Page 27

I see the car that I observed earlier in the week, the one that was at the airport, at the very end of the row. It’s hidden behind an overflowing dumpster amid overgrown thistles and weeds that have surpassed my height.

And they say there’s no greenery in the city.

To get Therese inside without being seen.

.. I shake my head and look around the hellhole’s exterior.

I doubt if anyone would have paid attention to anything outside of a bottle or a needle.

They obviously think she won’t be pursued for a little while—because of the mole.

They also think I’m the real deal, a husband who will be frantically relying on the police and panicking in place, not a bodyguard who has crossed oceans and battlefields.

If they knew exactly what I was, they probably would have traveled farther.

I’d love to have more time to analyze, but I’m too busy worrying about why they took Therese and what they’re doing to her. Delgado’s expecting to get offered a sweet deal—he’s not worrying about revenge since he’s about to get off with a slap on the wrist and a new name.

That means Estrada. My stomach ices over.

Estrada’s henchmen would have known they’d be lugging either deadweight or a struggling woman and would have parked as close to the room as possible.

I start to move toward the last room at the end of the first floor, eyeing the rusty green doors of the rooms that I pass.

Therese’s attackers probably walked her in, holding her upright and supporting her weight between them. They either had a weapon pressed against her to keep her quiet, or she was incapacitated. Otherwise, she would have been screaming and fighting.

She would have screamed for help at the store.

She shouldn’t have needed to scream; I told her I would be between her and danger—God, I’ve failed her, broken a promise to her... Even if I save her, she won’t love me anymore. How could she?

But I can’t have a pity party now.

Fuck it, this could go badly. Who knows how many addicts are flopping in this place? How many of them have guns and drunken trigger fingers?

I’m going to have to go for a mix of brutality and cleverness—and prayer.

“Let me get Therese back, and I’ll still be Your servant, even with this soul.

I will protect her for the rest of her life, and any who need our help.

My help. I won’t desert the place You’ve placed me, the place You’ve enabled me to protect, make a safe haven.

” I picture Pine Ridge—and Therese. That little home, with the grass mowed, and quiet, peaceful headstones with tulips and buttercups dotted in between the gray.

.. Like her. Sunshine and color, mixed into my shadow.

“Amen,” I mutter as I bang on the door.

SOMEONE IS YELLING something in Spanish. Matteo spoke fluent Spanish, but mine is rusty and fragmented. I hear “fuego” several times.

Fire?

The voice sounds like Reggie’s. Or is it wishful thinking? Does he even speak Spanish?

He’s been around three times as long as I have and traveled the world far more. I’m sure he speaks dozens of languages. Knows thousands of secret hiding places, a thousand tricks for smuggling and safety.

Damn it. I should have run when he offered me the chance. Why did I doubt that he could keep me safe?

Well, he didn’t, did he?

I shush my inner monologue. I know there is a reason, and I know that it didn’t stop him. He’s here now—at least, I hope he is.

Please don’t be drug-induced delusions...

Rough hands suddenly grab me and roll me to the floor.

I cry out as I land, my bound hands tingling with pain and my shoulders forced so far back I’m afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets.

A thin hotel comforter is thrown over my head and pulled down to cover my body as I’m wedged between the wall and bed.

“Move, you die. Talk, you die.” Something hard presses into the top of my skull.

I don’t move. I don’t talk.

I can barely hear over my own heart beating, but I hear the door open and shut.

Then nothing.

After a minute, the pressure leaves my skull. “You move, you die. I’m not leaving the room, just going to the door. Don’t try to be cute.”

The door opens again. There’s a sharp grunt and a heavy thud before the door shuts and bolts.

Someone just got knocked out. Or worse. Please don’t let it be Reggie.

“Teri?”

I gasp under the comforter. “Mmf!”

“Therese!”

The blanket flies off, and Reggie is kneeling over me with tears in his eyes. “Oh, sweetie. Oh, my love, mein neshama , I’m sorry. It’s okay now. It’s all okay.” Reggie removes whatever is over my eyes and takes the fabric out of my mouth.

