Enzo had expected as much. He pulled the gun from his belongings and handed it over. Ben slid the gun into his pocket. “I’ll also have to make a note of what’s in your backpack. That way we don’t have disputes between workers as to who owns what.”
Enzo gave his backpack to Ben and tried not to appear tense as he went through it, taking pictures of the items. Headquarters had anticipated that someone would check his phone for anything incriminating, and might even take it, so it was completely clean. But the master key hidden in his sandwich—there was no good explanation for that.
Ben didn’t even scan the phone, let alone check his food. He returned the pack, and Enzo gratefully slipped it on his shoulders.
Ben motioned to Milo. “Why don’t you show the new hire where he can put his things and have him help you?” Ben turned back to Enzo. “In a few hours, we’ll head to another farm. Once we arrive, you’ll sleep with the other single men in a bunkhouse and take your meals with the group. When we finish that job, we split the proceeds from the harvest equally among the workers. That sound okay to you?”
“Yes, sir,” Enzo said. He was in.
“The boys will tell you more about the rules while you pack up the trucks.” He winked at Enzo. “The most important rule is don’t get on my wife’s bad side. Maretta is in charge of all the food.” He gave Enzo one more smile before heading back to the bunkhouses.
Milo surveyed Enzo again, still unenthusiastic. He didn’t wait until they were packing to tell him the rules. “You’ll be given awork assignment every evening. We’re up at dawn for breakfast, and we work until the day’s job is done. You pull your weight or you’re out of a job.
“Everyone gets one day off a week. On Sunday, if you’re religious, you only have to do the day’s essential chores. As you can imagine, we’re all religious. That means you have to listen to the preacher’s sermons, but fortunately, he’s not longwinded. Lights are out at nine-thirty. Showers are required every night, or the men won’t let you sleep in the bunkhouse. If you bother the women, you’ll find yourself dropped off, none too gently, on the road. Any questions?”
“Not so far.”
Milo continued to eye him. “Did you really run off because of your job?”
Enzo fought not to gulp. “What makes you think I’d lie about that?”
“There are lots of reasons to strike out on your own. For example, some men might run off to avoid unwanted responsibilities with women. You look like the sort who might break some hearts.”
Oh. Milo didn’t suspect him of being an operative, just a womanizer. “I’ve been too busy with my job to have time for women.”
Gregor lifted an eyebrow. “The job you left to become a farmhand?”
“Yeah.” Enzo shifted his backpack. “That makes my forced departure all the more tragic, doesn’t it?”
Milo folded his arms, muscles flexed. “All right, I’ve never been good at beating around the bush, so I’m going to say this outright. We have a younger sister, and when you talk to her, it had better be with only the purest of intentions.”
Sheesh. Talk about overprotective. Well, Enzo could steer clear of their sister. “Fine.”
Gregor smiled, not the friendly sort of smile, though. “And you’d better not do anything beyond talking to her. Around here, we don’t believe in shotgun weddings. We just believe in the shotgun part.”
Enzo held up his hands. “Look, I don’t know who your sister is, but she’s safe from me.”
“I’ll point her out to you.” Milo turned Enzo so he faced the other way. He nodded toward the bunkhouses where a leggy blonde in cut-off shorts stood talking to Ben Huntington and a middle-aged woman. “That’s our sister, Charity.”
Well, okay, Milo had a point. She was pretty enough to worry any brother. And worse, she was the girl from the market. Of course, it would have to be her. Now Enzo wouldn’t be able to get within five feet of her without Milo and Gregor jumping down his throat.
“You can talk to her,” Milo said, “like a gentleman. That’s all.”
“Understood.” Maybe the brunette woman who’d been at the market would be easier to access. He’d see what sort of intel he could get from her.
As though his thoughts had summoned her, the brunette appeared around the side of the truck, carrying a box.
Milo gestured to her. “That’s Zia, my wife.”
Nope. She wasn’t going to be easier at all.
This might take longer than Headquarters hoped.
8
The moment Charity’s gaze landed on Enzo, her heart stuttered. When her father had first told her he’d seen a vision of her husband, he’d said the man was a nice-looking fellow. Nice-looking. Charity had imagined someone a little above average. Someone with a wholesome, cheerful demeanor that made parents approve of him.
She’d never thought the guy would be stop-and-stare gorgeous. Enzo was the sort of man the government chose to put in news videos depicting the valiant soldiers who defended the country. Rugged and a little dangerous.