And I did move fast after we broke up. It’s almost as if I had a need to prove to myself that my dreams were important and that I was going to do whatever it took to attain them. Did I fall in love with Britney?
Absolutely.
Was I vulnerable to falling in love maybe a little too fast?
For sure.
I wanted a way to prove that I was right and Greer was wrong.
So I got my wife. I got my kid. I got my house with the picket fence, although we never got the dog because Britney was allergic.
And deep down, I always knew there was something important missing. Britney knew it, too, and I’m so grateful that when we realized the marriage wouldn’t survive, she forgave my shortcomings and was still willing to not only be my partner in parenting, but my friend as well.
After dinner, Greer and I leave the restaurant with a divide between us, and as I contemplate it all, I know the thing that’s been missing from my life—that element of perfecting my happiness—is Greer.
The restaurant is only three blocks from our hotel, and we walked rather than take transportation. Three blocks was an easy journey, but the only reason one might consider taking transportation is because El Salvador has a fairly high crime rate.
But we’re in about the safest part of the city. It’s the upscale part, with many tourists and an abundance of police to make said tourists feel safe and encourage further tourism for the country. The streets are clean and well lit, and they are full of people walking among the many restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and swanky retail stores.
We walk silently, side by side, and I’m immersed in what-ifs. But then Greer gently slips her hand into mine, and it feels right. Reflexively, my fingers curl around hers, and she reciprocates.
One, two, three strides and Greer says, “I don’t want to have any regrets. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow when we go after Mejia, but it’s reasonable to assume I could die. I just want you to know if I could go back and do things differently, I would. If I could talk to my younger self, I would tell her to do whatever it took to keep a man like you.”
Greer’s words are as much a physical punch as they are a warm blanket. All at once, they tear me apart and gently knit me back together.
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, other pedestrians veering around us, and pull her into my arms. My hands go to her cheeks, and I bend down to give her a soft, lingering kiss. I hope it conveys a silent message that her words have meaning.
I lift my head, locking eyes with her. “If I could go back and talk to my younger self, I would tell him to not be a dick. Listen to what you are trying to tell me and do whatever it takes to figure things out. I didn’t work hard enough for you and me. And I’m sorry.”
I kiss her again, feeling like this might be the beginning of a new life. Does she feel the same? Can this be the start of us again?
We must have this conversation, and it has to be the first thing we do when we make it back to our hotel. I need to know that if we come out of this intact—or rather when we come out of this intact—we’re going to work to have a future together. I’m not willing to lead an incomplete life anymore, and I hope Greer feels the same.
Our kiss breaks, and I reach for her hand when the screeching of brakes and tire rubber hissing jolts me straight out of romance and into full protective alert.
Taking Greer’s arm, I pull her behind me as my eyes pin on an older model van with brown paint and even browner rust covering the lower panels. It halts just two feet from where we’re standing on the sidewalk.
It happens too fast for me to react. The side door springs open, along with the passenger door, and men pour out of the van. Four dressed head to toe in tactical gear, masks covering their faces and automatic weapons in their hands pointed straight at me.
By their attire and weapons, I know they’re not Vecindario 18 but rather paramilitary—and no doubt in Mejia’s employ.
The crowd disperses amidst a cacophony of screams and shouts, and three of the men grab me. That leaves one for Greer to deal with, and I know she can handle herself.
I’m stunned when, as I struggle against the restraint, and just before a bag is pulled over my head, that the fourth man doesn’t even attempt to mess with Greer but rather stands protectively with weapon raised to prevent any person with a hero complex to attempt a rescue. My eyes connect with Greer’s for a moment, and I can see the confusion that they’re taking me and not her, and then my world goes dark as the bag fully covers my head.
I hear one of the men shout in Spanish, “Stay back! Stay back!” and several shouts from presumably people who are gawking that a kidnapping is taking place.
“Llame a la policía!” Call the police.
Then a woman screams, not Greer, and the van door slams shut as I’m shoved forcefully onto the floor, face-first and hard enough my teeth slice into my lower lip. I taste blood.
They took me and not Greer, and my relief is immeasurable. Obviously, I’m worried about my predicament, but as long as Greer is safe, that’s all that matters.
CHAPTER 18
Greer
I’m so lost to Ladd’s kiss, I’m absolutely unable to react when the van screeches to a halt and armed men pile out with AK-47s in hand.
The trafficking in weapons that Mejia conducts stems from the huge stockpiles of unaccounted-for guns after the civil wars in Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua ended. In El Salvador alone, over 360,000 military-style weapons were floating about, and that’s big bucks to someone like Mejia who has no problem pushing them off to good-paying buyers.
It’s the fact that these men are using assault rifles and not pistols that gives them away as paramilitary and not Vecindario 18, as they almost exclusively use handguns.
Regardless, they’re pushing Ladd into the van and once I snap out of the stupor of his kiss, I step forward.
Three men wrestle Ladd, and one man holds his rifle diagonally in front of him, a pointed message that he’ll use it but doesn’t want to aim it at civilians. “Permanezcan atrás. Permanezcan atrás.”
Stay back, my ass.
I take another step forward, intent on fighting him for the gun while he has it in an innocuous position, but his hand shoots out and he pushes me hard in the chest. I’m caught off guard, my ankle twists, and I fall to the sidewalk, landing hard on my butt.
A woman screams in terror nearby, and some men shout to call the police. Before I can plant my hand onto the concrete to push myself up, I watch with dismay as Ladd disappears into the van, the men pile in after him, and the vehicle takes off in a blast of burning rubber before the door is even pulled shut.
I’m not surprised they took Ladd, but I’m stunned they didn’t take me. What in the hell?
And then it dawns.
They didn’t recognize who I am. They didn’t attempt to kidnap me, and there was no sign of recognition when the man knocked me to the ground.
Someone grabs my arm, and I’m hauled upward.
“Thank you,” I murmur distractedly, staring off down the road to where the van disappears from sight.
The grip to my arm tightens, and I whirl toward the person who helped me up, trying to pull free.
I’m stunned to see Kynan McGrath there, his expression icy. “Had you let us come as a team, that wouldn’t have happened,” he accuses.