Chapter Eight
“I’m not surprised,” Mel braced her cell on her shoulder as she made yet another pot of coffee. She watched through the tiny window over her sink as a dark sedan drove past her site. Most likely tourists looking for a nice secluded spot to park their RV.
“I figured you wouldn’t be,” Lance said.
“He turned down Meyer’s offers, and now they’re trying to shut him up.” She slammed the bag of ground coffee on the counter and dipped out a generous amount, which would probably result in her losing the other half of her stomach lining.
“And they’re pros at this game,” Lance said. “If we publish this without a rather pointed rebuttal from their experts, we get accused of putting forth a biased and unbalanced viewpoint.”
“That would be reasonable, if it weren’t for the kind of quo
