Page 115 of Covert Mission

“Scout checking in.”

I pause for a beat, trying to get my head around what I’m about to say. “Scout, you know I’m out, you don’t have to report to me.”

He snarks at me. “Whatever. You’re not getting out of this job that easy.”

I open my mouth to curse, but he cuts me off. “Truck’s getting ready to leave to go to the hospital. Justice borrowed a motorcycle—he and Belle are taking the southbound road, they’re going to ask around about MZ while they’re searching for Camile. I’m going heads down on some research on archeology sites. Any updates on your end?”

“I’m closing in on a bus that Evan saw from the air.”

He makes an approving sound. “Well, well. That sounds promising.”

The bus comes into sight far ahead of me, climbing up a long incline. The road is one lane, bordered by two steep ravines. Hardly wide enough for the ancient-looking bus.

“I hope so, if she’s not, I’m going to be tearing that city apart.”

My eyes lock on the bus. Something’s coming in the opposite direction… moving too fast.

A motorcycle, taking up too much of the road.

The bus swerves toward the cliff’s edge and all I can do is watch horror as the front wheels go over the side. “No! NO!”

Scout is completely forgotten as I skid the truck to a stop behind the bus. Fuck. Okay, fuck.

They didn’t go over the edge.

Screams permeate the air. Smell of exhaust stings my nose.

“Don’t move!” I shout in English and then Spanish. Then I run for the back of my truck.

My insides are shaking with adrenaline as I try to punch the security code into the lock on the truck cap.

It takes two tries before I can unlock the gear storage.

I shove aside two duffel bags and grab the bright yellow tow strap. I also grab two large hooks in case I need them for attaching to the bus.

A wave of calm washes over me. Like a door has been slammed, all my emotion goes on lock.

Camile and those people need me to be the SEAL. Not a man that’s seriously fucked up over a woman he can’t understand.

I hook the strap to my truck’s front bumper. It’s an oversized beast of a bumper, made for all kinds of hard work. Marshall Lake had the foresight to kit us up right, except now I’m thinking we need a chopper of our own.

When I jog to the bus, there’s a man leaning out one of the rear windows, he’s ghostly white. Frantically, he’s reaching for me.

“No! Don’t move. No one can move.”

I hold up the tow strap to show him what I’m going to do. Then I climb below the rear of the bus.

Rust crumbles off of the ancient vehicle as I wiggle below the frame to reach the axle.

I’ve almost got it…

Just a little more.

I tug the strap, straining my arms.

Come on!

I shift around and try again.