"Emilia, have you slept at all?"

Mafer whirled into the room, and I slid my face off of the kitchen counter. She had three plastic bags hanging from her elbow, and a little handkerchief in her hand, with which she dabbed the sweat off her temples.

"Not really, no."

She'd been running around San José in the blazing sun since 9 o'clock that morning, while all I'd done was sit and mope, and cry and sob, and sip through eight or more cups of coffee.

A tiny frown, more sad than angry, dug into her forehead. She set a bag down in front of me, and tenderly rested her hand on my arm.

"I went to five shops and this is all I could find," she sighed. "I hope the ears are big enough."

Inside the bag was a small stuffed toy. It was a little monkey with a smiley face, dangly legs, and soft brown fur. It had huge, shiny eyes with long felt lashes, and two big ears sticking out of each side of its head.

"It's perfect," I whispered, pressing my thumb against the monkey's tiny paws.

The longer I looked at it, the more my heart ached and the more my chest tightened.

"Do you think we could go see him now?" I asked, choking on every syllable.

"Sure," she answered with a faint smile. "I'll take you to his room."

She led me downstairs, to the hallway opposite the maid's quarters. She threw a glance over her shoulder every now and then, just to give me a wistful smile and to check if I was still following.

We stopped in front of one of the bedrooms. I took a deep breath as she gently opened the door, before she stepped aside and let me walk in.

I stood next to his bed, staring at the small spots of blood that speckled the floor. I tried to speak, but a knot of tears kept my words trapped until I cleared my throat.

"Hi Big Puppy," I murmured.

He blinked twice, his eyes widening into a grin as they settled on me.

"Baby Dog," Oso drawled, stretching his arm out to grab my hand. "Here. Take this globe."

He reached to the other side of his bed and handed me a pink balloon, on which someone had scrawled a few words with a black marker.

"Corre más rápido, pendejo?" I frowned as I sat down on the edge of his mattress. "What does that mean?"

"It mean run faster, idiot," he chuckled. "My friend Fico make it for me."

"That's not very nice," I mumbled.

His bright smile didn't dim. "I think it is funny."

"He thinks everything is funny," Mafer chimed in. "I think it's the pain meds."

I tried my best to laugh with them, but I couldn't even unfurrow my brow. My heart clenched every time his warm hand brushed against my arm, squeezed by a mixture of anguish and relief. A few hours ago, when I'd held that hand, it was limp and cold, cold as ice I thought would never thaw.

"I got you a gift," I whispered.

I pulled the little plush toy out of its plastic bag, and squeezed its paw one last time before I gave it to Oso.

"Ooh," he cooed. "Teeny tiny monkey."

He stared at it for a while, and I wondered if he remembered anything he'd told me the night before. Back then, he was in shock and only half-conscious, and had probably forgotten everything that happened. He arched one eyebrow as he stared at me, then back at the little monkey.

He tucked the plushie under his sheets, propped up against his bandaged chest. He put its little hands above the covers, and looked up at me with a huge grin.

"Thank you, Baby Dog," he murmured. "I love it a lot."

I hoped my gift would remind him of his daughter, that it could be something he could cuddle when he found himself missing Sara with no H more than usual. But before I could explain, his eyes fluttered shut and he fell asleep, with his strong arms wrapped tight around the monkey.

Mafer pointed to the door, and I followed her outside, dragging my feet and the heavy pit in my stomach. I wished I could have stayed forever by Oso's side, but he needed to rest, and I wasn't supposed to be wandering in this part of the house.

"Is he going to make it?" I asked quietly.

She gave me a smile and a nod. "I spoke with Paola, who's a nurse here, and she said the bullet didn't hit anything important. He lost a lot of blood, but he's fine now."

"Good," I breathed.

Mafer sighed and held my hand, pressing her fingers hard in my palm to make sure I'd listen.

"Whatever Pablo tells you, just remember," she whispered. "You saved Oso's life."

I forced a smile, wiping the salty taste of tears from my lips.

"Speaking of him," I muttered, feeling my blood boil at the mention of his name. "I need to meet him at two. What time is it?"

