Page 168 of Covert Mission
Before they pull away, I’ve already blended into the shadows, moving toward the building where Camile’s suspects might be conducting their business.
As much as I want to, I can’t think about my team.
I’ve got a job to do.
ChapterFifty-Seven
I’m officially worried sick. The spicy food I ate is a solid rock in my stomach now. “Do you think they’re okay?”
Nyx and Truck both look up at me from their books.
How can they be reading at time like this?
But Truck looks like he’s bored. Nyx, though, her brows are definitely tighter than they were an hour ago. Every once in a while, I catch her watching me.
I realize what I’m about to ask makes no sense, but nerves make me do it anyway. “Can we call them?”
He goes back to reading. “No.”
“No? Why?”
He flips a page. “You don’t want anyone’s phone going off while they’re in the middle of a covert op.”
This makes sense, but I still feel the compelling need to challenge him. “Won’t they put their phones on silent?”
Truck sets his book down and stretches, rolling out his ankle—the one he injured. “You can’t rush things like that. They could end up sitting in an alley all night.”
I push up from the table, almost knocking a section of the puzzle I’ve been working off as I do.
Truck’s eyes follow me. I walk to the window and peer out. Justice and Belle’s laughter carries on the night air to me. “I think those two have something going on,” I announce.
“Nope.” Truck yawns, stretching again. “Justice has a type.”
Nyx closes her book and levels him with a look. “A type?”
“He likes tall, shy women. Specifically, with strawberry blond hair.”
That’s definitely not Belle. There’s not a shy bone on her body.
I snort. “Well, I guess that’s hard to find. But I mean, really. Can you just decide you have a type and not date anyone but that? Isn’t personality more important?”
Heaven knows I’m probably not Beast’s type. I’m a lanky, not very feminine girl with a county accent. I guess I should be happy he didn’t stick to his type, whatever type that is.
I glance at my watch again. “Guys, it’s fun to talk to you and all, and joke about Justice and his cookie-cutter bride, but I’m really getting worried.”
This time, Truck glances at his watch. “I won’t be worried until we hit twenty-four hours.”
An audible gasp comes from me. “Twenty-four hours? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Okay, maybe twelve hours. We’re only going on six now.”
I fret myself to exhaustion and finally fall asleep in the chair. I startle awake when Truck touches my arm. “Wake up.”
“What time is it?”
“Three. We’ve got to roll!”
My heart is pounding, my vision is blurry from my slumber. “Where?”