Page 2 of Covert Mission

I turn to look at him. “And you have?” My brows go up.

He ignores me as he makes his way to the little building with the open door and the sign that readsmanagerin Spanish.

Evan, Mr. Chatty Cathy, thumps his chest. “Man, I know it’s coming.”

Justice walks up, looking calm and comfortable—like he hasn’t been twisted into a pretzel for hours. Smiling, he looks up at the sky. “Hopefully, a rainstorm. This humidity is off the charts.”

I hitch a thumb at Evan. “He’s talking about love.”

Of all things to be talking about. We’ve got a mission and here we are standing around like a bunch of idiots talking about nonsense.

Justice perks up when he finds this out. “Didn’t know you have a girl.”

“He doesn’t,” I say, as I snatch my pack from the back seat, “but he thinks it’s coming.”

“It is.” Evan proclaims as he starts to whistle the wedding march.

I groan. Justice laughs his clear, and very loud laugh.

What the hell has gotten into Evan? I stop and scowl at him. “Did you hit your head and not tell me?”

Justice is still laughing as he hitches his own duffel over his shoulder. “Better keep an eye on him, Chief. He’ll be running off with some pretty little thing while he’s supposed to be working.”

“Better not,” I call as I head toward the office to see if Truck got us checked in.

Then it hits me.

Shit.I know what happened. It had to be our company retreat. Nearly all of the founding members of Agile have found their ‘one’. Evan was there to witness all the lovey-dovey.

Which means I need to skip the next social event because clearly that hormone induced delirium is contagious.

I don’t get to escape by going to look for Truck because he’s strolling back toward us, looking satisfied.

“Wouldn’t hold your breath on that wedding,” I advise Evan as I fish around in my backpack for a bottle of water.

Evan looks goofy as hell as he cranes his neck back to look at the white clouds dotting the crystal blue sky. “Love is in the air, I just feel it. Who knows maybe I’ll meet?—”

“That’s humidity, idiot,” Truck says as he straightens his boonie hat.

“Can we save the shit for later?” Scout lays into us as he stalks past me, all man-on-a-mission.

He drops the tailgate on GT1—AKA Gear Truck 1—the loaded up black Tundra that nearly broke my knees.

“Rally round,” Scout calls and circles his hand in the air.

I might be the Team Lead, but Scout has no problem keeping things moving along. Suits me. I’m fine without talking. That’s why Evan and I rode together. He can talk. I can ponder. Or more apt, look for the meaning between all the babble that comes out of his mouth. The real stuff. The stuff that makes people tick.

Evan, Truck, Justice and I gather round the rear of the truck, jockeying for shade, and peer down at the tablet that Scout’s hovering over.

“This here,” Scout says as he taps his stylus on the screen, “is the last known location of our subject. It’s about two clicks down this road, and just adjacent to the river. The road between here and there is narrow and rough.”

Santa Rosa, according to our intel, is a small, remote village with a minimal collection of houses and businesses on a single dirt road.

Evan shifts his weight between his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Scout, man, don’t you even need to stretch or take a leak or something? I sure do.”

“No.”

Just no. Nothing else. Scout is like that. Cut and dry. Man, I thought I was down with the king of short answers. Scout’s winning right now.

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