During basic training, Tomás always asserted we'd remember his crap when we groaned about the detailed lectures that spelled out every possible future combat scenario we could face. Challenged now with the prospect of being shot in the head, I have to grudgingly admit he had a point. His words echo in my ears as if he were standing next to me—distract, attack, disarm. Piece of cake, according to him.

Chewing on my lip, I ponder how to accomplish point one. Precious seconds trickle away. Emilien's hand is shaking; it won't take much.

"Look, Emilien. Miguel is trying to set Pearson up since he suspects he's working with the Americans. It's a trap."

"I don't believe you." Sweat has formed on top of the young boy's lip. "Everyone knows Pearson works for the Americans. What do you need to trap him for?"

I change direction. "Tomás can confirm I'm telling the truth. He's right outside. If you don't believe me, let's go ask him."

This visibly trips him up and his eyes turn doubtful. For a second, he lowers the gun, but that's all the time I need. Without hesitation, I lunge forward.

Grab the opponent's wrist and push upward, were Tomás's instructions.

I firmly seize Emilien's lower arm, but before I can complete step two, he tears away from my grip. I ram my shoulder into his side, taking him off his feet. He fumbles with the gun but is able to hold on to it. When I kick him in his side, he finally loses control of the weapon. Another kick sends the gun into a corner.

He's back on his feet, his fist connecting with the center of my stomach. Pain waves radiate through my torso; my breath fails me and I double over. When he sprints toward the gun, a spurt of adrenaline is released into my bloodstream. Both the throbbing and lack of oxygen are forgotten. I tackle him to the ground with a low growl, just as he reaches for the gun.

He rams his elbow into the side of my head, causing a minor explosion that leaves stars in front of my eyes. I gasp for air.

In close combat, go for soft spots. Eyes, nose, and especially the groin.

Following Tomás's advice, I bury my knee deep into Emilien's manly parts. His shout rings like music in my ears. He still manages to get control of the gun, but before he can swing it around, I smash my elbow into his upper back. His grip loosens, the weapon back in play.

My fingertips scrape the grip of the gun when my head is jerked back by my hair. I scream, my scalp on fire. His kick finds its mark in my ribcage and the familiar feeling of bones severing in two explodes. I groan but still force my body onto my knees. Two quick crawls and I reach the weapon. Already turning to get into position, he crushes me. A single gunshot goes off, followed by silence. His frame lays rigid on top of me.

When I realize he's not moving, a yelp escapes my mouth. Something warm soaks into my shirt. Although he lies absolutely still, the pain in my abdomen rages so strongly that I can't be sure I wasn't the one who was hit. Tears and nausea mess with my mind—I'm frozen in place, unable to form even one comprehensible thought.

Footsteps drift through my foggy brain before the heavy body is lifted off me. Tomás's blue eyes meet mine. When he squats next to me, confusion is replaced by worry.

"Stacy, are you shot?"

My lips form words, but the sound is caught in my throat. Emilien's glassy stare sends shudders down my spine. Only when Tomás starts to shake me do I awake from my daze.

"Oh my god, he's dead!" My voice is shrill. My stomach cramps and nausea gets the better of me. Every muscle in my body contracts in disgust.

Tomás pulls up my shirt. He glide his fingers over the sore spot where Emilien kicked me and I cry out.

"That's broken." He cups my shoulders, his gaze drilling into me. "Stacy, what happened?"

"I don't know." My breath is raspy. "He just attacked me."

"Why would he attack you for no reason?"

I finally tear my gaze away from Emilien's dead face, my mind scrambling. "He didn't say. All of a sudden, he appeared out of nowhere and threatened me. We struggled. The gun went off." I grab onto Tomás's arms. "I swear, it was an accident. I didn't mean to shoot him."

My mouth dries up as the full extent of my actions hit me.

I killed a man.

I will go to hell.

Tomás studies my frantic face with narrow eyes. "Stacy, what you're telling me makes no sense. Emilien had no reason to attack you."

Except for his sister . . .

"He was really mad at me because I had told Miguel he was still visiting his sister at the orphanage. Miguel's men did horrible things to her." I bob my head up and down with as much conviction as I can muster. "Yes, yes. That must've been the reason."

With a sigh, Tomás turns away. "Stacy, Emilien knew that Miguel would skin him and his sister alive if he ever laid a hand on you. I personally warned him to stay away from you." His hands ball to fists. "Emilien was a good kid. He would've never disobeyed my warning."

Tears burn in my eyes. "Please, Tomás. You have to believe me."

The air deflates out of him like a popped balloon. "Okay, let's assume for a moment I'll buy your bullshit. What are we gonna tell Miguel? He'll never believe you—already paranoid as he is—he'll assume you're trying to cover up some betrayal." The intensity from his gaze raises the hairs on my neck. "Stacy, he'll kill you."

The phony laugh hurts my eardrums. "Don't be ridiculous. Miguel won't kill me for this."

"I don't think you realize the danger you're in." Tomás closes his eyes, letting a long breath escape through tight lips. "I've watched Miguel over the last few days. He has totally changed. Something has spooked him to a point that he's about to crack. Picture a vicious dog you cornered and are beating with a stick. What does he do? He fights back. That's the spot Miguel is in. He'll eliminate anyone he perceives as a threat without considering the consequences."

