Vomit spills from my mouth and I stick my head deep into the toilet before my stomach heaves again. The effort drives tears to my eyes. My whole body shakes in between bouts while I try to fight the nausea, but just as the last three mornings, I don't calm until my stomach is completely empty.

When I'm finally done, I wipe my mouth clean on a piece of toilet paper. Leaning back against the wall, I breathe through clenched teeth. Miguel appears in the doorway. The big wrinkle on his forehead reveals his worry.

"You should seriously see a doctor."

"It's nothing, Miguel." I pull myself onto my feet and clutch the rim of the sink to stabilize my wobbly knees. When I turn on the faucet, the cold water running over my wrists and hands gets rid of the blinking spots in front of my eyes. I squirt toothpaste onto the toothbrush and brush until my gums hurt to kill the nasty taste in my mouth. With a deep breath, I turn back to my husband. No more need to deny the truth. "I think I might be pregnant."

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Really?" He closes the gap between us with two quick steps. Wrapping me into his arms, he pulls me into a hug. "That's wonderful, baby. When will you know for sure?"

My period is set to start in four days and my body has always kept to its biological schedule like clockwork, although a pregnancy test will be the only way to confirm for sure. "Soon. Can you get me an appointment with the doctor early next week? I don't think it makes a lot of sense to see him before then."

"Consider it done." He tilts my head back to force eye contact. "You should take it easy. Maybe going to the orphanage this week is too much."

The prospect of being locked up in the house for the next nine months is terrifying. The last two weeks, the orphanage has been the only light on my horizon. "My mom had really bad morning sickness when she was pregnant with my brother but still managed to take care of my sister and me. It'll be fine." I peck his lips. "Don't worry."

With a sigh, he releases me. "Okay, but if you feel dizzy or sick, promise me to stay home."

I cross my heart. "Scout's honor."

That summons a smile to his lips. "I can't tell you how happy I am."

I stifle a grimace; for me, it's a nightmare. I didn't want to have a child with a man I intend to leave. "What are your plans for today?"

"Just work." He keeps his tone even and I can't tell if he's lying or not.

"What type of work?" My voice is just as nonchalant, like it's the most natural question and not a blatant attempt to pry into his business. Running my fingers over the selection of shirts, I pull out a red-and-blue checkered top that I bought during our trip to Colombia.

"You've been quite curious lately. I don't think talking about my work is an appropriate topic. It would just bore you." He takes the shirt out of my hand and forces my body around to face him.

The anger in his eyes has me drop my gaze. "I just want to know what you do all day." To my horror, my voice carries a tremble. "After all, you're my husband. Isn't that normal?"

"I suppose." His breath tickles my neck as if he's about to kiss me, though the grip on my shoulders tightens. "I guess I'm just paranoid, thinking that everyone is spying for my father."

"Well, I'm not. And I bet you would've told Juana."

"That's different. Juana and I grew up together and she took a bullet to save my life. Something like that binds people together. She's one of the few people I trust."

I swallow a gasp; so that's how Juana got hurt. And dumping her after she saved his life and now can't bear children as a result is an absolute jerk move. "I haven't seen her around. Where is she?"

"New York. She's the Malaguian representative to the United Nations."

"I didn't even know there was a representative of Malaguay for the United Nations."

He avoids my gaze and I frown. Is he still hung up on her?

"All nations have a representative. Tomás was supposed to go, but then Shauna got pregnant and my father decided to send Juana."

His father probably tried to make sure they didn't rekindle their relationship after I fell into his trap. I'm just about to ask him if he's still in contact with her when he checks his watch.

"I really have to go. I have a phone conference with Veseo this morning and still need to prepare something." He kisses the tip of my nose. "Maybe we can do lunch at the compound?"

My stomach is still queasy, but if my appetite follows its latest pattern, I'll be starving by noon. "Great idea. I could even come down early and go to the shooting range. I haven't practiced in a while."

A deep line cuts across his forehead. "Do you think that's a good idea in your condition?"

I roll my eyes. "Miguel, not again. Even if I'm pregnant, I won't break."

"I suppose you're right. It's just all new to me." He bites his lip, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Imagine, a year from now, we could be parents."

That's one terrifying thought. "Yay, I can't wait." My attempt at a cheerful tone fails, though he doesn't seem to notice.

"I love you." He pecks the tip of my nose once more. "See you for lunch, baby."

When the door closes behind him, I fall on my bed. So far, I haven't gotten one bit closer to discovering the Coyote's plan or getting to the intel on Miguel's computer. Time is running thin and so are my ideas.

