Page 17 of Javier

Missy was especially quiet. She’d been articulate upon meeting me, determined and vocal, but now it was obvious she preferred silence to my specialty, idle talk. Since maintaining operational silence suited me just fine at the moment, I had plenty of time to study her.

She channeled most of her energy into taking care of her friends. Her silence didn’t fool me. Her gaze shone with intelligence as she took in the world around us. I’d bet a million bucks her mind was always in motion. She was a deep thinker.

At the edge of an old, decrepit hacienda, I halted. I took off my helmet, hooked it to my ruck, and, leaving it in the women’s care, made a quick detour. I came back with someclothes from the line and handed Missy the bundle.

“Here you go,” I said. “You all need to change.”

She glanced from the clothes to me and frowned, a meeting of auburn brows that expressed all kinds of displeasure. “Did you steal these clothes from those poor people?”

“What the hell did I do to deserve this?” Not bothering to hide my annoyance, I looked up at the sky and raised my hands before I returned my stare to her. “Have you forgotten about our current designation as fugitives? If I had to steal clothing to make you safe, I would.”

“But those people need their—”

“Hold your horses.” I stopped her mid-sentence. “No need to throw a hissy fit. I left some money clipped on the line and my machete for their future use. It alone more than covers the cost of that old stuff. I’m not a goody two shoes, but I’m alsonota thief. So, stop looking at me as if I’m a criminal. I’m not. Even if I’ve been to jail.”

She blinked several times. “You’ve been in jail?”

Me and my big mouth.

“Never mind.” I shouldered my ruck. “Get dressed. All of you.”

“I willnotgive up my habit.” Sister Elsa came to her feet with Missy’s help. “We’re the Lord’s warriors. Why should we give up our uniform when you’re wearing yours?”

“There are a lot of soldiers in this country.” It seemed I was cursed to have to explain my every thought to my little B Team. “My uniform is designed to look like theirs. You three, on the other hand, you stick out like three sore thumbs on one freakish hand.”

“But—”

“Not done, Sugar Pie.” I squelched Sister Elsa’s protests. “Some things are hard to hide. Like nuns, for example. The equation is simple. Nun plus habit plus this country equals deadnun.”

“I hate to agree with him, but he’s not wrong.” Missy surprised me. She distributed the clothes to the nuns, then grabbed the hem of her jumper and pulled it over her head. “Let’s hurry.”

I ran my gaze up and down her body. Beneath that baggy excuse for a dress, Missy wore an outfit that showcased her elegant, efficient beauty. Her spandex leggings embraced a small waist, a tight, perky ass, and a pair of lean thighs that anchored her shapely legs. Her T-shirt embraced the smooth curves of her torso, revealed her flat belly, and hugged her small breasts within the outline of her bra.

“Hey.” Her pointed glare forced me to tighten my slack lips. “What are you staring at?”

The words blurted out of my mouth. “Under that shitty dress, you’re quite the stunner.”

“Stop making fun of me,” she snapped, stuffing her jumper in her backpack.

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” I said. “Just speaking the truth, plain and simple.”

“Right.” She yanked on her bag’s zipper and closed it.

She didn’t believe me.

“You gotta trust me on this.” I opened my big mouth again, because apparently, I wasn’t able to keep it shut when facing Missy’s discontent. “I’ve been with tons of women—”

“I bet.” She rolled her eyes.

“They were all beauties, all shapes and forms.” If I was already knee deep in trouble, I might as well keep going and make my point. “Curvy, busty, assy, you name it, I’ve seen it. But you, you’re really pretty, Angel, and I mean that in the most wholesome way.”

If her eyes had been loaded with ammo, the glower she aimed in my direction would’ve made a colander out of me asecond before I died.

“Wholesome?” Sister Elsa winced and turned her face toward Sister Janet. “Goodness gracious. His biscuit’s not done in the middle, is it?”

“The feek’s got no sense at all,” Sister Janet agreed. “He’s sharp as mashed potatoes.”

“What are you talking about?” I looked from one woman to the other. “It’s true.”

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