"You really think it's that bad?"

"I know it is." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, this is what we're gonna do. We'll tell him that we were attacked in the woods by the rebels. I'll come up with a reason why they let us go after beating us up and taking the rifle. It's the most plausible explanation for your injuries without getting you into trouble." He smiles. "Hell, he might even feel sorry for you and you'll get some extra sex."

I laugh through my tears at his ridiculous joke, although I want to weep on his shoulder. "Isn't he gonna be mad at you that you didn't take the soldiers? I mean, you disobeyed a direct order."

"Don't worry about me, I can handle Miguel." He scans the kitchen. "It'll cost some money to pay off the owner. I've got some cash at home I can give him. He can also get rid of the body."

"Won't anyone miss Emilien?"

"I doubt he's on anyone's radar. Once he doesn't show up for his shift, I'll drop that he might've defected. After what happened to his sister, it's plausible that he was bitter and hated the regime. Him crossing over to the rebels won't be a hard sell."

This could work. I'm still reluctant to sell Tomás out to Miguel but can't think of an alternative. He disappears to the front of the bar to talk to the owner; when he returns, the big smile on his face confirms that the man is on board. Up to this point, I've underestimated the power of cash.

Tomás ushers me out the back door. "I'll take you home first."

I nod since I know he won't change his mind, no matter how much I object. As we drive, his gaze keeps returning to me.

"How're you holding up?"

I play dumb. "What do you mean?"

"Don't pretend everything is peachy. The first kill is hard, even though I do believe you didn't mean to shoot him."

The guilt rears its ugly head and I drop my face into my hand. "I don't know what I feel." Hot tears run through my fingers. So many emotions pelt down on me at once, starting with remorse and quickly shifting to utter disgust. One day, I'll have to pay for this.

He strokes my back until I finally look up. His crooked smile is more like a grimace. "It was an accident. God will forgive you because it wasn't premeditated."

"You really believe that?"

"Yes. You're a good person, Stacy. If anyone will go to heaven in this godforsaken place, it'll be you."

I suspect that he's only trying to stop my tears since my crying must be getting on his nerves, although his words still give me comfort. Seeing this side of him is refreshing but puzzling at the same time. Why is he always hiding behind this mask of an insufferable jerk?

Before I can ponder more about his odd behavior, he pulls onto a small path in the woods. The checkpoint to the mansion is just ahead.

"Now comes the hard part." He smirks. "At least for me. You might find it liberating."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Well, there's still an inherent flaw in our story. We were attacked by the creek, but only you carry the bruises." When my jaw drops, he chuckles. "Yes, I want you to do exactly that."

I shake my head. "No way I'm gonna beat you up."

"You have to or we're both dead." The jest has vanished from his face.

I know he's right. With my eyes squeezed shut, I deliver the first punch. Blood splatters as I ram my fist right into his nose. My broken ribs hurt like crazy; I'm probably in more pain than he is.

"Not bad." He wipes the blood off with his sleeve. "Try the eye next. That's always really convincing."

When I'm done, he not only has a black eye but several cuts and bruises. I gave him a few kicks for good measure that made him groan and will probably hurt even more in the morning.

"I think that's enough."

"Yeah." He stretches out his hand and I pull him onto his feet. He chuckles, his face twisting. "Those were some pretty good punches. I'm proud of you, girl."

I muster up a smile. "Well, I had a good teacher."

"Yeah, right." With a snort, he checks his watch. "We need to get going. Miguel will send his bloodhounds after us if I don't show up pronto. Let's go."

We drive the rest of the way in silence. When we pull up in front of the mansion, we luckily find the driveway deserted. Tomás shows me a secret entrance in the basement I never knew existed and we slip in under the radar of the servants.

Tomás grins. "It's Santino's emergency evacuation route in case the place ever gets raided by the military. Not many people know about it, so be honored that I showed you."

The words barely register, my mind already on the evening ahead. Miguel will probably freak and make a huge fuss, so my acting has to be impeccable. I can't afford any slipups.

When we get to my room, Tomás stretches out his hand. "Take off your bloody shirt, so I can burn it," He motions for me to hurry. "Then clean yourself up and go to bed. He'll likely not even bother you if he thinks you're asleep."

I peel out of my shirt. Emilien's blood has dried, but the stain is so big it's apparent that it stems from a major injury.

Tomás stuffs it into a plastic bag he finds in my closet.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" I bite my lip, an unease causing an uproar in my stomach.

"Don't worry about it."

Before he can turn to the door, I grab his hand. "Tomás, why are you helping me?"

He studies me with those intense eyes and shakes his head. "You honestly don't know." He chuckles. Then, without any warning, his hand cups my head.

When our lips meet, I gasp. The initial shock wears off quickly and I melt into him, my hips arching without prompting. Our tongues roll in a passionate rhythm. Bursts of electricity hum on my skin as our hearts beat as one. Aching to prolong the kiss, I savor every second of his parted soft lips. When we finally break apart, I'm out of breath.

