Escape to Morning Read Free Page B

of this assignment, and Will knew it.
    The uneasy feeling in his gut tightened into a writhe.
    Two truckers eased in, followed by the night’s chill. One hitched up his jeans as he cased the joint. The other chewed on a ratty toothpick. Their gazes ran over Will before they took stools along the bar.
    Will dismissed them and pulled out his cell phone. No signal. Not that he expected any up here in the hills, but a miracle might have been nice.
    No, the miracle would be if Simon showed up.
    Joanie reappeared with his shake, set it on a napkin, and handed him a straw. “You’re the only guy I know who walks into a place that sells fifteen different microbrews and orders an Oreo shake.”
    Will shrugged and gave Joanie a cryptic smile. “Thanks.” He checked his watch again, frustration piling against him. He dipped his straw in the ice cream and stirred as Joanie walked away.
    Outside, trucks flew by on their way to Canada and beyond. They splashed grimy spring puddles into the blackened lot. It might be mid-May, but northern Minnesota had just begun to creep out of winter hibernation. Chill still laced the nighttime air, and occasionally Will awoke to frost glazing his windows. It reminded him of South Dakota in October.
    Trying to act nonchalant, he took a sip of his shake, letting the sweet chill fill the crannies of his stomach. Simon, where are you? Of all the meetings they’d had over the past year, this one weighted their future. Simon knew the stakes and the ticking clock. They had less than a week to round up the package and save the world from another Hayata attack.
    If they didn’t, more folded flags would be sent home in place of soldiers like Lew, thanks to the handiwork of a phantom terrorist organization that had the frustrating ability to slip through the CIA’s fingers like Jell-O.
    Perhaps if Hayata hadn’t left their fingerprints—in the form of planning, equipment, and execution of the major terrorist attacks—from Irian Jaya to the Philippines to Spain and the Middle East over the past three years, Will wouldn’t be so jumpy about Simon’s absence.
    Or his panic might have to do with his own up-close-and-painful encounter with Hayata’s actions.
    He considered driving up to the farm and nosing around. He could say he was writing an article about … about—he scanned through his compiled information—predator activity?
    That was an understatement. He chuckled ruefully and finished off his shake.
    Joanie returned to the table. “I guess your pal isn’t coming.”
    Will handed over a wad of ones. “Dunno.” He shrugged on his jacket, aiming for casual, feeling bloated and sick.
    â€œThanks,” Joanie said and tucked the cash into her apron. “See you next week?”
    â€œYeah, sure,” Will mumbled. Actually, no. If everything went as planned, he hoped to be long gone by next week. Long gone and mission accomplished.
    In fact, by next week, he hoped he’d no longer have to dodge the ghost of Lew Strong.
    Will banged out of the restaurant, stood in the fresh air, letting the wind lick his hair. Now cut short, it still felt odd not to have to tie it back, like he had during his stint as a longhair in special ops. The afternoon rain had emptied the clouds and the sky twinkled, a million reminders that almighty God watched. Will swallowed the lump clogging his throat and trudged to his pickup.
    He sat in the cab, sorting his options. Now what? Panic nearly drowned the sound of reason. Maybe he had been roughed up by a gang of north woods patriots so this wasn’t about Hayata and a terror agenda.
    Yeah, right. And he was just a hometown reporter, keeping tabs on the local police beat. He tested a tender spot on his side and knew that he’d find a boot-shaped bruise there tomorrow.
    Thankfully, he’d gotten in a couple good licks himself before they’d beaned him with the butt of a rifle and