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I watch him flinch as he turns around. He slides his hat off to rub the thick, prickly hairs on his round, sweaty head.
“What is it, Fawn?” he asks.
“Sir, I have a problem with this.”
He kicks a lump of sand with the heel of his boot. “With what?”
“With Carson.”
“Look, I don’t like it either, but he could prove useful.”
“I don’t mean that,” I say. “I mean passing him off to me. I’m not a babysitter.”
His lips twitch. I can’t tell if he’s amused or pissed. Maybe both. “Well, what would you have me do with him?”
“I… I don’t know but it’s not my job to look after civilian intelligence freelancers.”
“Your job is to do whatever I tell you to do.”
“I ain’t arguing against that, sir,” I say, “I just think my skills could be put to better use than this.”
“Fawn…” He sighs with impatience. “You should thank your lucky stars you’re even out here in the first place. I could have sent you back home, but I didn’t.”
“I know that. And I really appreciate that, but—”
“I like you, Fawn. I do.” He slides his hat back on to block out the harsh sun and I sense the tone of his voice harden. If I want to make an argument, I better do it now. “You’re one hell of a good soldier and you can hold your own against most everybody here.”
“Sir—”
“But I can’t help it if I sleep better knowing you’re not first in line to get shot at or worse. Now, Carson has a job to do and it’s your job now to make sure he does it. Understood?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“And neither do I. Let’s just say that’s another reason why I’m entrusting him with you.” He takes a quick step closer. His brow hangs over his eyes, casting a purposeful shadow along the bridge of his nose. “Understood, Fawn?”
I force my argument beneath my tongue. There’s no changing Rhys’ mind on this. It’d be stupid for me to keep bashing my head into this wall and I’ve already got a big enough headache right now as it is.
“Understood,” I say.
“Now, go play nice and keep a close eye on him,” he says, spinning on his heel. “Find him a bed and some clean clothes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Like you mean it, Fawn.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Atta girl.”
He wanders off, leaving me more pissed off than when I first walked out here.
Goddammit.
I head back to the barracks to get out of the sun and embrace the shade for a few moments until I reach my cot. Of course, Carson — or whatever the hell he calls himself — is sitting on it with his mud-covered slacks and filthy hands.
“Caleb…” Fox looks up at me, obviously hinting at me to play nice just like Rhys told me to. “You okay?”
I inhale a heavy breath. “I’m fine.”
