Page 52 of Stealth Mission

Damn, I wish I didn’t like this woman so much. “You’ve got good intuition.”

“Don’t count on it. It’s not reliable.”

A tingle at the nape of my neck—my danger radar—reminds me of where we are. “Let’s get moving. I can feel eyes on us.”

There’s a low level bustle to the town. Most of the tourists stick out. Too clean. Polo shirts, khaki pants, and the like. Which happens to be close to my choice of clothing for the day.

I shrug, adjusting my T-shirt, the one I paired with dark gray cotton walking shorts. Still, I look spiffed up, putting me squarely in the tourist category, unlike the obvious farmers and laborers coming and going from the shops.

Marianna tenses on my arm. After a quick glance around, she puffs up her cheeks. “I feel it now. My father, no doubt. Probably his assistant, too. Anyone my father could call right now to put eyes on me.”

I knew he was an asshole. Now I’m beginning to think he’s also psychotic.

“Karma’s turning out to be a very interesting town, even though it seems quaint.”

“Quaint and full of trouble.”

I process that remark. “But don’t all small towns have their demons? I know mine did.”

“So, you’re a small town boy?”

“Once upon a time.” Those unhappy memories still clog my throat. I clear it and change the subject. “It’s pretty slow here, huh?”

Marianna laughs lightly as she adjusts that damned purse. Every damned time she smiles, something happens to my brain.

“You must live in the city now. This is busy for Karma.”

“I’ve spent my fair share of time in cities.” I don’t share that I’ve also spent a career in what most consider the world’s armpits during my time with the Teams.

She gestures with her free hand, the sunlight catching on a bangle bracelet as she sweeps an arc to highlight Karma’s main street. “Well, it’s not much, but you can get most things you need here. Except electronics. You’ll have to go to Carollia for a phone or a computer. Which reminds me, I’m going to have to make a trip once I deal with the truckagain…”

Her voice trails off with a hint of sadness.

“Is the Land Cruiser a repeat offender?”

“You could say that. Gingersnap has a mind of her own.” Marianna makes a small head shake as if she’s trying to get rid of a thought. “Poor girl has given me a lot of trouble since I inherited her from my grandfather. I think she misses him. But I’m not really in a position to replace her.”

Now her tone isn’t sad, it’s bleak.

“I don’t think it’s a big problem. Not that Gingersnap doesn’t have other gremlins, I mean, the truck is thirty years old. But a leak in the coolant system will probably be an easy fix.”

Her eyes flash toward me. “Really?”

“Yeah, I have an idea what it might need?—”

Something catches the corner of my gaze and makes me drop the convo. That prickling at the back of my neck is getting worse.

Tightening her hand on my arm, Marianna’s pace slows. “What is it?”

“A feeling.”

I learned a long time ago that you don’t ignore intuitions.

Both sides of the narrow road are lined with businesses, some one story, others two-storied places. Most are painted in bright, festive colors. All of them have terracotta roofs and stucco façades. Above some of the shops are apartments withsmall balconies jammed with plants and strung with clothing lines.

There are pots of blooming flowers and streetlights, the latter of which strike me as odd for the region. But Vandemora does have a strong European influence. It’s a well-tended small town in the midst of a country that’s a combination of undeveloped rainforest, farmland, and tiny beach towns.

Older model cars dot the street parking. People move about busily, coming and going. Most are dressed in working clothes like jeans and dusty T-shirts, but a few women are dressed like Marianna in sundresses.

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