"It's almost quarter past two," Mafer winced.

"Fuck," I hissed under my breath. "I have to go. Thank you, Mafer. I don't know what I would do without you."

She gave me one last warm hug before I rushed back upstairs, stopping in the kitchen to fill up my empty coffee mug and gather some strength.

Coffee only gave me half of what I needed. It gave me energy and stopped my eyes from closing, but I still lacked the courage to open my mouth when I faced Pablo again.

I had to invoke some old demons just once more. Searching through the kitchen cabinets, I found an old bottle of rum, and reluctantly poured some into my cup. After adding a splash of cream, it tasted less gross than I thought it would.

The meeting room was a cold place, with steely blue walls, the AC set a few notches too high, and unfriendly faces sitting around a huge mahogany table.

I greeted the men with an awkward smile as I walked in, and none of them returned it.

When he saw me, Pablo didn't say anything about me being late. He just raised his eyebrows and sighed, pointing to an empty chair as he looked out the window.

"As I was saying," he muttered. "We have a mole in this house, and look at what it did to my lawn."

He gestured towards the garden, where half a dozen men were shoveling dirt to fill up the deep holes the cops had dug in the garden. My chair dragged across the floor as I sat down, rattling the awkward silence.

"How are we supposed to maintain a positive and collaborative atmosphere if nobody laughs at my jokes?" Pablo groaned.

His words added another ton of weight to the already heavy atmosphere, and everyone except him bowed their heads, eyes riveted to the piles of files strewn across the table.

"Gordita," Pablo said sternly. "You already know what my question is."

The men's gazes turned to me, prickling my skin like thousands of red-hot needles. I took a sip of coffee to soothe my dry throat, and winced at the bitter aftertaste of rum lingering on my tongue.

"I didn't know yesterday night, I still don't know who did it," I answered.

"You are going to tell me everything you know, or–"

"Or what?" I spat, feeling my blood boil as it mixed with the alcohol. "If I don't give you a name, you're going to kill me. If I give you a name, you'll kill me anyway."

He ducked his chin and scrunched up his nose, as if he was disgusted by my reaction.

"I'm not going to kill you," he retorted. "I still like looking at you."

Oscar frowned at him, and one of the bodyguards threw Pablo a worried glance out of the corner of his eye.

"Because you have a funny face," Pablo added, with an awkward twitch of his shoulder.

"Listen, Emilia," Oscar intervened. "We just want to figure out if you were involved in what happened last night."

"What makes you think I was involved?" I mumbled.

"I know you're trying to act all clever," Pablo scoffed, "but that's the dumbest question I've ever heard in my entire life."

I felt my cheeks burn and quickly turn scarlet, although I didn't know if that was from shame or from the liquor in my coffee mug.

"The cops were looking for a dead body, right?" I said. "If I had tipped them off, I would have made sure to let them know that Sarah Kennedy was still alive."

Pablo rolled his eyes. "Of course. You know, it probably would have worked had you been more clever."

"I am a clever girl," I muttered. " You've said it yourself."

"Well, whoever helped you obviously wasn't."

I bit my tongue to stop myself from replying too fast. The only name that I could think of was the same one that had been whirling in my head all night.

Had Juan been more clever, I wouldn't be here. The cops would have searched the house for fresh DNA, not rotten bones. The guys in the forest wouldn't have tried to shoot us, and even though they would have caught Oso, I could have tried to negotiate for him to be spared a harsh sentence.

"So, who helped you?" asked Pablo as he sat down in a chair, his tense hand scratching up and down the armrest.

I pinched my lips before I could say it. There were many times throughout the night when he almost got me to say Juan's name. I was blinded by pain and rage, poisoned with fear and a thirst for revenge, and I almost let Pablo win.

I took a deep breath, and repeated the words three times in my head: Juan was just trying to help.

"I don't know," I finally replied. "I had nothing to do with what happened yesterday."

Pablo hit me with a deadpan glare. "So you're suggesting that someone in this house just woke up yesterday morning and thought that now was the time they'd call the FBI to tell them Sarah Kennedy is buried in my backyard."

