Healing Love: Saints Protection & Investigation by Maryann Jordan Page B

their game? Why had they been brought to the dinner? The more she tried to reason it out, the more confused she became. But one thing was sure—Sharon was on a dangerous path, one Miriam felt sure was exactly what the men had wanted them to go on.
    Oh, Jobe. Are you close, brother? Have you sent someone for me? I think it needs to be soon…I don’t know how much more time I’ll have.

Chapter 6
    C am anxiously awaited the cartel’s agent that was due to arrive that day. It had only been two days since the men talked about the hospitals, but he knew that time was running out. By now most of the injuries had been addressed from what Marc had told him in their secure texting communications, but dysentery and cholera were the new culprits. While that would possibly keep Miriam safe due to still being needed, she would be more vulnerable to the diseases herself.
    Marc supplied him with more intel and Cam was itching to be able to put it to use. Undercover work in the gang back home had fit him—go slow, get the information he needed no matter how long it took and then take action. This was different. This time there was a real person on the other end of the mission. One who had to be scared. Tired. Maybe even sick or injured herself. And if he was honest with himself…one who was beautiful. He had not kept the picture Jobe had given him. It was too risky to have it on him in case he was searched. But he committed her image to memory. Every night when he closed his eyes, he could see her—dark hair…dark, smiling eyes…perfect cupid’s bow mouth.
    Rubbing his hand over his face, he forced his attention back to the job at hand. The backbreaking digging and laying pipe. Suddenly the rumble of a truck as it was coming up the mountain resounded through the trees. He watched warily as two men alighted from the vehicle and the other workers stopped what they were doing to move toward them. He followed suit, carefully evaluating the newcomers. Medium build, both with weapons slung over their shoulders casually as though they had been born with a gun in their hands. Probably had. He noticed their eyes roaming over the group and he was careful to not stare, hiding his antagonizing glare.
    The men stopped near the hut and Cam watched as they began talking about the crop and the irrigation system. One of them walked over with the head worker and began inspecting the work. Cam heard his name called and he knew that the worker was praising what he had accomplished. With his size, he had been able to dig and lay quicker than the others. Keeping a neutral expression on his face, he acknowledged the nod he received from the agent.
    The men, taking a break, moved toward the hut to offer food and drink to the agents—not that they had any to spare but as a show of respect. Perfect. Fuckin’ perfect. Cam deftly added the pills he carried in his pocket to two of the crude cups they were using and handed them to the agents, before handing out water to the others. The hot sun beating down through the limbs of the pine trees above made everyone drink thirstily.
    Taking a hefty drink himself, he knew the drugs would have a fast reaction. And he was right. Within ten minutes, the driver began heaving, quickly followed by the agent. The workers jumped up, at first concerned and then fearful.
    “What is it?” one of them said, trying to assist the first man.
    Cam, pretending to be just as confused, said, “Maybe they’re not used to our water.”
    “Will we be blamed?” another frightened worker asked, backing away from the heaving men.
    Wanting to place more fear on the situation, Cam adopted a concerned expression as he turned toward the head worker and asked, “Do you think it could be cholera?”
    With a gasp, the other workers stepped back. “I got a family,” one said. “Not touching ’em.”
    Cam pretended to work the problem as the workers all backed away, fear in their faces and in their voices. Turning toward them, he said,