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When I return, Sophia has food spread out on the table and her arm is around Gemma. I unlock the cuffs, and Rafael rubs his wrists while Gemma puts her arms around Sophia’s neck.
Rafael makes a noise in his throat, and Gemma pulls back, but her gaze remains on Sophia. “That man…he raped you?”
Sophia nods, and my insides burn. It’s not news to me, but it feels like it is. Gemma clasps Sophia’s hand and turns to Rafael. “Who was he?” He opens his mouth, and in Spanish she adds, “Not his name. Who was he to you?”
In Spanish, he says to her with a fraction of the energy she threw into her question, “They killed my father. Why are you holding her hand?”
“Sophia did not kill your father,” Gemma says, but she lets Sophia’s hand go and shifts her chair closer to her husband.
Sophia kneels on the ground, positioning herself to address them both. “I’m sorry about your father. My mother was killed. I remember how much it hurts. Still hurts.”
Rafael says nothing. His expression is stone. Gemma’s mascara stains her cheeks. Most of her eyeshadow is missing, and the area below her eyes appears puffy. Her lips purse, then her lower lip quivers. I get the sense she might cry.
I pull out the chair across from them and sit. “None of this was supposed to happen,” I say. “Did they treat you badly before we got here?”
Gemma slowly shakes her head, but it’s Rafael who speaks. “What’s going to happen to us? I don’t have the information they want.”
“We have a place we’re going to take you. So you can get some sleep.”
“Prison?”
“No. A comfortable place,” Sophia says.
“I asked to speak to a lawyer. They denied me,” Rafael says.
“We’re hoping you won’t need one,” I say, and he raises an eyebrow.
“Are you FBI?” he asks. “FBI has already been in here.” His dark eyes narrow with distrust.
“Wayne thought I was FBI. That’s what he knew me as. I haven’t worked for the FBI in over eighteen months.”
“So, how do you fit into this?” He’s looking between the two of us, and Gemma’s gaze has fallen to the ground. She’s going to let Rafael lead this discussion.
“We’re CIA,” Sophia says.
Rafael almost looks amused. “So that’s what you were doing in Canada? Trying to make contact with us. Dad always warned me to be careful. You. Interpol. MI6. Danger everywhere.”
Sophia acknowledges his soft accusation with gracious understanding conveyed solely in her expression.
Rafael closes his eyes and tilts his head back.
“We have a proposition for you,” Sophia says gently.
He crosses his arms over his chest. Gemma covers one of his forearms with her hand, and something heavy passes between them.
“Sophia, I remember your mother.”
Sophia’s eyes widen, and while I have an urge to leap across the table and hold her, my woman doesn’t need to be held. Not right now. She’s strong.
“I didn’t know her,” Rafael says, clarifying his statement. “But I remember the decision being made. My father. My uncle. More my uncle. She overheard a meeting. One of our security men found her hovering outside. When he opened the door to the room, she saw all the participants. That man, Wayne Killington, he did try to convince them she didn’t know what she saw. They didn’t want to take any risk. My father rewarded his loyalty over the years.”
“By buying guns?” Sophia asks.
He shrugs. “He rose in the ranks. I remember the decision being made, but I was young.Fútbolwas my life then.” A small smile plays along his lips, as if he’s remembering better days. The smile falters, and he addresses Sophia. “I want you to know, I didn’t have anything to do with yourmadre. That wasn’t me.”
Sophia rises and drags a chair over. “You and I are even, Rafael.” He lifts an eyebrow in silent question. “My father killed your father. He was the sniper on the roof across the courtyard. He heard him say…” Her voice trails as if she can’t bear to finish the sentence. We’re all too tired for this. But we have to do this now.
“My father killed your mother, so your father killed my father.” Disgust plays across Rafael’s features, and he rubs his face with his palm. “This is life in Colombia.”
