Page 81 of Stealth Mission

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Who knew that agave plants take eight or more years to grow to make tequila?

Not me. I know how Tequila tastes. Going down and coming up. Unfortunately.

I shudder as my stomach pitches from recollection alone. A blurry memory that ended in a vicious hangover.

Damn, I’ve had one too many wild nights drinking tequila to count.

But this… this farm is a thing to behold.

The fields are beautiful. The way the light plays over the rows, casting shadows in the morning and evening. It’s mesmerizing.

I’ve never grown anything in my life.

Except mold in the fridge.

Man, I must be going crazy.Scratch that. I know I’m going crazy.

I need to see Marianna.

Two fucking days feel like two lifetimes.

But I’ve never sat and looked at any kind of farm for days.

It’s… tranquil.

If I wasn’t a fucking knot inside.

That part is the antithesis of tranquility.

If I chewed my nails, I’d have stubs for fingers.

Breathe, Evan.

When my phone sounds I jolt and grab it, hitting the accept button before the second ring. “Boss man.”

“Are you still on guard?”

“Roger, that. What do you have?”

“We dug up some shit on Sylvester.”

A surge of excitement makes me push to my feet. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“That dude’s sheisty. He’s got a lot going on. Weird import and export business, artifacts and produce going out, car parts coming in. We think we dug up some kind of small-time crime ring, too. Maybe a chop shop business. Generally just a scumball.”

“What the fuck is her father up to with the arranged marriage shit?”

“Camile’s trying to sort through the possible reasons.”

Dust flies around my boots as I stalk around.

“What are you doing?”

“Pacing.”

“No, I mean what are you doing?”