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

Having heard the words Hector spoke with such animosity, such distain, has her more than worked up. That appalling human being could make anyone’s skin crawl.
    He nods his head yes and a wrinkle creases his middle-aged brow. No one knows Chief Dubois’s real age. He looks to be in his late forties, if not early fifties. He started shaving his head three years ago when he started to bald and gray. His face is hardened with wrinkles and gray stubble. The CIA has not been kind to him over the years.
    Sloan taps her fingers along the passenger’s side door as she takes in all of the information. “When am I shipping out?”
    “A little over a week. You’ll report to Gillespie Field next Monday at twenty-three hundred hours. Contact your surgical assist and make the necessary plans to bring him along. Arrangements for all of your medical equipment have already been made. You will be performing surgeries for Project Smiles at Hospital San Salvador—a small hospital located fifteen miles from Guadalajara. We will have another agent there working indirectly with you to gain additional intel on this piece of shit,” he informs her confidently.
    “Who?”
    “A new agent—Agent Sims—will be accompanying you. Everything has been arranged. You’ll receive a package with no return address today at fifteen hundred hours. You will need to sign for it. All of the information you need will be inside.”
    A faint sense of uncertainty pricks her gut at the idea that a new agent—someone she has never met or worked with before—will be assisting her on this mission. But Sloan just nods her head in understanding, forcing herself to get past the doubt. Chief Dubois has never steered her wrong or put her at risk. If anything, he’s only been overprotective of her over the past ten years.
    “Good luck, Fifty-Five,” he encourages as she gets out of the vehicle.
    “Thanks, Chief,” is her only response before closing the passenger’s side door.
    She checks her watch as the SUV pulls away and realizes that there is about an hour to spare before she will have to be back to her apartment to receive the package. An extra-long run seems like the best plan of action. She needs some time to process all of the information about her upcoming assignment. She is due to fly back to Guadalajara in a little over a week. That doesn’t give much time to prepare, but this is the norm. Generally, seventy-two hours of notice is the most time agents receive before shipping out on assignments.
    Today must be my lucky today.
    Sloan wishes she had the freedom to run with her earbuds blasting the sultry voice of Jesse Rutherford from The Neighbourhood into her brain, but that’s not an option. She can’t risk putting herself in a situation where she would be unaware of her surroundings.
    She’s always on guard, always prepared, always ready for anything.
    Her shoes pound the pavement in perfect synchronization with her pulse as she makes her way down Seaport Drive towards Fisherman’s Wharf. Sloan is intrinsically aware of her physical condition at all times. Twenty-four respirations and one hundred and ten heartbeats per minute . She’s running at a comfortable pace—not pushing—enjoying the peaceful sounds of sea gulls and the usual hustle and bustle coming from Seaport Village.
    Her eyes assess the residents and tourists who move about one of the most popular places within San Diego’s city limits—a waterfront shopping-and-dining complex adjacent to the bay. It holds numerous shops, galleries, and restaurants that overlook the stunning ocean-blue water. Residents call it The Village. This area is breathtakingly beautiful, with architectural styles that range from Victorian to traditional Mexican. It was planned to be a car-free environment, and she savors the ability to hear every precious sound that’s not interrupted by the noise of honking horns or car stereos.
    Sloan stops along the water’s edge and stretches out her tight muscles.