Page 10 of Wasp

“In the office!” I replied.

He took a bit to come in and as he flopped into one of my chairs, I saw why. He had a tall glass filled with more ice than juice. I could only imagine the temperature outside as I smiled.

“So—you’ve had time to thing.” Charlie paused for a long drink. “What are you going to do about the highway incident?”

I sat across from him and picked up one of the candies from the small bowl on my desk.

“Do you remember Seema Lipson?” I asked.

“The woman with the truck—yeah.”

“She’s ex-army.” I replied.

Charlie arched a brow.

“Apparently, she’s kind of amazing—she has two of Canada’s top medals for service and valour. I called Tex to see if he can spare someone to watch Dillon for a bit—he suggested her.”

“That would make sense. You know she’s a good person.”

“How do I know that?”

“She rescued you at great risk to herself and wanted nothing in return but a cup of bad truck-stop coffee.” Charlie pointed out.

“There’s that.” I groaned. “She didn’t even want me paying for that.”

“My point.” Charlie finished his juice. “If she can handle herself and is willing to take the job, she’d be my first choice.”

I nodded.

“But how would you find her?” Charlie asked more to himself than to me. “Then again, there can’t be too many female truck drivers, with a purple truck that has a giant wasp on it.”

I slide my phone across the desk for him to see.

“Right—Tex—that man scares me.”

I laughed. “She should be there about four.”

“Well, all you can do right now is shoot your shot.”

* * *

It tookme about an hour to make it to where she stored her truck. It would have been a shorter drive in the Bentley, but Toronto traffic was always hell during construction.

It wasn’t quite summer yet, but the snow was gone and the workers were busy tearing up the old asphalt to prepare for summer.

When I pulled into the parking lot, there weren’t any trucks to be seen. I slipped off my sunglasses as I pulled open the office door and was happy when the air conditioning hit my skin.

It wasn’t summer—but the heat was already irritating.

“May I help you?” The woman behind the desk asked.

“Yes, I’m looking for one of your drivers.” I told her.

The stare she offered me was suspicious.

I didn’t blame her.

If some strange person walked into my building asking for one of my people, I’d want to give them the old Spanish Inquisition too.

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