“Just a few hours to?—”
“No. I’m sorry, but there’s a ticking clock I’m not at liberty to discuss.” He pauses. “If you choose to take this assignment, we’d need you at the facility by ten a.m. tomorrow.”
“Shit.” Tomorrow is Hazel’s baby shower. She’ll be tied up all morning, so in theory I could make it to Joyner and back without her knowing. But it feels wrong to keep secrets and?—
“Luke? I need an answer.”
Dragging a hand down my face, I draw a deep breath. “Okay.”
“That’s a yes?” His eyes scan my face. “You’re confirming you’re in?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, drawing a breath. “I’m in.”
“Good.” Noah looks pleased as he pops open his door. “Let’s get some whipped cream.”
I climb out of the truck, praying like hell this won’t bite me in the ass.
“Damn, parça.” Enzo’s smile shines familiar and warm. “It’s good to see you.”
“Same, buddy.” Clapping his back, I sit down in a brown plastic chair. Anyone watching will think we’re old pals, so at least that part’s true. “How’s your mom?”
“Great, really good.” His smile falters a little. “Disappointed I’m still locked up, you know?”
“Yeah.” Clearing my throat, I don’t glance at the guard. “How about your cousin—I’m forgetting his name. Was it Andre?”
This part is pure script, and there’s no Cousin Andre. But Enzo responds like he’s meant to. “Afonso.” His good-natured smile doesn’t waver. “You’ll never believe what that crazy bastard did.”
“What’s that?” I’m wearing a tiny earpiece, so I turn to the side to make sure the device picks up whatever he tells me. “He was always louca, right?”
“Louco,” he corrects with a grin. Both of us know my misgendering misstep wasn’t an accident. It’s a code in the script. “The madman took up surfing. Surfing—can you believe it? At his size?”
“That’s wild.” Also what my handlers are hoping to hear. “Does he even know how to swim?”
“He learned, thank God. Wound up in the hospital last month, though.”
“What for?” We’re getting into the meat of this now. I hold my breath, hoping the guards don’t cut us short. “Surfing accident?”
“The son of a bitch hit his head on a rock.” Enzo shakes his head, still chuckling, with a glance at the guard to my left. “Needed sixteen stitches. Eleven of ‘em were right here.” He touches a spot to the left of his eye, another detail I make note of.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Bet he wound up with a gnarly scar.”
“Nah, it’s not too bad. Got a tiny little red mark right here in the shape of a crescent. Other than that, he’s all good.”
There’s more facial touching, more clues for me to remember. I take it all in, glad I’ve had practice keeping track of the signals. One of the guards moves closer, so I hustle to squeeze in the rest of my questions. “Where are you thinking you want to settle once you get out?”
“Ah, man.” He leans back in his chair, dragging a hand over his bald head. “I’d love to go see my avó in São Paulo, but I don’t see that happening for a while. Not with how parole works, you know?”
“Yeah.” I keep watching the guard in the corner of my eye. “Joyner seems nice.”
“This little pipsqueak town?” He pretends to scoff, but that’s part of the script. “Nah, man. Not really my scene.”
“I hear ya.” We’re just about done here, and Enzo must know it.
He seizes the chance to ask his own questions. “How about you, man? What’s new?”
This part is off script, but also a crucial part of making this ring true. “I’m gonna be a dad.”
“No way, man!” Enzo looks thrilled.
