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Barcelona

Late Tuesday night

He didn’t get the reaction he’d expected. Sasha didn’t believe this FBI agent, not for a minute; it was a lie to get him back and throw him in prison, and they’d talked his brother into helping them. They argued for hours, but Archer refused to budge. He knew there were no guarantees, but it didn’t matter. He wanted to go back, no matter the possible bad consequences. He told her about Carla being brought in to be interviewed by the FBI. Still, Sasha had argued.

He looked down at Sasha’s four suitcases, three of them closed and bulging because she’d been too upset to fold her clothes neatly. The last one, a carry-on that held her cosmetics, was still open, and he wondered yet again how she’d been so willing to go home with him in a few days, just a few more days, yet now, when everything looked positive, she no longer wanted to go. It made no sense.

He looked down at his wedding ring. Celia, I’ve been a great fool.

Archer heard her say from behind him, “Well, this changes things.”

He started to turn when something struck the back of his head and he was down.