Free Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1) by N.A. Alcorn

Affairs Division—a division whose sole focus is to fortify the United States security by collecting human intelligence through covert action and espionage.
    She checks the clock that sits beside the small flat-screen TV that rests on a scuffed-up wooden stand. Thirteen hundred hours. Only thirty-five minutes to get to the location. This is the norm, and it’s honestly surprising that she’s been given more than fifteen minutes.
    She quickly changes into a pair of black yoga pants and a loose, white track jacket and slides running shoes on. Her long, brunette locks are brushed into a ponytail and a USC ball cap placed over her head. Her attire always serves one purpose—to blend in. Never stand out.
    She’s permanently flying under the radar and her location in San Diego makes it easy to appear as a typical jogger enjoying a nice day in the sun. Nothing about her clothing or choice in foot transportation will appear suspicious.
    Sloan slips her CIA-issued Glock 23 into the discreet holster that rests underneath her right arm and heads for the door. She knows every road, every street, every building in the area. It’s her job to have an ironclad grasp on her whereabouts. Seaport Drive is a long, rarely traveled road that’s filled with several vacant buildings. Therefore, it’s the perfect location to receive information for her next assignment.
    That’s what the call always means. She will be shipping out soon.
    Sloan leisurely strides out of the main lobby of her apartment building and stretches in the parking lot. As an agent who is constantly being put in high-risk areas, her physical conditioning must always be top notch. Ninety percent of the job is mental, but the other ten percent can be very physical. Sometimes, she needs to rely on her physical stamina and strength to give her the edge over the enemy. Needless to say, sometimes shit gets real .

THE RUN TAKES HER NO time at all. Her eyes glance at the watch secured to her right wrist. Three minutes and thirty seconds to spare. She’s certain that no one followed her. See, that’s also part of the job—to always be aware of her surroundings. Always know who’s around, what’s around, and calculate all possible jeopardies she could face in a matter of seconds.
    The black Range Rover is nondescript and unmarked. Tinted-black windows, standard license plates that are not registered in the name of anyone here. The vehicle is parked in the south lot behind a vacant building. There are several large trees and a fair amount of overgrown weeds that protect them from being spotted by tourists enjoying a day at sea. Her eyes wander towards the brush as she discreetly walks closer to the SUV. The sound of the engine is drowned out by cruise ships preparing to dock.
    The passenger’s side door opens.
    A baritone voice welcomes her as she gets comfortable in the backseat. “Agent 55.” The man sitting beside her pushes a button next to his door so the partition—soundproof, black glass—keeps their conversation private from the driver.
    “Chief.” Her response is terse as she pulls off the USC ball cap, using the sleeve of her track jacket to wipe off the sweat that lingers on her brow.
    “I hope you enjoyed your previous time in Guadalajara, because I’m sending you back. The information you provided us with has proved that we’ve got unfinished business.” Chief Dubois slides a few pictures from a manila folder onto her lap.
    Her eyes peer down at the shots of various men she’s become very familiar with. La Familia Arturo. A name that’s become synonymous with international drug trafficking.
    “Since your departure, we’ve had several reports of gang- and drug-related activity just outside of Guadalajara, Mexico. This isn’t the norm for this city. As you know, Chapala is only thirty minutes away from Guadalajara, and the US government has already issued warnings for tourists to avoid this area at all costs,” he updates accordingly.
    Chapala has