Page 110 of Covert Mission
“I’m certain we would have seen a sign of struggle at Truck’s place. He would have heard something.”
As he mentions the man, I catch a glimpse of Truck walking toward us.
“Brother, you doing okay?” he asks as if we didn’t just come to blows.
I shake my head. “I’m not. Truthfully, I’m…”
He nods. “You don’t have to explain. I know I’m responsible. I’m sorry as hell.”
Justice hums as he looks over at the FamFind work area. “You know what, guys… hold on a second.”
Then he strides over to Belle. They go back and forth talking for a minute.
She’s pissed. Every few seconds, she glances my way. Her hands go to her hips.
He crosses his arms and tilts his head.
Then his coms gear connects and their conversation springs to life inside my head thanks to my bone conduction speaker.
“How did you know?” It’s Belle’s voice, and she’s snapping at him.
Justice says, “You wouldn’t look at me.”
She huffs. From the distance, I can see her arguing with herself about something.
“Belle,” Justice says gently. “Her life could be in danger.”
“I know!”
I’m striding toward them as Justice speaks to her in a low tone. “We only want to help Camile.”
Evan grabs my arm. “Let him finish.”
I take one more stride, then stop, clenching my fists by my sides. We both listen as their conversation continues—Justice’s mic is open.
“Okay, okay.” Belle makes a rough sound. “But I want you to know I promised I’d cover for her. The only reason I’m telling you is that I’m genuinely worried for her.”
Justice shifts between his feet, tightening his folded arms. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s not much to tell. Lucas isn’t going to be happy.” She glances my way again, with regret in her gaze.
I’m struck by the fact that she called me Lucas. Camile told her my name… what does that mean?
Justice says, “I’ll handle Beast, just help us help your friend.”
“She came to the house while you were out, she was outside the window. Camile didn’t say where she was going… only that she didn’t want you guys involved.”
ChapterThirty-Five
My heart is thumping by the time I jog out of town. The early morning sun is warm, but not harsh. It won’t be long though before it’s another scalding hot day in Vandemora.
I don’t have a plan beyond catching a ride with someone. Preferably not a murderous gun-toting rebel.
It’s not a great plan. But I’ve got to get away from Santa Rosa until I get a handle on what’s happening.
I reach the intersection of the main highway, if you can call it that. It’s no more than an unmarked strip of alternating pavement and dirt that snakes off into the distance.
As I stand in the shade of a nearby tree, I say a prayer.