His gaze stays on my face for a second longer before he spins around and slips out the door, leaving me utterly confused and wanting.

~~~~

For someone who is concerned about his injured wife, Miguel takes his sweet time. It's already dark when he finally shows up at the mansion. He finds me in our bed with the nightlight on, Kindle on my lap. I read three pages in five hours; the events of the day ending with the kiss are on an all-consuming auto-replay in my mind.

"Hey." When he sits down at the edge of the bed, the mattress creaks and bends under his weight. "How you're feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. I took some painkillers. Tomás believes my rib is broken, so I should probably see the doctor tomorrow."

He flinches at the mention of his friend's name.

My smile is contrite. "I'm sorry. We should have taken the soldiers."

"That was entirely Tomás's fault." His lips brush absentmindedly over my temple; when he hits the sore spot, he ignores my wince.

My heart races as crazy things flash through my head. "What are you gonna do to him?"

"I already dealt with Tomás."

I lift a brow, waiting for him to elaborate, but he rises and slips out of his clothes.

"And?" My stupid heart is now beating so loudly that I'm afraid he can hear it.

"I taught him to be more careful next time. You guys just got lucky that Mateo led the ambush or you would probably both be dead." He mumbles something under his breath that sounds like a Spanish curse. "I mean, my wife and General Varela's deputy, right there on a silver platter. They must've thought Bajada De Los Reyes came twice this year."

I frown. "I didn't know Tomás was Varela's deputy."

"Oh, he is. As I told you before, Tomás knows how to get ahead." He snorts. "But I got him good. Even the general couldn't protect him after he endangered your life."

My insides recoil at the dripping venom in his voice. "What did you do?"

By the way he glares at me, he probably killed him.

"I gave him a good whooping and broke his hand." He grins, obviously happy with himself. "No more playing the violin for a while. Serves him right."

When Tomás played the fiddle in Colombia, he had this mesmerized smile on his lips. It had been one of those rare moments in which he seemed truly happy. Not being able to have music as an outlet will probably crush him and make it even harder on Shauna.

"But enough of Tomás. I need you to write out a list for Naiara of typical US food that is served at a banquet. Spare no expense. We're having a really important visitor for dinner the day after tomorrow and she's going shopping in Quito tomorrow afternoon."

I have no clue what people in America eat at a banquet but can surely make something up. He'll never know. "Who's coming?"

"The Coyote."

My breath stalls as if a bucket of ice has been poured over my head.

"As you can imagine, this guy is usually really secretive about his identity, but I've already had the privilege of meeting him a couple of times face to face. And now he's coming to my house. This is such an honor."

I can only hope my eyes don't give away my horror.

He squints at me as he takes off his socks. "I'm gonna hop into the shower. Did you eat yet?"

"No. I was waiting for you."

"Well, if you feel like it, we can have dinner downstairs, or I can have the maid prepare a snack and serve you in bed." He tosses his clothing into the laundry basket.

His nakedness should probably arouse me, but my mind is miles away. This will be Devon's golden opportunity to rid the world of the Coyote, but how on Earth will I get another message to him? I doubt I'll run into Pearson anytime soon.

The tapping of Miguel's foot tears me from my scheming. He gazes at me with a deepening frown, obviously expecting an answer. "Umm, we can go downstairs."

"Okay." He disappears in the bathroom.

As the door closes behind him, an idea forms in my head. Naiara will go to the orphanage in the morning before heading to Quito. I'll ask her to deliver a note to Pearson and he can warn Devon. After that, the Coyote will be history and my family will be safe.

Getting a pen and paper from the drawer in my nightstand, I bite the inside of my cheek to calm my nerves. I scribble down a quick note and hastily stuff in one of the envelopes sitting on the dresser. After I seal it, I write Pearson's name on the front.

"I'm really thirsty, so I'm gonna go downstairs already," I shout through the bathroom door.

"Okay, I'll be there in a minute."

The water turns off. I don't have much time.

Clenching my jaw, I suppress a whimper as I scurry down the stairs as fast as my throbbing pain permits. In the lobby, my gaze flicks around to find Naiara. She's curled up on the couch with a blanket, jerking to the sound of the blasting beats from her headphones while flipping through a magazine. I wave my hand in front of her eyes to get her attention.

She pops the earplugs out of her ears. "Oh, hi, Stacy. Miguel said you got hurt out in the woods. How are you feeling?"

"Much better." I glance over my shoulder to make sure my husband is nowhere in sight. "Can I ask you for a favor? Since I'm now working with Miguel, I won't be able to go to the orphanage anymore." I hold out the letter. "Could you give this to Pearson? I want to let him know what's going on."

"Sure." She's about to take the envelope out of my hand when Miguel appears in the doorway.

He frowns. "What's this?"

"A letter for Pearson." Naiara shows no more inclination to take possession of the envelope.

"Well, can I see it?" Miguel's smile is as fake as it gets. Extending his hand, he eyes me with suspicion.

I have no other option but to turn the letter over. He tears the envelope open with his index finger. As he unfolds the paper, his gaze is fixed on my face. He begins to read and all I can do is hold my breath, waiting for an imminent explosion.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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