Page 25 of Broken Love

I shake my head. “With all due respect, man — why would you sign up for this when you could be in Hollywood banging a babe like Roxie freakin’ Roberts?”

Caleb chuckles beside me and for the first time, I feel the warm satisfaction of making her laugh. It jars me so much, I almost don’t even hear Fox’s answer.

“Because I can’t touch her,” he says. “It’s a long story, but… I left and now she has everything. If I’d stayed, that wouldn’t be the case.”

I nod along with his words, feeling a dull ache for him. I know a little something about not being able to have something — or someone — you want.

“Rhys wants to know if you’ve found anything.”

Caleb’s voice pulls me back. I open my laptop again to refresh the satellite feed.

“Not quite,” I answer. “Just a bit of noise and…” I pause as a dark spot catches my eye. I zoom in to find three large trucks traveling in a straight line together. “A really suspicious-looking convoy heading north...”

Caleb shifts out of her chair to linger over my shoulder. She heaves a sigh. “Yeah, Carson. Just a bit of noise.”

There’s anger in her tone, meaning any progress I might have made with making her laugh is officially worthless.

“It wasn’t there a minute ago,” I say. “They’re obviously using the edges of that sandstorm to stay out of sight and—”

“How far out are they?” she asks over me.

“About eighteen miles. And, by the way, your old crap could only see like twelve miles out. So, you’re welcome.”

“Shut up and bring your laptop.”

She walks off, bolting in a straight line toward the command tent across the camp.

“Well…” I shrug. “It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as shut up and keep your head down, but I guess I’ll take it.”

Fox stands up. “One of these days, you just might get a shut up and kiss me out of her,” he jokes.

“Dude, it is so not cool to toy with my emotions like that. I am a very sensitive man.”

He laughs and we leave the tent, following her bootprints through the sand.

His hand slaps my shoulder. “Box, let her go,” he says. “You can’t keep up with her. No one can.”

The warning digs at me. I know it’s true. Caleb is Wonder Woman. Strong, independent. An Amazonian rockstar. I would have to be Superman to make the slightest dent in her, but it would only slow her down for a moment.

Fox is right. There’s no way a guy like me will ever get close to a girl like Caleb Fawn.

But that won’t stop me from trying.

* * *

The mysterious convoy settled at an abandoned warehouse about ten miles east of our camp. Sunset is just moments away, giving the sky a deep purple glow, meshing with the pale sand surrounding us.

I keep quiet, watching intently as Fox peeks through his rifle’s scope from about a mile away. This fucking guy. I’d hate his guts if he weren’t so damn nice. Cool as James Dean and as suave as mid-80s’ Patrick Swayze. No wonder his mother named him Fox.

“They don’t look hostile,” he mutters. “This is something else.”

I squint through my glasses, seeing only the blurred lines and black dots on my laptop’s radar, along with a rather menacing cloud taking up half the screen. “Storm inching closer…” I note, scanning the distance.

Fox grabs his radio. “Caleb, are you in position?”

Her voice comes through. “Yes.”

“Can you see inside?”

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