CHAPTER TWENTYAfter calling Jamila to tell her not to wait up for me, I got on the phone to Amber Moore to get the exact address. Then I called 911 and told them about the call. I turned the car around and headed back toward the processing plant, wondering who or what I’d find. As for Jamila, I figured the less she knew, the better.
When I arrived on the scene, the lot where we’d parked mere hours earlier was overflowing with cars. Many of them sported rooftop visibars, creating a red-and-blue disco scene. Uniformed cops swarmed the grounds. One stood at the door, apparently on guard.
I walked up to the cop on guard. “What’s happening?”
He looked at me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Sam McRae. I was the one who got the phone calls.”
I won’t say his jaw dropped, but his eyes betrayed shock. “The
