Page 7 of Covert Mission

Where’s Belle?

I don’t want to take my eyes off of them.

My skin crawls. My hands get twitchy.

I stand up from my crouch, almost knocking a laptop to the ground, and start moving.

Dammit.

“Belle?” I croak.

She’s nowhere in sight, so I don’t stop moving.

I make it to the end of the row of wooden crates, hang a left, and catch a glimpse of her with the other two members of our team.

Whew.

Okay.

They’re retreating with pale faces and fast footsteps.

Belle waves for me to hurry. I hustle away from the tent and along the truck.

Stay cool. You’ve got this.

When I careen around the cargo truck, I skid to a halt.

Oh!

Only, I have too much momentum, so I stumble forward and slam against a wall of muscle.

All the wind is knocked out of me.

I try to scramble back, but he grabs me by latching two gigantic hands around my waist.

My brain kicks into overdrive, and time slows.

I register everything about him at once. The way his entire chest is one big plane of muscles. The ridiculous heat coming off of him. His height. Probably six-three.

But the most rattling thing is how he’s pressed against me everywhere. As if that’s not close enough, he jerks me that last millimeter forward into the granite-like front.

My breath squeezes out and a squeaky sound comes out of my throat.

Then he clamps an oversized, calloused hand over my whole face.

That’s when I go crazy.

“Shhh!” he hisses.

I twist and scream into his hand. “Mmmmmlp.” AKA help.

In the next instant, I’m hovering. My feet are off the ground. Reflexively, I kick like a wild animal.

Fight!

But he’s got me. And only needs one arm to do it.

This fact fuels the flames of my anger and equally raises my alarm to a screeching sound inside my head.