She followed his lead, using the plastic spoon to eat the cold pasta straight out of the foil bag.

He chewed and swallowed. “It’s not bad, though. You get used to it.”

“I like spice.” She considered what he’d said about being lectured. “You are one of those people I wish I could go back and redo my first meeting with. Remove the horror and stress, maybe meet in a coffee shop or something. I have a feeling we are both actually pleasant people who wouldn’t feel the need to lecture each other constantly.”

He chuckled. “You are a likable person, Doctor Myers.”

“Cynthia, please.”

“Cynthia.” He said her name as if savoring the way it rolled off his tongue. She detected an accent and tried to place it. “Rick,” he said as he pointed toward his chest with his spoon.

“Rick.” She nodded. “Are you Richard?”

“Nope. I was born Rick. My dad wanted me to be named what they’d call me, and he never wanted me to be called Dick or Richard.” He slipped the unopened packet of peanut butter and the one labeled bread into his left cargo pocket. “What about you? Were you ever Cyndi?”

“I wanted to be, but my parents would never go along with it. I thought it was the kind of name perky little popular girls had, you know. I could dot the ‘i’ with a heart and be very feminine and cool.” She took another bite. “Alas, Cynthia stayed my name despite my best efforts.”

“Still could.”

She glanced at him. “Still could what?”

“You still could dot that ‘i’ with a little heart, right?”

“I did, all through seventh grade. It didn’t feel quite as perky as Cyndi would have.” The heat from the spices in the pasta sauce slowly sneaked up on her, tingling her tongue. “I think I was destined to be brainy instead of cute.”

He folded up the empty packet and slipped it into its outer sleeve. “I think it’s all relative,” he said. His expression changed, and he looked away from her as his hand covered his earpiece. “How long?” His pleasant look was replaced with dark determination. “Roger.” He looked over at Cynthia, then got to his feet and retrieved his weapon. “Stay here.”

Seconds later, he disappeared into the trees.

Just inside the tree line, Rick met up with Swanson. “How many?”

Swanson gestured with his hand. “Two boats, slowly moving up the river. Checking the banks, under trees, the works.”

Rick sighed. As safe and comfortable as they had Sanders and Ozzy, they needed to move them. Quickly. “How long before they get here?”

“They’re going slow. Maybe forty-five minutes—an hour tops.”

“Okay. Let’s get everyone out of the cricket, then sink it. I don’t want any trace we were anywhere near this village.”

“Roger.”