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“Well, we’d like to work together to help improve things.” Sophia straightens. She’s ready to bring it to the table. She’s no longer wearing that skimpy red dress and heels. One of the agents lent her a navy sweatshirt and sweats, and white socks. Her crimson hair is pulled back. Tired, but she’s determined.
“How, exactly, can you improve life in Colombia?”
“We want to throw support behind you assuming your father’s position.” He wasn’t expecting her to say this, but Sophia pushes forward and explains the entire plan. How the official word will be that his father died unexpectedly. We’ll say he’s spent the night at the hospital. An autopsy will confirm the aneurysm findings.
“And how will you explain Wayne Killington?”
“How well known is he in Colombia?” Sophia asks.
“Not very.” His countenance is both grim and reflective. “He hasn’t worked for us in ten years. This meeting you came into, it was one of many meetings my father lined up. We were going to see if he could resume working with us. Dad was going to try to help him get back on his feet. At one point in time, he managed the relationship with the Morales cartel, but they’re…” His fingers flay and he moves them as if to say they’re nothing now.
“So our plan will work. We’ll make it look like he committed suicide at his home. Chances are no one will discover the body for days, if not weeks. The connection won’t be made to your father.”
“You can do that?” he asks.
“We’ve got a team working on it right now. We can do it.”
Gemma reaches for him. Her eyes plead with him, but she doesn’t speak.
“How will this work?” he asks. “What do you want me to do?”
“You’ll take your father’s role as a diplomat. You’ll still be able to travel. You’ll feed us intel as you can.”
“You Americans.” He shakes his head. “You blame us for your drug problem. But you sell us the guns. You siphon the drugs into your country. Your people get rich and want more. You are the greater problem.”
Sophia’s quick to respond. “That’s true. Which is why we want your help. We’re most interested in the structure within the US. You give us names, shipment dates, that kind of intel, and we’ll set up stings on our side. It will never trace back to you. With time, we’ll destroy the infrastructure.” He swallows and his eyes glaze over. I half suspect he might tell us to go to hell. We don’t have a case against him, and he has to have figured that out.
“My first three wives were murdered.” Gemma swipes at a tear that runs down her cheek, her tearful gaze locked on her husband. “Cartel warfare. I’m not even involved other than as a family member. I leave the country as often as I can. I’ve refused to have children because it’s too dangerous. Targets. I hate my uncle. I hate the destruction. What it’s doing to my country. If I can help you, I will. But I need your word, you're going to help me. Help my people.”
Sophia and I exchange a glance, and at the same time, we say, “You’ve got it.”
It takes a couple more hours to get Rafael and Gemma moved into the safe house. The sun has risen and a new day has taken hold by the time we’re back in our room.
The chaos outside the hotel has quieted down. I’m sure somewhere within the walls of the hotel, workers are still cleaning. The news hasn’t broken yet about Alejandro Toro, but descriptions of a high-speed chase that ended within the venerable walls of Chateau Marmont broke before we left the Toros.
Sophia stumbles to the bed, but I force her into the shower. There are specks of blood near her ear and along her chest that she missed in the bird bath she gave herself when she changed into sweats. I scrub every inch of her, caressing her, massaging her, and showing her in the best way I know how much I care. It’s not sexual, but it is sensual and loving. With great care, I dry her, then myself, and carry her into the bedroom.
I draw the curtains and curl up behind her.
“You did it,” I whisper softly.
Her eyelids close. “There’s more to do,” she murmurs.
“We’ll do it. You’ve laid the groundwork.”
“With a bang.”
“Yes, you could say that.”
She rolls onto her side, facing me. Her hands are flat, beneath her face. “I guess this means we’re no longer married.”
“Mmm.” I brush a few red strands away from her face. “We can fix that, you know.” This isn’t the time for a proposal, but it is the time to make it crystal clear what I’m hoping for. “If I have my way, we’ll be partners until the day I die. Partners in every sense of the word.”
“Do you think the CIA will let us?” Her eyelashes flutter as sleep looms near.
“We’ll ask. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“No?” She yawns, seconds away from sleep.
