“Owe you another one,” Tripoli promised. He closed out the call.
“Your deadmen?” Cruz asked.
Tripoli nodded at Cruz. “Yeah. More resources, faster response, and they don’t have to answer to anyone if they get caught. They’ll make it happen, although help from Wes getting across the border will be appreciated.” Then he looked at Triumph. “I don’t have to tell you, I know, but I’m going to anyway. Do exactly what these guys tell you to do when they tell you. Get yourself geared up. Travel light. Like, only-a-backpack light.”
“Got it,” Triumph answered. “And thank you.”
“Just don’t get dead. The Colonel Cartel is no one to fuck around with.” Tripoli motioned to take them off mute. “G, you still with us?”
“Yeah.” She sounded tired.
“Okay. I’ve got some friends coming to collect you. Your job is to sit tight. Do not leave your room, and try not to move around. It might be a little bit, but they’re mobilizing now. Hopefully, the guys will be with you in less than twenty-four hours. I know that’s going to suck, but you can do it.”
“Yup,” she agreed.
“I want you to call me every two hours, okay? We’ll see how your wound is doing, and I’ll tell you what to do. One of the guys coming to you is a medic. His name is Demon. The other guy is Steel. M will be with them too.”
“M’s coming?”
Her voice was getting more and more faint. Her body needed rest.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” Triumph told her. “Just hold on, okay?”
“M’kay. Be careful. These guys aren’t gonna play. They’ll just shoot and leave bodies. The police are in their pockets, so don’t trust them or anybody down here, even if you have contacts. Guillermo’s gotten to some of the most upstanding people there are.”
“Noted. Hang in there, G.”
She clicked out of the call, leaving the men and Francesca in the video chat. “If everything goes well, we’re good,” Triumph said.
Famous last words.
WHAT IS BRUCE LEE’S VEGETARIAN BROTHER’S NAME?
Glennon
When she wokehours later in a completely darkened room, it was with a gasp. Where was she? She held her breath, trying to make out anything about the room she was in, trying to remember whatever she could about where she was and why. Hearing nothing and sensing no presence but her own, she unclenched her fingers from the bedding.
The room felt stifling, her body covered in a thin film of sweat. She wasn’t covered by the comforter, so she attempted to sit up and was abruptly brought to a halt when a pain ripped through her right side.
Stickiness covered her fingertips when she touched the area. Her heartbeat hammered as the memory returned. Guillermo. Waking up, restrained, in a remote location. Making her way to Puente del Inca. Calling M. Now she was in Los Penitentes with a dead body behind a closed door in her bathroom and a bullet wound in her side, waiting for M and an escort to get her over the border back into the US.
Her phone dinged. She groped for it in the darkness, groaning with the pain of stretching. She recognized the number from earlier, when Tripoli had called to check on her, so she answered.
“Hello?”
“How are you doing?”
“Been better.”
“I’ll bet. M and your escort landed safely and are about ninety minutes out. Shouldn’t be too much longer, and you’ll be on your way home.”
“Home,” she said wistfully. “I don’t even know where that is anymore. After ten years in South America, it’s going to be a culture shock.”
“No family to go back to?” he asked.
“Estranged.” What else did you call it when your mother took one look at you and began crying uncontrollably? Or your father refused to look you in the eye? Where the reminders of your failure were in every room, especially the kitchen, where Joey’s jacket hung on the back of a chair as a memorial?
“We’ll help you reacclimate. Triumph won’t leave you hanging, and neither will we.”
