Page 1 of An Epic Voyage (The Epic Beauty Salon Files #1)

I ndigo Adair was late for class. Typically, she was notorious for being early and the first to arrive for the eight o’clock session, so her stomach was twisted into double knots.

She hated missing any of Professor Meier’s lectures.

He was a stickler for details, and they usually ended up in one of his numerous quizzes.

If you let your mind wander for even a second during class, you might miss a critical piece of information.

She was always on full alert while he spoke, taking copious notes.

Indy had stayed up late studying for an exam in her international relations class, and seven a.m. had rolled around way too quickly.

When her alarm pealed, it felt as if she’d just fallen asleep.

Then she’d done something she never had before—she’d shut it off and lapsed back into a deep slumber.

She was paying for that now. Professor Meier would likely single her out as she tried to slink into a chair in the back of the lecture hall.

She’d avoided his attention until now, but she’d watched many others suffer through the humiliation.

Professor Meier possessed a caustic wit.

People had told her many times over the last four years that she was crazy for loading her schedule with so many classes.

Yes, her workload was heavy, but a double major in psychology and political science wasn’t for the weak.

Her path to college had been paid for with scholarships, and she’d always felt the need to prove herself worthy of the awards.

If her grade point average were any measure of success, she’d accomplished her goals.

Indy was about to climb the steps to the building where the class was being held when someone blocked her path. She jerked to a stop.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said. The woman didn’t move. That wasn’t nice.

“Indigo Adair?”

Indy blinked. The woman knew her name, but Indy was sure she’d never met her before.

She would’ve remembered this woman. Her long, pale blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she possessed the lightest blue eyes Indy had ever seen.

Her skin was smooth, and her clothing was most definitely not off the rack.

The woman was almost unrealistically beautiful.

Magazine models had the benefit of airbrushing and Photoshop.

This woman didn’t need any of that. She could be anywhere from fifteen to forty years old.

She was stunning. Indy felt like a sweaty, unkempt blob next to her.

She’d jumped out of bed and thrown on the first T-shirt and shorts she could find, didn’t matter if they were clean or not. Had she even brushed her hair?

“Who wants to know?”

Instead of answering, the woman said, “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Indy glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I’m late for class.”

She started to veer around the woman, but she shifted to block her advance. Indy was beginning to get annoyed.

“Mr. Meier canceled today’s session.”

Indy pulled out her phone and checked for a notice, but there was none. She lifted her gaze to the woman, her brows narrowed. “How did you—”

“There’s a bench over here. Let’s have a chat.”

The woman worded it as a request, but it felt more like a demand. And dang it, didn’t she ever answer a question? Talk about frustrating.

Indy glanced around the area. A few people were milling about, but it was mostly deserted at this time of the morning. Only overachievers like herself who had scheduled early classes were around. The majority of students were still home in bed.

The woman didn’t wait for a response as she headed to the limestone bench.

It was as if she expected Indy to follow.

Indy glanced at the building again. She could dash inside and lose her, but she seemed to know Indy’s schedule.

That made her uneasy, even if the woman was too beautiful to seem like a threat.

What else did she know about her? Possibly her address. She might show up at any time.

Fingering the can of pepper spray on her keyring, Indy decided to listen to what she had to say. After shrugging off her backpack, she sat next to the blonde and placed her bag on the ground at her feet.

“You know who I am. Who are you, and how do you know my schedule?”

“I know everything about you, Indigo.”

A sliver of unease snaked down her spine. That sounded ominous. Chilling.

“I know your father died on a military mission to Afghanistan, and your mother passed a year later from cancer. You had no family to take you in, so you were placed into the foster care system at age six. After bouncing from one temporary home to another, a woman by the name of Rhea Sparks took you in and provided a stable environment for you from grade seven through high school. You were a straight-A student and excelled at soccer and softball. You earned scholarships to attend college with a double major in political science and psychology and have maintained a 4.0 GPA despite a rigorous schedule and your continued participation in intramural sports. You have a knack for languages and speak four. Ms. Sparks passed away during your sophomore year, leaving you alone again.”

Indigo couldn’t stop the full-body shudder. Her brain screamed at her to get up and run. But the woman was wrong about one thing—she spoke five languages, thank you very much. “How do you know so much about me? Who are you?”

“Evangeline Charvet.”

Evangeline Charvet. Even her name sounded exotic.

“I work for the government.”

Indy jerked and almost fell off the bench. She had to grasp the edge to stay upright. What had she done to attract their attention? “What do you want with me? I’ve done nothing to put myself on your radar.”

“On the contrary, Indigo. You’re exactly who I’m looking for. You’re highly intelligent. Athletic. Independent. Streetwise.”

Indigo rubbed her forehead. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“I know this is coming to you out of the blue, but I need you to keep an open mind. What I’m about to tell you is classified information.”

“As in you’ll toss me in Gitmo if I blab?” She’d read horror stories of the military facilities in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

Evangeline chuckled. “I wouldn’t be so dramatic, but I expect your discretion. Everything I know about you tells me you can be trusted.”

Indy considered herself honest and reliable. A vault. If someone asked her not to repeat something, she didn’t. She’d never been one to gossip, probably since she’d been the topic of discussion so many times throughout her childhood. Everyone felt sorry for the poor little orphan girl.

“I’m putting together a team of three handpicked women for an undercover shadow unit. Think Charlie’s Angels with badges.”

Indy’s pulse picked up speed. She’d discovered the seventies television show during a stint at one of her foster homes and had streamed every episode more than once.

She’d even recruited two other girls to pretend they were the trio of badass private detectives.

They’d go around solving made-up crimes using their finger guns.

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she might be one of them someday.

“Okay, you’ve sufficiently piqued my interest.”

“Good.”

“What do you mean by an undercover shadow unit?”

“Exactly as it sounds. We won’t exist on paper and you won’t be able to tell anyone what you do for a living. We work under the direction of the commander-in-chief.”

Indy’s mouth dropped open. “You want me to work for the president of the United States?”

“Yes.”

Indigo’s heart thumped inside her chest. The spiel this woman, Evangeline Charvet, was feeding her was too far-fetched to believe—wasn’t it? Things like this didn’t happen to ordinary people like her, outside of the movies.

Was she seriously considering giving up everything she’d been working toward for four grueling years of college for what sounded like the premise of a television series?

Oh, good Lord, she was .