Page 65 of Over the Edge

While an armed thug looked on suspiciously, Trevor hopped up into the back of the truck’s bed. One of his bags had slid forward and was wedged between two big crates near the front of the cargo area. He headed toward it, and jolted as he saw movement in the shadows behind one of the wooden boxes.

His hands flashed up in front of his body defensively, and he coiled to jump when a familiar face peered out from behind the crate.

Anna.

“What in the ever-lovinghellare you doing here?” he growled under his breath. He was going tokillher for stowing away like this!

She had the gall to flash him a hand signal to be quiet. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. It took every ounce of self-discipline he had not to bellow at her in outrage.

She pointed at the back of the truck and sent him a signal to move.

She could seriously stop telling him what to do. Even if she was right, dammit. The woman had just shocked the living crap out of him. He’d earned a few seconds to recover his cool.

He unzipped his big duffel bag and commenced fishing around in it. After a surreptitious glance to the rear to make sure the guard wasn’t looking, Trevor hand-signaled back to Anna to be still and hold her position.

She signaled that she was armed and would cover the driver’s side of the truck.

Armed?

What? How? Oh, he had questions. Many, many questions.

She signaled again, asking for a head count of hostiles.

Was she eff-ing kidding? No way was he getting into a gunfight out here with her in the middle of it! The dudes running the checkpoint had at least six men armed to the teeth. Had she rummaged around in his bags and snagged one or more of his weapons?

God knew, she’d had all freaking night to do it.

Furious, he signaled that there were three hostiles left and three to the right.

She nodded and signaled that she would take out the left-hand ones.

This was not some bloody training exercise. He signaled her angrily to hold her position and stay quiet.

An urge to skip this silent, sign-language argument and just strangle her made his palms itch.

He could not believe she’d successfully hidden on this truck! How did she even find out he was leaving in the middle of the wedding, anyway? Had her uncle told her? Gohar, maybe?

How had she managed to change her clothes? In the dark he made out that she was wearing utility pants and a dark sweatshirt. Did she have any other gear of her own out here?

His questions would have to wait. A hostilewaspeering in the back of the truck now. From the duffel, Trevor dragged out his digital camera. He hopped out of the truck.

“May I take your picture?” he asked the Zagari politely.

“Sure,” the guy replied, grinning.

Trevor ended up snapping pictures of several of the militants, who hammed it up and threw their arms over one another’s shoulders as he snapped a dozen pictures of them in the light of the rising sun.

“We’re good to go, then?” Mansur asked their impromptu hosts.

“We’re going to have to inspect your cargo,” the leader of the pack of militants declared.

“Here’s the thing,” Mansur said regretfully. “My fruit will spoil if I don’t get it to market promptly. I really am in a hurry. Is there any way we could hurry this along and skip the inspection?” He reached for his wallet, obviously planning to start offering the guys money to look the other way.

The militant made a dismissive sound. He obviously wasn’t interested in cash. Probably planned to help himself to a little of the opium he hoped to find in the truck. Which wasn’t happening. Not with Anna crouched in there.

Trevor cut in, answering smoothly, “That won’t be possible, gentlemen. It’s tender fruit, and banging it around any more than necessary will bruise it too much.”

Anna would love being called fruit, for surely she was hearing all of this. And she especially wouldn’t appreciate being called tender.

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