“Good. That’ll save some time.”
Slater glanced over Crusher’s shoulder, his brow furrowing. “Where is she?”
Crusher scanned the vicinity and then turned toward the trees and called out quietly, “All clear. You can come out.”
For a brief moment, she didn’t emerge, and he couldn’t see her in the shadows. A stab of apprehension bolted through him. He started for the trees.
At that moment, Marta stepped out into the open, her eyes shooting right then left, and finally, landing on him.
The moment of panic abated, and Crusher waved her forward. Once she stood beside him, he placed a hand at the small of her back and turned toward Royce’s friend. “Dr. Marta Hale, this is RJ Slater.”
Marta held out her good hand and shook Slater’s. “Mr. Slater.”
“Dr. Hale.” Slater dipped his head and gave her a friendly smile. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m told you’re in need of transportation.”
“I am,” she said, a genuine smile curling her lips.
Crusher liked it when she smiled. It warmed her cheeks and made her green eyes sparkle. She needed to do it more often. But how could she with the fate of the world weighing on her shoulders alone?
The pressure had to be intense.
“If you’ll come with me, I think I can help.” He glanced toward the town. “The sooner we’re off the road, the better.”
Marta climbed into the back seat of the SUV behind the driver, giving Crusher the front passenger seat so he could catch up with Slater. He’d rather be sitting with her but assumed she might like a little time to relax on her own.
“What’s ol’ Royce up to these days?” Slater asked. “I was surprised when he told me he’d moved SOS out of DC and set up shop in Texas.”
Crusher nodded. “He did, and the entire team went with him. We’re now independent.”
“Then why are you taking orders from Devon Marsh? I thought you’d cut ties with the State Department.”
“We still help out where we can on projects we deem apolitical,” Crusher said.
Slater shot a look in Crusher’s direction. “Didn’t like being used to exact revenge on political opponents, eh?”
Crusher’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “That’s not why we were formed.”
“I gotta say it’s nice not having to deal with the turmoil back in the States,” Slater said.
“How’s that going for you with the cartels?” Crusher cocked a brow in the man’s direction.
“Pretty good so far,” Slater said. “As long as I stay out of their business, they stay out of mine.”
A frown creased Crusher’s forehead. “RJ, you realize that by helping get Marta out of Colombia, you’ll piss off Vasquez. He’s known for his ruthlessness against those he considers his enemies.”
RJ nodded. “I know what I’m getting into. That’s why we have to keep everything on the down low. Besides, I could use a little excitement. The laid-back life of farming is hard work and sometimes boring. I haven’t been this charged since I moved to Colombia. I miss the action of combat and being with a team.”
Slater drove the SUV away from the town and out into the Colombian countryside, where trees had been stripped across a valley and grass now grew to feed the cattle grazing in the morning sunshine. Soon, grasslands blended into rows of coffee trees lining hillsides for as far as Crusher could see.
RJ drove into a valley and stopped at the end of a runway where a hangar stood. “Wait here,” he said. The coffee plantation owner jumped down, hurried to the hangar, and pushed two large doors to the side one at a time before returning to drive the SUV into the dark interior.
A small plane stood in the middle of the hangar, its nose pointing toward the door.
“I’d invite you to the house, but?—”
Crusher shook his head. “The fewer people who see us, the less likely you’ll be on Vasquez’s hit list.”
“Exactly,” RJ said. “I’d planned on a trip to Panama this week anyway. The people who work for me know I’m heading that way. I’m meeting with one of my buyers.” He parked the SUV in the hangar, climbed out and held the door for Marta.
