Page 117 of Secret Mission

“What do you want to be called?”

Eeep. “I have no idea. This sounds serious.”

“Is that what you were looking up on the computer?”

“Oh, no.” I turn serious, the smile I had dropping like a rock. “If I steal some hair from my father’s hairbrush can we get testing done to see if his DNA matches me?”

As he slides into the seat, wedging his long legs under the table, he reaches for the computer. “I know the right person for the job.”

He dives in, his calloused fingers banging on the laptop, but Truck still isn’t back, and Justice never said what was up.

“Hey there, frog man, was my guy okay?”

“No.”

I sit back abruptly. Fluttering behind my sternum makes me press my hand there. “What’s wrong?”

“That boy is lovesick.”

Oh. I sag a little. “Besides that?”

Notice I don’t say he’s wrong, because I have a feeling that wobbly feeling inside of me is lovesickness too.

“His sixth sense is issuing every warning alarm known to man.”

“This is the safest thing we’ve done all week.”

He nods, not lifting his eyes. “Probably, but he had a dream.”

I wait, my breath held.

“A bad one.”

“Well, it’s not surprising after everything that’s happened to us and to his brother. It’s been a long few days.”

“He’s rattled.”

Fear slithers down my spine. “What did he see?”

My voice cracks, and I clear my throat as a shadow passes behind me.

Truck drops into the seat next to me, his face and the edge of his hair damp like he’s splashed himself with cool water.

“What did you see in your dream?”

Truck flattens his hands on the table. “Nothing, it was just a bunch of jumbled stuff. I just feel really fucking uneasy about taking you on an op.”

Pressing my hand to his sternum, I lean over the arm rest until we’re eye to eye and I can feel his heat pressing into me. “I’ll be okay.”

I know what he’s been through, losing Hope. It’s understandable that he’s worried. Extra worried, in fact. “I’ll do exactly what you tell me to do, no matter what.”

As our serious gazes stay locked, Truck nods slowly. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Doc.”

The speaker crackles to life above us. A woman’s voice fills the cabin.

“We’re landing in ten minutes. Get ready to deplane quickly. I have to take off immediately, Team One needs me to do an urgent pick up.”

“Showtime,” Justice closes his laptop with a thunk and stretches until his hands bump the curved plane ceiling. “About your question, if you get the DNA, I can get it done in 48 hours.”