Page 6 of Covert Mission

Belle’s no fool. She’s been in dozens of high-risk disaster locations with FamFind. She should really be the one with my job—the team lead—but there’s a whole other story there.

With a dip of my chin, I try to ease the worry. I let out a shaky exhale. “You’re right. I won’t do anything reckless.”

The way she inspects my face says she’s not convinced, but she squeezes my arm once and lets it go. “Hopefully, they’ll leave soon.”

We watch the men until she fans herself and turns away. “We might die from this heat first.” With a tired moan, she plucks at the soaking-wet FamFind shirt that’s clinging to her curves. “I got stuff to do. Remember, keep your eyes peeled.”

“I will.”

My feet seem to be glued in place. My mind is whirring with all the scenarios that could play out. None of them are good.

“Stop,” I order myself. “Assess. React.”

It’s my mantra. I repeat it.

Stop. Assess. React.

It should make me feel better. It usually does, but something is bothering me, and I can’t put my finger on it.

The last time I had a feeling like this, I got home from work to find my apartment broken into and all of my possessions stolen.

Since I don’t have any belongings besides what will fit in two small suitcases, I doubt that’s what’s happening now.

All I know is the uncomfortable feeling in my bones is not me shivering with fear. I won’t allow it.

I puff my cheeks, blow out a breath, and lift my damp hair off my neck as I look around.

So much to do. The work won’t get done unless I get in motion.

It’s already been far harder to get our footing to set up our aid center than I thought it would be. Getting to the tiny village took hours longer than it should have. Landslides, and worst of all, a hostile roadblock held us up.

Just when I thought it had to be over, we got a flat tire on top of that.

I’m counting that as three things. Three and done. Nothing else is going to go wrong today.

Okay.

Where was I?

I pick up a box of first-aid kits and move them closer to the tables at the back of the tent. There’s a growing stack of medical supplies that will be donated to anyone in need.

A group of angry gunmen stalk past, but don’t seem to notice us. Belle glances at me and wipes a hand dramatically over her brow once they’ve passed.

I mouth, “I know, that was close.”

Keeping my eyes peeled, I continue to open boxes. The first one has FamFind branded care packages. The second holds our team’s computers. The third has a dozen clipboards and white boards. And so on until I found boxes with the rest of the first-aid supplies, MRE food pouches, and water.

When I scan the area for the troublemakers, they’re milling around a collapsed building, harassing some locals. A couple of men seem to have it under control.

Good.

Maybe the rebels will get bored and move on.

I let my guard down for one minute. Just long enough to unpack a handful of tripods for signs, but when I raise my eyes, I know I’ve made what could be a fatal mistake.

Three armed men are stalking toward me with their faces half covered by neck gators.

My stomach pretzels and all the hairs on my neck stand up.

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