“They’re using me as bait.”
“For Hector’s killer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I. Don’t. Know.” She yanked on the door handle, frantic to get on the other side, where there were cameras, where he wouldn’t interrogate her and force her to talk. “Let me out.”
“Do you know who killed Hector La Rocha?”
“No one knows. It could’ve been an inside job by one of the inmates. Probably an attack by the González cartel or one of the enemy gangs in the prison. I grew up in that city, and everyone wanted him dead.”
He zoomed in on that last part like a laser beam. “You grew up in Ciudad Hueca?”
Her stomach dropped. She’d said too much. “It’s a big city. Lots of people have lived there.”
“More specifically, you and Vera Gomez.” He bent at the waist, putting his face in hers. “What is your relationship with her?”
Heavy iron seemed to clog her ears, her blood running rabidly through her system, chilling her insides with fear. A cold sweat formed on her skin. Her lungs struggled for air as a vicious quiver overtook her body. She shook so violently she rattled the door at her back.
“I can’t…” She gulped for breath, unable to maintain a whisper. “Please, you don’t know what you’re asking.”
The steely intimidation in his expression faded, replaced with a storm of turmoil and something else.
“It’s okay.” He hooked his arm around her and pulled her against him, pressing his lips to her head. “Shh. Easy. Breathe with me.”
She couldn’t stop trembling, wrestling with the need to tell him everything. It was right there, all of it, twisting up her tongue. But she fought it. She had to. It wasn’t just her life she was risking.
Maybe tomorrow. With a clear head and full night’s sleep, maybe she could find a way to tell him who she was.
He read the decision in her eyes and released a slow breath. “Go to bed. I’ll be in later.”
The instant he opened the door, she fled to his room like a coward.
An hour later, she rolled to her side in a bed of Klondike wrappers and groaned. She shouldn’t have eaten that last ice cream bar. Or the six bars before it. But for a while, the delicious chocolate had kept her mind off the man making plans in the other room.
When he’d followed her out of the bathroom, he’d made a beeline to Tomas. After some very cozy whispering, they turned their attentions to their phones, their fingers furiously tapping out messages to whomever they were working with.
The Restrepo Cartel?
John didn’t look like a Colombian cartel gangster, and he’d denied the accusation that he worked for them. But he knew the cartel. The mere mention of them had put him on immediate guard. In a blink, he’d gone from patient and affectionate to demanding and all business.
For a few minutes, she’d spied on him and Tomas from the bedroom, unable to hear their hushed conversation. When her snooping got the best of her, she stormed in and tried to join the discussion. The fuckers clammed up, moved to the bathroom, and locked the damn door.
They didn’t trust her, and why should they? If she knew their plan, she could run straight to Marco with it.
What she’d witnessed the night she met them made sense now. The bromance hug they’d shared in the bathroom, the camera removed from the ceiling, the feeling that they weren’t who they claimed to be… Whatever reason they were here, they were in it together, and it was all related to Hector’s killer.
If they’d come to finish off Hector’s sons, she sure as hell wouldn’t stand in their way. At the same time, she didn’t want to become an unintended casualty of war. Maybe John wouldn’t throw her on a grenade to save his mission. But if forced to choose between his goal and hers, he wouldn’t pick her. He didn’t even know her.
She couldn’t trust him. Not with her life or that of the one person she’d spent three years protecting.
With a heavy heart, she cleaned up the ice cream wrappers and waited for him to come out.
And waited.
And waited.
Eventually, she fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning, she opened her eyes to an empty room. The mattress lay untouched beside her. He never came to bed?
Her heart plunged to her stomach.
You’re leaving in a few days.
Not without you.
His luggage was still here, his clothes draped over the chair.
“John?” She leaned up on an elbow, listening.
Silence.
Sighing, she threw back the soft coverlet, warm and bright with the kiss of sunshine, and went to investigate.
A full breakfast greeted her in the main room, eggs and high-fat pork still steaming beneath the dome covers. She forced herself to eat, needing the calories, but her nerves prevented her from tasting it.
Where was he? Was he already executing some reckless plan against La Rocha? Why hadn’t he woken her? What if he got himself killed?
Cold dread slithered up her spine.
“You’re deranged and paranoid,” she whispered under her breath. “He’s just working out.”
She showered and got ready for the day. By mid-morning, he hadn’t returned.
She went for a walk.
Keeping to the low-traffic areas, she followed winding paths through the gardens and ventured away from the main buildings.
All was quiet here in the morning, opening her ears to the sounds of chirping birds and busy bees. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was in a peaceful place, surrounded by nature and harmony. And freedom.
She’d forgotten what freedom felt like. To exist without someone watching. To run without someone chasing. To make decisions without painful corrections lashed upon her body.
It had been so long she didn’t know how to wish for such an ideal.
Lost in thought, she wandered until her feet carried her to the garage on the far side of the property. The door creaked as she opened it, the aroma of metal and engine oil tickling her nose. A comforting scent. Her sanctuary.
A camera hung high in the corner, tracking her movements until she veered around a large shelving unit and climbed into the back of an old Dodge Dart. The rusted thing might’ve been a rock-star muscle car in the sixties, but the only purpose it served now was a place to hide beyond the reach of the camera.
The paint was so worn and dusty only a few bits of blue shone through. The long backseat, however, made a comfy bed. She crawled in and curled up on the blanket she’d placed here forever ago.
From beneath the seat, she removed a small journal and flipped through the pages, reading her handwriting, savoring the words. Memory after memory filled her vision. Only good memories. The best ones from her childhood. She’d written them all down when she first arrived and added to them over the years. On her worst days, she read them, relived them, and rediscovered her smile.
But she hadn’t come today to recharge with happy thoughts. She was here to think, weigh her options, and make a decision.
The last time she trusted a man, she got schooled. Miguel had promised her a dream and delivered a nightmare.
John had made no such promises, save for one.
He’d said he wouldn’t leave without her.
It was a promise he couldn’t keep. La Rocha would never let her go. Not for any sum of money. Not even at gunpoint. Well, maybe if it was a lot of guns. Like a whole army.