Deciding to pump Naiara for information, I stroll downstairs to join her by the pool. She's having breakfast while a young maid finishes her pedicure. Today, a sparkly purple decorates her nails.

"Oh, hey, Stacy. Do you want Rosa to do your nails, too?"

She'll never talk about Miguel's business with help around.

"No thanks, maybe later." I plop into the chair next to her. When the maid tries to pour me coffee, I decline. "Nothing for me."

"Are you sick again?" Naiara asks.

I nod.

"When did you have your last period?"

"Almost four weeks ago."

"You could be pregnant." She regards me from over the rim of her cup, sipping her coffee. "I have a test if you want to use it. They sometimes don't work properly until you're a few days late, but it's worth a try."

I'm not ready to know either way. "I think I'll just wait until next week, but thanks."

Drinking her coffee in silence, she's barely able to hide the tears. After Shauna's announcement, she told me that she always keeps a few pregnancy tests under the sink in the bathroom since she has been trying to conceive for years. She and Santino even underwent testing, but the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with either one of them. The pressure must be getting to her.

"Naiara, what does Miguel actually do?"

Her eyes narrow slightly. "He's in charge of funding."

"So he sells drugs to get money for the military?"

"Pretty much." Her tone has turned two nuances colder.

"What else?"

"You ask too many questions." Her lips purse, displaying her disapproval. "You shouldn't concern yourself with government business. All you really need to know is that there's plenty of money for you to buy anything you want. What else matters?"

"Are you never curious about what Santino does all day?"

"No. He tells me what I need to know and that's plenty." She pours more coffee into her cup, her face relaxing as she studies me. "Don't worry, Miguel will open up to you eventually. Men always do. In the meantime, don't pressure him. He has a bad temper and will only get mad if he feels you're trying to pry."

I shudder as the image of his angry eyes this morning replay in my mind. Come to think of it, he might've slapped me if we hadn't had the pregnancy discussion.

"Well, I'd better run. I want to get to the compound for some target practice."

Her nose scrunches. "How can you enjoy stuff like that? Santino took me once and it was dreadful. Weapons are definitely a guy thing."

I give her a thin smile; she will never understand. Shooting is still the one thing that makes me feel powerful and in control. With a gun in my hand, I can take on the world, but without it, I'm just Stacy, the girl who has never lived up to anyone's expectations. When I go home, it's something I'll miss.

By the time I get to the compound, my stomach is in knots from crippling nausea. Weakness is weighing me down as I sip a cup of water in the training center. Tomás is drilling new recruits, yelling at them at the top of his lungs while they run laps around the ring. He glances over at me from time to time, his blue eyes lighter than usual.

When a wave of cramps hits me full force, I double over. The cup escapes my fingers and the cold water splashes against my feet. I hardly notice. More cramps steal my breath and I whimper. The area around me swoops in and out of focus. Every sound is drowned out by the pounding blood in my ears.

"Stacy, what's wrong?"

Tomás's words pull me back from my daze. I blink to keep his face in focus. "I'm really sick."

"Where does it hurt?"

When I double over again, he strokes my back.

"My stomach. I'm having really bad cramps."

My pants feel sticky; instinctively, my fingers graze my crotch. They are coated with blood. My period must have started early, though that doesn't explain the sharp pain that stabs me right in the middle of my groin.

"I need to use the bathroom." When I take a step forward, my knees buckle.

Tomás slides his arms under my armpits for support. "Here. Let me help you."

When he tries to lift me up, I shoot him a dark look. "I can walk."

He doesn't press the issue, guiding me along the corridor toward the bathroom. Soldiers stop; their curious stares drive warmth to my cheeks. Why can't they just mind their own business? I'm not the star of some freak show. When we get to our destination, Tomás holds the door open.

"I can take it from here," I assure him, although the whole room is spinning. Only my palms, pressed flat against the wall, keep me on my feet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Go and get Miguel."

The mentioning of my husband's name kills the glint of concern in his eyes. He allows the door to slam closed and I listen to his fading footsteps before turning toward the stall. When I pull down my pants, blood has soaked through every part of my clothing. No way they can be salvaged.

I tear off the soiled fabric and slump onto the toilet seat, relieving myself. The water in the bowl turns crimson red. I soak up more blood with toilet paper, but it keeps draining out of me. It's a little thicker than my usual period with a few clots, and the flow is much stronger. The cramps in between make me dizzy and nauseous.

"Stacy, what's happening?" Miguel's voice is laced with panic, his fist pounding against the bathroom stall.

