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I rest my back against the low wall and open the journal to the next entry.
* * *
February 3rd, 1988
I’m a glutton for punishment. I went back to see Gabriella this morning, and she immediately told me to get bent and went on her merry way.
Like a fool, I chased after her, begging for her to give me a chance to explain myself. She blatantly ignored me. Her reaction was justified after how I behaved the day before. Suddenly, I remembered more of yesterday, and I immediately went into bodyguard mode.
According to our local sources, Esteban had visited the clinic. Why? Was he checking in to make sure the people he had harmed kept their mouths shut, like an intimidation tactic? Was it some sadistic kick for him?
My eyes scanned the surroundings, but no one was matching the description of Esteban. The more I thought about it, the more I considered it unlikely that he would stick around this place too long. The man was always moving—it’s what made him so damn difficult to track down.
Still, I worried. Now I had more than one reason to stay close to Gabriella. She tried to shoo me away, but I’m persistent when it comes to matters of the heart.
When she ascertained I wasn’t going away anytime soon, she allowed me one minute to say what I needed to say and then get out of her hair. I never rambled off an apology so fast in my life. I did my best to stress my sincerity for how sorry I was about my behavior the day before in the time I was given.
When I was done, she nodded and walked away. I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers. Desperate, I called after her. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
She looked over her shoulder at me, gave me a shy smile, and headed off to another patient.
I’m taking that as a yes.
* * *
February 10th, 1988
Between hunting Esteban Moreno and helping locals in need reach the clinic for proper medical care, it’s been difficult to see Gabriella. But I make the time for her. Every second Warren allows me to have a break, I run my ass over to the clinic. Whether it’s a few hours or ten minutes, every second is worth it to see her beautiful face.
It’s surreal how connected I am to her in such a short period. We share so much in common—it’s like she’s the other half of my soul. By how she responds to me, I feel like she’s on the same page.
Three days after meeting her, I asked if I could kiss her. To my delight, she said yes. Today I told her I was going to marry her. She thinks I’m crazy, and I agree with her—crazy for her. With absolute certainty, I know Gabriella Ortega is the love of my life.
Warren and the guys give me a hard time, but I don’t care.
When you know, you know.
* * *
I shake my head. Myabuelaalways told me my demeanor reminded her of mypadre. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Must be the Tabares charm.
* * *
February 13th, 1988
When I went to see Gabriella today, I knew something was wrong right away. She was shaking and as pale as a ghost. I pulled her into my arms, asking what happened.
Esteban approached her.
She described how she had seen this Goliath-size man who had been hanging around the clinic for several days. She said she didn’t think much of it since he seemed to be interested in the patients’ care. She told me she had finished attending a wound dressing for one patient when she turned around and he was right in front of her, startling her. She said he laughed at her discomfort.
When she tried to walk around him, she said he blocked her path, saying he wanted to talk with her. She said she was busy seeing to her patients and directed him to the head doctor. He stopped her, saying he wanted to donate a large sum of money to the clinic, but he was only interested in speaking with her. He claimed the other doctors were unsatisfactory with their answers—that he would prefer to talk to a fluent Spanish speaker.
Knowing how desperate the site was for funds to continue treating the locals, Gabriella said she answered all his questions at length regarding the patients, the clinic, and the staff’s demands as she walked him around the site. She had the impression he was genuine in his concern for the care of the patients. That was until he asked her if any American soldiers had visited the site.
Gabriella said something about his question made her freeze. He scrutinized her as she answered many soldiers frequented the clinic, Colombian and other, to provide aid to the patients, but refrained from admitting our SEAL team was in the area routinely.
She shuddered as she told me he smiled, took her hand, and kissed it before walking away.