“I thought they hurt you,” I blurt out, blinking, eyes struggling to adjust.

“No. I hurt them.”

As he flicks a knife through my bindings, I crane my neck. One thug is on the ground, blood coming from his nose and head. “Did you shoot him?” I gasp, even though I didn’t hear a gunshot.

“Not yet.”

I notice blood on the knife.

“Where’s the other guy?” I whisper.

“Behind the dumpster.”

“Dead?”

“Not sure. Probably not.” Reggie picks me up as I whimper. My shoulders and arms are useless, and my hands are purple. “You’re going to be okay. You haven’t even been here for two hours. We moved fast.”

“Okay. Good. Reggie—someone at WITSEC is a—”

“Spy for Estrada? I know. I found out too late, but thank God, not too too late.” He kisses me on the forehead as he carries me toward the door. “You’re alive. Teri... Teri, I’m so sorry. I failed you and —”

“Shh! Listen, Reggie. Estrada wants me to change my story so Matteo walks, to keep him from talking in exchange for a deal,” I hiss, eyes torn between drinking in Reggie's wonderful tear-stained face or staring at the heap of human scum bleeding on the carpet.

“That means whoever the mole is doesn’t know about your flash drive evidence.”

“And they didn’t know that the wedding was fake.”

“It’s not a field agent, then. It’s someone with limited clearances but who’s in Powell’s inner circle. Someone who only hears bits and pieces but knows enough to turn off the GPS tracking on your phone. Fortunately,” Reggie snags my purse off the top of the cracked TV, “we had backup. My phone.”

“Tell me more in the car. We have to get out of here.”

“Yes. We do. We have to get far, far out of here.” Reggie hesitates at the door, looking at the kidnapper. “This is a bad man. A killer. A kidnapper. A terrorist, a trafficker, and God-knows-what-else. I am a protector of the innocent. I cannot let a man like this exist.”

I swallow. I know what he wants to do. Part of me agrees. A larger part just wants to get away safely. “I need to pee.”

“Understandable. Make it fast, okay?”

“I will.”

I barely make it to the toilet. The trip is two-fold. I figure we might be in the car for a while, and I don’t want to know what’s happening outside in the hotel room. I hear the door open and close, and then a soft, reassuring voice says, “Don’t worry, honey. Just putting out the trash.”

“How very domestic of you.”

“Some gorgeous, smart woman told me I’m good husband material. Do you need help? Your hands probably aren’t working too well.”

Okay. I’m marrying this man. For real.

This man saved my life—and now he offers to help me use the toilet because my hands are still half-numb stumps with purple fingers that won’t bend.

“I’ve finished the necessary part, but I can’t button up.” I’d managed to push the button through with my thumb (which was still numb but solid enough to do the job). Pulling the button back through while holding the buttonhole steady is another matter.

Before I can blink, Reggie is next to me in the tiny, dusty bathroom. He washes both of our hands with lukewarm water and sticky orange soap from a broken bottle on the wall. Once we’re clean, he stands behind me and buttons my shorts like a pro.

“How?”

“Injured friends. Scared children. Sick people. I protected so many... But I didn’t protect you. My love, please—”

“I forgive you. This wasn’t your fault, and even if it was, I would forgive you a million times.

I love you, you big gray tank,” I manage a feeble laugh.

Reggie smiles at me as he turns me to face him.

“I was so scared,” I breathe out as I collapse on his chest, safe in the muscular shield of his arms.

“I know, babe, I know. It’s all my fault, I—”

“How is it your fault? You didn’t do any of this.

I know someone did something to you to allow this to happen, to create the opportunity.

I even thought to myself—” I look up at him, eyes overflowing, “I thought to myself, ‘They killed Reggie. That’s the only way they could get to me.’ But even though they took your powers somehow, you still saved me from the—where are they? ”

“Behind the dumpster.” Reggie picks me up again, even though I was limping along.

This time, I don’t ask if the men are alive or not.