the entire job if we took it.

Enough to send David to any college he wanted, to bankroll our company for the next decade, to be able to work on projects that really mattered. Freedom, security, opportunity.

All I'd have to do was betray everything I believed in and let myself be bought.

TWO.

Elizabeth liked feeling the solid oak door at her back. It reassured her that this wasn't a dream. Made her feel as if her father and his father and all the generations of Hardys who had lived here in this house stood behind her, ready to support her even if she might be making the wrong choice.

She knew as soon as she'd heard Grandel's pitch that he would be hard to say no to, but a million dollars? For what basically amounted to a public relations stunt?

Small change to a man like Grandel, but for her and AJ. . . . The lace curtains fluttered at the windows and she inhaled the crisp mountain air. So very different from hazy, hot, and humid Philly, where even eight stories up in an air-conditioned fortress of a law office the heat still weighed you down. The thermometer told her it was almost as hot here in Scotia, eighty-two in the shade, but somehow it didn't feel so bad. Her house here didn't even have air conditioning; the breeze took care of that.

"We can't do it." AJ didn't sound so certain as she stared at Grandel's check. Elizabeth knew she was thinking of everything that money could buy for David. Unlike Elizabeth, AJ had never had money. Elizabeth wasn't sure if that made the decision easier or more difficult.

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked, squaring herself for a battle. Even though this house was paid for, she hadn't been able to sell her condo in Philly, and their cases so far had barely covered the mortgage she owed. "I'm tired of counting pennies and thinking twice about everything I want to buy. If that makes me shallow, so be it. But damn it, I didn't leave my entire life behind to come here and constantly worry. I thought we were meant to be making a difference, changing the world one case at a time, isn't that what you said?"

AJ looked surprised. "Isn't that what we're doing? We've been getting paid-"

"Two thousand from Reverend Morley's church. Didn't even cover the lab costs of testing their groundwater. And the eleven thousand from Energy Alternatives went straight to pay you and cover our expenses."

"I thought we were splitting the profits," AJ murmured, grinding the toe of her cowboy boot into the floor.

Whoops. Even though both of their names were on the office door-capitalizing on AJ's reputation as an environmental activist-Elizabeth was in charge of the finances. "There haven't been any profits to split. Not yet. That's okay, it's how any business is when it starts up. And my dad's life insurance is covering things so far. But-"

AJ jerked her chin up at that, face flushed with wounded pride. "No. We're partners. You shouldn't be paying me and not yourself."

"I don't have a kid. And a grandmother who needs my help. Not to mention your family . . . " Elizabeth stopped. AJ's parents were a sore subject, one they usually avoided-just as AJ did her best to avoid them in person. It was a fine juggling act since AJ's son, David, wanted to get to know his family, even the crazy side of the family. Elizabeth had no idea how AJ managed everything, but somehow she did. But it took its toll on her, and Elizabeth could see it.

Thank goodness Elizabeth and her ex, Hunter, had never had children. She couldn't imagine how warped they'd be, caught in the middle of Hunter's narcissistic infidelities and her escaping him by fleeing to the office and indulging in over-working. No kid deserved that.

"How could we?" AJ finally ventured, staring at the check once more. "I mean, what he's asking-we don't have any experience with that kind of thing. He needs a PR specialist, not an advocacy firm. Besides, we're supposed to be working for the people, not the corporations."

"Tell you what. How about if we go back and listen to him-really listen. No interrupting to debate the environmental impact of nuclear waste."

"But he-"

"I know you don't like him." AJ was prone to making snap judgments about people-something she said she was working hard to change.

"I never said that-"

"Face it, AJ, you're a reverse-snob."

"I like you, don't I?"

"Not at first. At first you thought I was just another stuck-up lawyer out to make a buck."

That coaxed a smile from her. "Maybe."

"You decided the same thing about Grandel as soon as he walked in with his Armani suit and two-thousand-dollar shoes. How about if we give him the benefit of the doubt and listen without judging? Then we can decide. Together." Elizabeth pulled the door open. "Sound like a plan, partner?"

AJ rolled her eyes but plastered on a smile and strode back out to where Grandel waited.