“Here,” I said, placing the file in front of her. “These are the pictures we got from the scouts. They did the best they could under the circumstances, but it doesn’t show much other than the structures and some of the configuration.”
She nodded, flipping open the folder and looking at the grainy, faraway pictures. I had already studied them this morning. The camp was set in a large meadow, bordered on one side by forest, leading to another empty meadow on the other. A mountain range loomed in the background, near enough to block out almost all the sky. To all appearances, it was out in the middle of nowhere; the rutted tracks that led to it seemed to have been made specifically for coming to this camp, since there was still brush and weeds growing in between the tire tracks. The structure itself was a tall barbed-wire fence with rows and rows of tents inside surrounding four rectangular structures that resembled the massive trailers I’d often seen used to haul food. They had windows, but the scouts hadn’t been able to risk getting closer, and at the distance from which the photos were taken, they only appeared as opaque squares.
Violet grimaced at the graininess. “What’s the exact goal for the mission?” she asked as she slid the glossy photos around, lining them up on the table in various positions.
“Well, information gathering, to be honest. We know for sure they are sending the men they’ve been collecting from the city there, under the guise of training them with new skillsets, but most likely for execution. Of course, we want to be able to find out what the true purpose of the camp is. But beyond that, we’re gambling that they have a computer there. If Thomas can hack into it remotely…”
“Then we can figure out where Elena’s forces are, what orders they’re being given, and maybe…” She met my eyes, and I saw the small spark of hope there. “Maybe find out where Tim is.”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
She swallowed hard. “All right,” she said. “Take me though your plan.”
Hours later, Owen and I had finished loading the crate that held the drone into the back of our vehicle. Violet stood at the foot of the porch, her left hand on her hip. The crate was heavy, but not impossible for two men to lift.
The sun had set, and even the light of dusk was fading. It was time. I shut the door and turned to Violet. She quirked up the corners of her lips encouragingly, but I could see the longing in her eyes. “You okay with this?” I asked.
Her smile became a bit less strained. “I have to be,” she admitted ruefully. “I just… I wish I was going with you.”
I rested my hands on her shoulders. “I know how frustrating it is. I had to watch you and Owen run off to defuse bombs while I was flat on my back in my hospital bed.”
“That’s true,” she admitted, blowing out a breath. “Well, it might be a good thing I’m not going anyway, given my track record lately.”
“What do you mean?”
She grinned impishly, her eyes sparkling. “If I go, things might explode.”
I fought back a laugh and dropped a chaste kiss onto her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her hands went to my sides. “Be careful,” she breathed.
“I promise. Besides, if things go wrong, I can always use Owen as a human shield.”
“That’s only if I don’t use you as one first,” Owen replied as he threw a duffle bag in the back.
“If either of you does that, I’ll skin the other alive,” growled Violet.
I let her go and stared down at her. The joking had helped chase most of the shadows out of her eyes, but some still lingered. I was torn between wanting to comfort her further and the need to get going and focus on the mission. Violet lightly pushed me toward the car. “Go,” she urged. “I’ve got your back.”
Placing one more kiss on her forehead, I nodded and left, climbing into the driver’s side. I threw the vehicle into gear, took one last look at Violet—standing wearily, but on her own, in front of the farmhouse, her cap pulled down over her forehead—and then took off. I turned my mind to the mission ahead, confident in her and my ability as a team, even with distance separating us.
20
Violet
The fingers of my left hand, save for my thumb, all rested inside four identical hollow metal tubes, which tapered at the bottom until they connected to wires that jutted out of the remote control. The device itself was about as wide as my forearm, as thick as the palm of my hand, and as long as my foot—probably about eight inches or so. Hard black plastic encased the device, and several buttons and dials were within reach of my thumb. The rest of the surface was filled with a screen, and I peered at it intently as I carefully manipulated my fingers.