“That’s also bad news,” Milo said. “At least for Charity.”
Zia stepped closer to the group and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Would the government send someone to spy on us?”
Charity’s mother pursed her lips. “That’s not their usual MO. They don’t need spies. They deploy a group, capture anyone they suspect, and use truth serum on them.”
Government spies? Her family was overreacting to this. Enzo probably hadn’t thought through how he would rescue Callum. He was from the city. He wasn’t used to running into slaves.
Zia’s eyebrows furrowed. “Would a criminal mercenary become a harvester? We don’t pay well enough.”
Milo shrugged. “Maybe he’s laying low for a while until the police stop looking for him.”
Gregor nodded, more amused than worried. “Maybe Charity’s love is going to reform him.”
Milo patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck with that.”
She shifted away from his hand. “You don’t know that he’s a criminal. We don’t know anything about his skill set or what he planned to do after he found the collar controls. Perhaps he assumed the farmer was a law-abiding citizen who didn’t know his workers owned a slave. Perhaps Enzo planned on going to the farmer’s house and having him call the authorities.”
Gregor snorted. “She’s right. He could just be impulsive and naive. I can hardly wait to have this guy as my brother-in-law.”
“I can wait,” Milo said. “Maybe Charity shouldn’t marry him for a few decades.”
“You told us what happened,” her mother cut in, “And you’ve let us know your concerns. They’re duly noted. Now why don’t the two of you help the others load up the trucks?” It wasn’t really a question. It was a command.
Milo and Gregor left, and Charity continued to pack in silence.
Milo was just the suspicious sort. He was wrong about Enzo. He had to be. Because she would never marry a government spy or a criminal mercenary.
When the harvestershad finished packing, Charity’s father called the group together. The two extra trucks had increased their fleet from six vehicles to eight. Her father had sold off most of the stuff they’d taken from the slavers to a market and sent the proceeds to New Salem. But he hadn’t sold the maroon truck, and Milo hadn’t sold his truck either. With people sitting in the empty truck beds, this would be the first time they could move the entire co-op in one trip.
Her father gave instructions and delivered his usual pep talk about how happy he was to work with such a dedicated group. Charity refused to let her gaze slide to Enzo. Except for once.
He stood with the other men, his backpack slung over his shoulders and a water bottle in one hand. His jeans and shirt were considerably dirtier than they’d been this morning, but he still had a confident stance. He didn’t even look exhausted from the work. Not bad for a city boy.
Some of the single women in the group had taken note of Enzo and didn’t even try to hide their approving looks.
Her father finished his speech and assigned people to their vehicles. He gave Charity the family’s Glock and the Jeep keys. “Why don’t you and Enzo take the Jeep? You can teach him how to drive it.”
Good. Her father was giving them an excuse to be together. Supplies filled the backseat, so no one else could ride with them. She probably shouldn’t have looked at Enzo right then. She should’ve been cool and unruffled and pretended like the seating arrangements didn’t matter. But she had to see his reaction, to see if he was glad or uncomfortable to be forced with her. He couldn’t feel already, could he, that her parents were encouraging a relationship between them?
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. Beyond that, he showed no reaction. People shuffled off toward the other vehicles, and he joined her.
Charity checked the gun’s safety and put it in her pocket. Everyone had to carry their belongings, and she’d collected so many clothes that her backpack bulged. Two water bottles sloshed around in her side pockets. One extra because of the vision. Since she was riding with Enzo, he’d need an extra one too.
She grabbed one from a box of dishes, filled it, and handed it to him. “This is for you.”
He lifted the water bottle he already carried. “I’ve got one.” His was the aluminum kind that kept liquid hot or cold. The one she held was simple plastic.
“I know, but it’s always wise to take extra, just in case.” She gestured to the water bottles tucked into her side pockets.
He took the water bottle and tilted his head in question. “It’s only a fifty-mile drive, right?”
“Yes, but with roads being what they are, it’ll take us three hours to get there.” She tossed her pack in the backseat and eyed the pellet gun he carried. “Do you know how to shoot?”
“A little. My gun is empty, though.”
She handed him the Glock and got into the driver’s side. “That has three bullets, but don’t use them unless I’m screaming, ‘Shoot!’”
He took the gun, put his backpack alongside hers, and climbed into the passenger side. “I thought you were supposed to teach me how to drive.”