Page 94 of Love at First Rep

Garrett squawked. “That is absolutely not going to be my code name.”

“I dunno,” Rafe said slowly, his voice laced with amusement. “I kinda like it.”

Miguel snorted. “You would.”

Carson cut off Rafe mid-shout. “He fell for it! We got the bastard’s address. Sending it to the field team.”

Using Cheryl’s cloned phone, they sent an image file to George. When opened, it enabled his phone’s GPS, allowing them to track him down.

“Robin, Danvers and I are en route,” Taylor said in his ear.

“I ran him through the system, and this guy is def using an assumed identity,” Carson said, keys clicking in the background. “Can you believe that? The guy gets a secret identity and he chooses the name George? Gross.”

A moment later George’s photo hit Garrett’s phone and, by the sounds in his ear, everyone else’s.

“This guy doesn’t look anything like a George,” Rafe said. “He might be able to pull off Peter?”

“I think he looks like a Mark,” Carson said. “Get it? A Mark? Because he’s our mark?”

“Stick to computers, Felicity,” Miguel said. “Stand-up comedy is not your calling.”

The guy in the picture was unassuming. Generic. Handsome but in a forgetful way. Something about him creeped Garrett out, something in his eyes that said he meant trouble.

“There is nothing incriminating at Cheryl’s house,” Anatoly said. “But in her car we found a bunch of tiny cards, like ones that come with flowers. Instead of ‘Get well soon,’ they have information on wardens she was leveraging. Not very nice. Quinn put them in plastic baggies to run his fancy doctor tests on them.”

Quinn? Oh yeah, that’s Miguel. I need a cheat sheet.

Miguel’s code name was based on Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, but Rafe still called him Miguel.

McHugh cut off his conversation with Cheryl, which now focused on candy bars. Garrett was wowed by his doofus act.

“Hey, Cheryl, do you know who George is?”

Cheryl paled as she stared at McHugh, her jaw dropped.

“It seems like you know him since there are hundreds of texts between you two on this phone,” he said as he pointed to her cell.

“How could you possibly know that?” Cheryl whispered, barely audible.

McHugh whipped his legs off his desk and settled his chin in his hands, his elbows on the surface in front of him, like he was posing for a glamour shot.

“The voices inside my head told me. Duh.”

Cheryl furrowed her brows. She had no idea what McHugh was talking about.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not saying another word. I know my rights.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. They didn’t need her to talk when they had everything they needed.

“Taylor, how far are you from George’s address?” Garrett asked, and multiple groans followed.

“No real names over comms, mi dulzura,” Rafe said. “Sorry, I know we’ve thrown so much at you in the last couple days.”

Even though he’d been on this team for less than two days, Garrett had already fucked up, but hearing Rafe’s voice made everything better. Still, he planned on making that cheat sheet later.

“My bad, guys. There’s way too many of you!”

“All the better to protect you, my dear,” McHugh said, despite still sitting in front of Cheryl.

“Sorry?” Cheryl asked, her voice high-pitched.