"I'm just having a really bad period." After using up close to a roll of toilet paper, the flow finally eases up. I flush in between to make sure the drain doesn't block. The pain and discomfort are slowly replaced by embarrassment.

"Stacy, open up!"

"I'll be right out."

"No, I want you to open the door. Tomás said there was blood everywhere. I need to make sure you're okay."

With a sigh, I open the latch of the stall. Stepping aside, I allow him to enter. He looks me over me, his gaze stopping on the soiled clothing. Tomás peeks around the door, but when I hide my naked crotch with my hand, he pulls his head back.

"Tomás, get my gym bag. It's in my office under the desk."

My tears begin to flow and Miguel curls his arms around me.

"I'm sorry," I sniffle in between sobs. "I made such a mess. It's so disgusting."

He strokes my hair. "Don't worry about it. It's gonna be fine, I promise."

While we wait, I stare at the stained pants and the streaks of blood that are painted all over the stall as if they were the artwork of a small child. No words are spoken, yet the truth that I probably had a miscarriage hangs over us like heavy fog.

The tears still flow when he helps me into his boxers, the makeshift toilet-paper padding held in place by his jogging pants. This time, when he scoops me into his arms, I don't protest. As he carries me through the compound, I bury my face against his shoulder, exhaustion taking over as soon as he lowers me onto the couch in his office.

He nuzzles into my hair. "Try to rest. I'll take you over to the doctor as soon as possible. He had an emergency in town but should be back in a couple of hours."

The cramps have been replaced by a dull pounding, the rest of my body numb. "Don't worry, I feel better." The emptiness inside me saps the last of my energy. "I'm just really tired."

His eyes are glazed with undeniable despair. "Unfortunately, I have to go into a few meetings that I can't postpone, but one of the soldiers will be right outside the door. If you have any pain or start to bleed again, let him know and he'll call me straight away." Hesitation follows his reassurance.

I squeeze his hand. "It's okay. Just go. There's nothing you can do at the moment."

He nods and slowly rises. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

When the office door closes with a low click, I sink back into the cushions. Playing with the hem of the blanket, I stare at the small gap in the drawn curtain that allows a beam of sunshine to float into the room. With all thoughts banned from my mind, my eyelids grow heavy.

Just as I drift off to sleep, a falling sensation takes ahold of me, making my body jerk. Wide awake, I sit up. As I scan the room, my gaze settles on Miguel's laptop on his desk. Devon's small device, hidden in the front pocket of my jacket, weighs a ton. This is just too good of an opportunity to pass.

With a groan, I pull my legs off the couch. My toes curl on the cold tiles. Steps unsteady, I stumble over to the desk and plop into the chair. My focus shifts to the monitor and I smile. Miguel's screensaver is a bouncing picture of me in my wedding gown.

When I shake the mouse, the monitor springs to life. Another picture of me, this time taken when we went for a picnic in the mountains, smiles at me in the background. For a brief moment, I rest my finger on the button of the device. This is the ultimate betrayal, but do I have another option?

No.

I push the button. A brief hum crackles in the line before words fill my ear.

"What's the IP address?"

"I don't know how to get it." I keep my voice down, eyeing the doorknob for any movement.

"Are you in the Windows menu?"

"Yes."

"Go to start and type in c-m-d. That's Charlie, Mike, Delta."

My hand trembles as the cursor hovers over the start button. I exhale through tight lips to calm my nerves. Here goes nothing. After typing the required letters into the search bar, a black window opens.

"What do I do now?"

"Type in i-p-config. That's India, Papa—"

"I know how to spell that." I close my eyes and inhale deeply. My fingers glide over the keyboard. In one nation, this makes me a hero; in another one, a traitor.

"You should see the IP address now."

I scan the lines in the black box until I find the information. "One seven six dot three two dot one nine eight dot thirty-six."

A small window pops up on the right bottom corner of the screen, requesting me to confirm remote access permissions. Clicking the acceptance button is the last step to give Devon's IT expert full control over my husband's computer. After that, the cursor develops a mind of its own. With a mixture of fascination and uneasiness, I watch as windows open and every piece of information is copied onto a server of the US government. The whole exercise takes less than ten minutes.

"Okay, we got everything. Devon will talk to you on Wednesday. Is there a message you want me to pass along?" The guy's voice is flat and robotic; it's painfully obvious that this is no more than a job for him.

Nothing that has transpired in the last few hours would even be of remote interest to his boss. "No, no message."

I swallow down the rising tears. A baby would've just complicated matters, but I still can't fight the persistent ache. It's as if a part of me was torn away. Maybe it's my punishment for all the things I've done wrong in my life.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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