Page 64 of Over the Edge

“As sure as I can be,” Trevor answered. “I’m on a legal visitor’s visa to be in Zagistan.”

They climbed out of the truck to switch seats again. For his part, Trevor reached into his wallet and pulled out about forty-thousand rupees, which worked out to just shy of three-hundred dollars. That should be enough to pay off a soldier not to hassle him, but not so much as to draw undue attention to himself.

As Mansur climbed into the cab and settled in the driver’s seat, he asked Trevor, “You got a story for why you’re out here working for me?”

“Military police won’t buy that I’m just out here sightseeing?”

Mansur actually laughed. “Uhh, no.”

“How about I’m a photographer, and I specialize in taking pictures of the remotest places on earth? I’m working in exchange for a ride into the uninhabited regions of Zagistan.”

“You got any camera gear in those bags?” Mansur asked.

“Some.”

“Can you talk photography lingo?”

“I can talk f-stops and lighting angles and telephoto lenses.”

“Good enough.” Mansur climbed in the driver’s seat. As he reached for the key in the ignition, he added, “We’re agreed, then. I hired you to help me onload and offload the fruit in the crates in the back. In return, you got a ride out here into the middle of nowhere to take your pictures.”

“Agreed,” he replied, surprised that Mansur was willing to work with him like this. The guy probably wanted to get deeper into the wilds before he dumped his passenger.

Trevor took a long breath and exhaled slowly. All tension, all emotion, drained away, leaving his body light and fast, relaxed and ready. The hot steel of the pistol at the back of his belt and the weight of two spare clips in the thigh pockets of his pants assured him he was ready for whatever this checkpoint threw at him.

Mansur cut the headlights as he approached the pair of Jeeps parked on each side of the road. Soldiers peered in the truck’s windows. A military checkpoint, then.

Trevor handed over his passport with the money tucked in it. His visa was stapled inside the document. The guard pocketed the cash without comment and still took a hard look at the visa. Good thing it was entirely on the up-and-up. Anna had helped arrange the visa through the Zagistani embassy in Washington for him. He made a mental not to thank her when—if—he got home.

He winced at the idea of facing her again, though. She was going to be furious that he ditched her in the middle of the wedding. Especially after they’d slept together.

Once she realized he was long gone, she would have no choice but to head back to the United States. She couldn’t very well stick around and let Gohar sell her to the highest bidder.

At least, the two of them didn’t have to go through any awkward farewells where they would promise to be just friends as they headed back to work with the Reapers.

This wasn’t a clean break, but it was the break that would allow them both to move forward—him toward his inevitable death out here, and her toward her career as a SEAL without any regrets over the asshole who’d bailed on her in Zagistan.

If only he’d gotten a chance to love her the way she deserved to be loved. He would carry that regret to his grave.

“Your papers are in order,” the soldier announced, startling Trevor out of his wandering thoughts. Holy crap. He’d just gotten distracted in the middle of a potentially lethal scenario. Worse, he’d been thinking about a woman. Granted, she was an extraordinary woman, but still. He knew better.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking back his passport.

Mansur threw the truck in gear and it rumbled forward into the night.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Trevor commented. “It’s good being in the clear.”

Mansur snorted. “We’re far from in the clear, my friend. We’ll start hitting checkpoints set up by the local smugglers before long.” He added slyly, “You’ll have to fork over more than a few thousand rupees to buy your way past them alive.”

The guy’d seen the bribe, huh? Either he was losing his touch at being subtle or Mansur was more observant than Trevor had given him credit for.

The next government checkpoint looked more permanent. A gate next to a rough hut blocked each vehicle that passed through it. This time, he put more money inside his passport as he passed it through the window.

And then they hit the third checkpoint, a makeshift affair constructed out of a pair of sawhorses placed haphazardly across the road. The crew manning it looked hard. Violent. And sketchy as hell.

Mansur floated the photographer story with this bunch, but they seemed completely unimpressed. In fact, they demanded to see Trevor’s camera and photographic gear. Bastards probably planned to steal it.

Mansur got out of the truck, and Trevor let himself be manhandled to the ground as well. He was willing to stick with the cover story until violence broke out.

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