Page 53 of High Value Target

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s incredible witnessing these guys work almost like an orchestra. Each person does their own task, and nothing is verbally communicated. Amazing. Reminds me of how my team worked in Afghanistan.”

“You a team guy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, thanks for your service.”

Grady lifted his chin to the roughnecks. “These guys deserve a thank you, too. I’ve got nothing but respect for the coordination and grit it takes to work a rig like this.”

“This is a Kelly rig. Very old school equipment and technology. And you’re right. These guys deserve respect. They do a hell of a lot more work than most men do on a daily basis.”

“Is that the speed they work at all the time? That chain he’s throwing looks like the most dangerous part of the operation. These guys deserve all the money they make.”

“Yep. Heavy machines, lots of tension, lots of torque, and lots of risk.”

“I see about a thousand different ways for a man to lose an arm or a leg.”

“You got that right.” Bodie extended his hand to Grady. “I’ve got to get on it. Nice to meet you. Take care of my sister.”

“Will do.”

Grady and Tinsley turned-in their hardhats and returned to the truck.

She smiled at Grady. “You loved that, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “I won’t deny it. That was cool as shit.”

He pulled out, and they headed toward the highway. Once he hit blacktop, Tinsley looked over at him. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved. Anything out here?”

She grinned. “I know a place.”

“What about your father? He said he needed that paperwork.”

“We won’t be long.” She directed him to a rundown looking shack on the side of the highway. The only place for miles, it appeared. The sign read, Rosa’s Taqueria.“Pull in here.”

He looked through the windshield. “This place? Real people go here. You might actually have to mingle with them,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, and he got out of the truck, coming around to open her door. “I used to come out here with my father back in the day.”

“You pullin’ my leg?”

“Nope. This was our favorite place to eat lunch.”

It was so out of character that he paused. “Seriously?”

“Cross my heart.” She led the way inside. It was tiny, with a few chipped Formica tables and old yellowed pictures hung on the stucco walls. There was a small counter to order, and a narrow hall leading back to a bathroom and a doorway to the kitchen.

“Juan and his wife, Rosa, run this place.”

A man came out wearing a white apron. “Señorita Wyatt. I haven’t seen you in so long.” He gave her a hug.

“Hello, Juan.”

“Who is this, mijo?” The old man asked with a glare at Grady.

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