I shrugged, forcing myself not to look at him, and took a big gulp of coffee.

"Just yesterday," he mumbled. "Six months after she went missing."

"Yeah," I gulped.

"What do you think happened?" he asked, his tone strung as tight as a noose. "Did they just get fed up of seeing you around?"

"Perhaps they saw how horribly you treat me and felt it was best to get me out of here before you end up killing me," I seethed.

"I don't treat you horribly," he replied. "If I treated you horribly I wouldn't be holding a fucking conference right now. I know better ways to get you to speak."

"What, like spending the entire night telling me Oso was dead and that I could help you find whoever did this? Like watching me cry and telling me that if I gave you a name, you'd make them pay?" I cried out. "All this time you knew he was alive and you lied to me, just so I'd tell you something I didn't know."

Oscar's eyes darkened and his neck straightened, as he glared at his own brother.

"I could go to his room right now and shoot him in the head, if that's what will make you talk," spat Pablo.

The tears in my eyes began to simmer, and I felt my bottom lip quiver. My trembling hand wrapped tighter around the handle of my mug, and the surface of my coffee started to ripple.

Pablo's eyes narrowed. "Who told you Oso was alive?"

His nails endlessly rapped against the wooden table, each tap feeling like a drill in my temple.

"It doesn't matter," I mumbled.

"Yes it does," he replied, carefully enunciating his words. "Who have you spoken to today?"

"Nobody."

"Don't fucking lie to me, I have eyes everywhere, Gordita." he spat. "I'll find out if you're trying to protect someone, and it'll just make them look more suspicious."

My jaw clenched and my shoulders tensed, as his words had me cornered like a rat.

My answer came out like a pitiful stutter. "Just Mafer, but–"

"Who the fuck is Mafer?"

"My maid, but she didn't do anything," I sniffled, shaking my head.

"What did you talk about?"

I took four deep breaths. I could feel the pressure building with every second of silence, but I was so frozen in fear I found it hard to even move my lips.

"She asked why I was crying, and I told her about Oso. She said he was alive, and then I asked her to go to San José and find him a gift I could give him, and that's all. It wasn't her," I explained.

Pablo turned to Beto, who was sitting on the other side of the table, half-hidden behind a tall stack of papers.

"Did you write that down?" he asked, pulling a last cigarette from its pack. "Mafer. Mafer the maid."

"Yes," he stammered, "but I think we need to wrap up the operations for today. All the guests are on their way."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Pablo sighed, spitting out a cloud of smoke. "Tell Hernan I'll be late. I need to chill for a minute before I see his ugly face."

"What are you going to do to Mafer?" I whimpered as my eyes darted around the table, desperately searching for someone I could beg for help.

Pablo crumpled his empty pack of cigarettes in his fist as he stood up, and walked toward the window.

"Nothing, you heard what Beto said. At least not today," he sighed. "Oscar, tell the gardeners to move their fucking asses. I'll meet up with you all when I'll have had some time to relax."

The meeting room emptied quickly, and yet its cold and tense atmosphere followed me around the house. I stopped in the kitchen and downed a few shots of rum straight from the bottle, hoping the liquor would burn away some of the pain. One shot, two shots, too many more.

Before I could gather my thoughts, I found myself in the garden, sitting by the pool beneath the sputtering rain, clutching an empty bottle and gasping for fresh air. My teeth chattered and my body shivered like the palm tree fronds in the breeze.

Through the blurry haze of my scorching tears, I could hardly see anything, other than the gray skies above me, and the dark silhouette of a tall man walking my way.

"Em," said Juan. "What are you doing outside?"

"I thought we couldn't talk here," I muttered, hiding the bottle between my ankles.

"This can't wait," he whispered. "Something weird is going on."

I looked up at him, his pretty, stupid eyes and dumb, handsome face. I felt my heart playing hopscotch over the thin line between love and hate.

"You don't say," I spat.

"Oh God," he sighed, rolling his eyes as he shook the raindrops out of his dark hair. "What have I done now?"

