Page 26 of Secret Mission

I reach down and slip my bowie knife free from the sheath at my calf and press it into Allison’s hand. “Stay low. Keep that hidden, use it if you have to.”

“Oh. Crap,” she whispers. “I don’t know how…”

“Point the sharp end at them.”

I start our boat’s engine and put it into gear in case I need to maneuver. We were drifting on the river’s current before, but now I want power on our side.

One of the men—the one at the bow—raises a hand as he slides on a pair of sunglasses. “Hola!”

Tipping my chin, I hold the course with one hand on the wheel, with the other, I snatch down the clothing hanging on the line. Women’s clothing.

“Buenos Dias.” Thank god for being raised bilingual.

But they’re curious, their stares are hot along my skin through their dark lenses.

My unease is crackling now. A storm building in my muscles. A slowness spreading through my brain.

This is how combat is for me.

“Que pasa?” I ask

“You speak English?” the man on the bow asks.

“Yeah.”

As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I know I’ve made a tactical error.

“Good,” the boat captain says with an oily grin. “We’re looking for a man and a woman.”

Chapter Seven

I almost swallow my tongue.

Oh, my god. They’re looking for us.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I try not to let the anguish inside me escape.

This is all my fault.

But Truck is so casual, you’d never know he was hiding me on the floor in front of his legs, just feet away from men who are hunting us.

No, not hunting us.

Me.

This is all about me. And now Truck and his team are caught up in this.

My heart shrivels when I think about how many people could be hurt by my father.

Truck’s voice is casual as he answers their question. “Haven’t seen anyone else in a long while.”

Yeah, since someone was shooting at us. Since he dragged me off a cliff. Since I got them involved in something horrible.

A man on the other boat asks, “Where you heading?”

“Don’t know yet. Just exploring. Took some time off from work. You know…needed to figure my shit out. Nothing like some time on the water to help when your head’s all fucked up with PTSD. They call me crazy, and who knows…”

Truck shifts and laughs abruptly, sounding more than a little deranged. “Maybe I am. That’s what happens when you kill a lot of people, you know? It fucks your head up. Makes you a loose cannon.”

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