"You called the cops."

His whole face scrunched up in confusion. "I did what?"

He stood tall and stiff, his palms facing upwards and his mouth hanging agape as if he'd frozen halfway through a question.

"You didn't do anything, did you?" I realized.

Juan shook his head, blinking and smacking his lips in disbelief.

"What's going on? Why are you looking at me like that?" he groaned, his voice dripping with frustration. "Two seconds ago you were mad at me because I called the cops, and now you're mad at me because I didn't."

"I should have just told him it was you," I seethed.

I tried to walk away, tripping over the empty bottle in my haste. Juan grabbed my arm before I fell or left.

"Listen, Em, I'm trying my best to help you, but they're cracking down on security," he tried to explain. "I just spoke with Majo. She was questioned all morning, and then they fired her because she had too many security violations."

"Majo?" I frowned. "They questioned Majo?"

"They questioned a bunch of maids and bodyguards. She said a few were still being held in some soundproofed rooms downstairs."

"Where is she?" I asked.

"She left. She packed her stuff and left," he said, still shaking his head. "She wouldn't tell me where she was going, other than that she couldn't go home."

A wave of worry took over my entire body, drenching me from head to toe in a torrent of cold sweat.

"I need to find Mafer."

I rushed back into the house and into the maid's quarters, darting down its labyrinthian hallways and snaking staircases. My heart pounded in my chest, ringing all the way up to my ears, and I slid across the floor as I turned every corner.

I had to find her. I had to warn her, tell her what was going on, and admit everything I'd said or done wrong. I had to apologize and tell her to run. Pablo would interrogate her tomorrow, and God only knew what he'd do to her, downstairs in a soundproofed room.

Nightmarish images flashed through my head as I ran down the corridor, my trembling hands brushing against the cold walls. She'd done nothing wrong, she'd only ever helped me, and she was going to pay for my faults.

I walked into a kitchen, filled with thick vapor, open flames and the loud hissing of sizzling food.

"Mafer?" I called out amidst the chaos.

Three maids turned around, glaring at me as if they knew what I'd done. Mafer wasn't one of them. I climbed back up to the hallways. I didn't have much time left, if any at all.

Chased by nothing but the echo of my hurried footsteps and my own looming shadow, slithering along the pallid walls, I ran down the corridor that led to her bedroom.

I had a gut feeling that she was behind that door, that she'd taken a late lunch break and come here to read a book, or that she'd hopped in mid-shift to pick up something or change her uniform.

I stopped, my fingers hovering above the handle, thinking of what I'd say when I found her. It felt right to help her escape, since she'd done the same for me a while ago. I shut my eyes and tried to come up with somewhat of a plan, instead of barging into her room and babbling like an idiot.

Then I heard a cry. Like some kind of pained moan. Or perhaps it wasn't pain. Maybe it was– oh.

I let out a strange sound, halfway between a gasp and an inappropriate laugh, and clasped my hand onto my mouth.

My racing thoughts and shattered heart stilled, replaced by a stupid grin stretching across my face. I pinched my nose to stop myself from chortling, biting my lip to hold back a soft rum-flavored chuckle.

I could hear it so clearly. The kissing, the moaning, her high-pitched giggles and his husky sweet talking.

She was with him, her darling José, her mysterious boyfriend. Anyone would think I was a weirdo for just standing there and listening, but I was too relieved to care. Mafer's pure bliss made my world stop crumbling.

Perhaps she hadn't thought of telling me he was coming today, because of all the events that had unfolded the night before.

This was perfect. Mafer had always wanted me to meet her José, and it was a sweet irony that it would finally happen on her last night here. And whoever he was, especially if I was right and he was José Galdamez, he could maybe help Mafer escape.

Relief washed over me like a waterfall, and I felt as light as a feather. Things would go well, after all. Not great, since whatever happened I'd be losing Mafer, but not catastrophic either, since at least she'd be safe.

But just as I told myself it was best not to interrupt and just step away from the door, Mafer moaned out her lover's name.

"Ay, Pablo."