I stare out of the window of Miguel's office with vacant eyes, brooding over how to pass a message to Devon, just like I've done during any spare minute over the past five days. Miguel has been sticking to me like glue, crushing my hope that my days of confinement and restrictions were over.

In the mornings, he drags me to the compound, where we spend most of our day in his office. We eat together, train jointly at the shooting range, and in the evening, we have dinner together before we retire for the night. My days have turned into precise routines, except that I have no more breathing space at all. He smothers me and I'm waiting for the moment when he insists on accompanying me to the bathroom.

On top of that, my other commitments have been canceled indefinitely. That means no more trips to the orphanage with Naiara. Instead, Miguel has been feeding me little pieces of information about his organization, consisting mostly of spreadsheets and charts that almost put me to sleep. The rest of the time, I'm forced to watch him while he talks on the phone in Spanish or pecks away at his laptop.

A beaming smile is constantly on his lips and when we are alone at home, his hands are all over me. The number of times we've had sex must be a new record. As the days dribble away in slow motion, my inner unrest grows with every passing hour. I keep eyeing the calendar—the Coyote's strike is just a few days away. Time is running out.

"So do you think your parents will change their mind?"

Miguel's question tears me from my sullen thoughts. I blink, my mind refocusing on the here and now. "I doubt it."

When I had asked her to visit Malaguay with the whole family, my mom flat out refused. "You know there's a travel warning for Malaguay, honey. Why don't you just bring Miguel over to America?"

I had no answer to her question. My genius father had surfed the internet and had actually found a news report about the wedding, so she was miffed that I had tied the knot without informing her. When she started to cry, the conversation went downhill from there. Miguel stood right next to me and I could hardly warn her about the upcoming terrorist attack. My only hope now is to get them to safety with Devon's help.

"Let's go over the spreadsheets again," Miguel suggests.

I almost groan. The numbers make no sense and I don't buy his claim that he's only a very small fish in the big sea of global drug trade, flying under the radar of most law enforcement agencies. Neither the CIA nor the DEA would send designated agents to Malaguay to crack open a mom-and-pop operation.

"Can't we take a break?" Anything is better than staring at those spreadsheets. "Maybe we could go to the shooting range."

"I really need to finish this."

"Then can I go alone?" When his body tenses, I flash him a sweet smile.

"Just give me a few more minutes." The smile he returns is just as sweet. "I only have to write a couple of more emails. Thirty minutes tops, I promise." His focus returns to the monitor in front of him.

I sigh. His thirty minutes usually turn into an hour. "When can I get my own laptop?"

"Soon, honey." His forehead wrinkles, but he isn't bothered enough to take his eyes off the monitor. "I asked General Varela to buy you one, but computers are on the embargo list, so he has to get it in Colombia on the black market. It usually takes a while."

I slump back into my chair in defeat. The embargo list is his pet topic and he can rant and rave for hours about the audacity of the United States to deprive Malaguay of the most basic necessities. Deep down, I'm convinced it's just one of his propaganda ploys to rile me up against my home country. That it annoys me has totally gone over his head.

I resume watching the bird outside on the windowsill. The stale air in the office is slowly giving me a headache, but he doesn't like to open the windows in fear of someone eavesdropping. I guess if I planned an overthrow against my own father, these things would worry me, too. He hasn't mentioned anything about it since the night he told me about the Coyote, so his plans are either not imminent or it's something he chooses to keep from me.

When the door is torn open, I'm so startled that my heart skips three beats.

"Miguel, vámonos—" Tomás's gaze lands on me and the rest of the words get stuck in his throat. "Qué está haciendo ella aquí?"

"Speak English, Tomás. I don't want Stacy to think we're keeping secrets."

Tomás clicks his tongue as if he couldn't care less about what I think. "Fine. What's she doing here?"

"I decided to make Stacy my second-in-command." Miguel leans back in his chair, his hands cupped behind his head. A small grin plays on his lips, although it's unclear if he finds the situation amusing or is mocking his friend.

"Seriously?" Tomás laughs. "In case you haven't noticed, she's a woman."

The smile grows wider. "So what? She's my wife. Who else would I trust with my business?"

"Miguel, women belong in bed with their legs spread open, waiting for their husbands to come home. They shouldn't concern themselves with men's business."

Leave it to him to be a sexist pig. When he smirks at me, I shoot him glare, tempted to stick my tongue out if it wasn't so childish.

Miguel just laughs it off. "That's a pretty antiquated belief. Ever heard of equality, mano."

"Oh, that." Tomás's lips twist as if he swallowed something nasty. "I find that highly overrated."

"I don't. Now, what do you need?"

"The new sniper rifles were delivered. I thought you might want to shoot some targets out by the creek."

"Sorry, I can't. I still have work to do." Miguel's gaze returns to the computer screen, a sign that Tomás is dismissed.

"What about Stacy?"

Miguel shoots him a dark look. "I don't want her to go without me."

"Why?" Tomás's face emits total innocence. "Since she's your second-in-command, shouldn't she learn how to shoot a high-precision rifle?"

"Not now, Tomás."

"Oh, Miguel, please," I give him my best puppy-dog impression. "I've always wanted to shoot a rifle."

"Yes, Miguel," Tomás purrs. "Remember, Stacy should be treated equally—unless you don't trust her, that is."

"Fine." The dark look turns murderous. "Take a couple of soldiers with you for protection. I swear, if I find one scratch on her—"

Tomás's wave cuts off the rest of Miguel's threat. "Don't worry. We'll be back in a few hours."

He ushers me outside, chuckling as he closes the door behind us. With swift steps, he walks along the corridor. I almost have to jog to keep up. He takes the back stairs to avoid the masses, crossing the small yard to get to the Jeeps.

"Get in." He opens the passenger door for me, bowing a little as he swoops his arm back in a welcoming gesture.

"What about the soldiers?"

He laughs. "I don't need soldiers to protect you. Besides, you're a pretty good soldier yourself who can stand her ground. We'll be fine."

It's one of those times I can't figure him out. "So why did you say all that crap about equality?"

"I wanted to see Miguel's reaction."

He got me out of my husband's clutches for the afternoon, so it's fine with me. I hop into the passenger seat and he closes the door, walking around to his side while I buckle up.

As he starts the Jeep, he grins. "Generally, I don't have anything against equal rights for women as long as it's not my wife."

"You could've fooled me."

"Yeah, I'm good at that." He puts the pedal to the metal and the Jeep jumps forward. With spinning wheels, we take off.

"Truthfully, I couldn't be bothered," he yells over the airflow that hisses in my ears. "People can do whatever they like as long as it doesn't concern me."

It's maybe one of the few things we can agree on, though there are exceptions. A terrorist attack is one of them.

As the Jeep speeds along, the cool air chills my heated face. The airflow is so strong that tears tickle in the corners of my eyes, yet the ride is thrilling. My leg muscles itch to engage in something other than sitting and the prospect of shooting a weapon in the forest is liberating. A high-precision rifle is the ultimate sign of power.

By the time we reach the city, I'm drooling in anticipation. Tomás speeds through the deserted streets without slowing down, his lip tucked between his teeth in a mischievous way as he swerves around the potholes. A few times, our shoulders collide. I glance at him with a snicker; he's having fun with this. Not that I mind. It's the version of him I like to hang out with.

As we enter the forest, the shadows of the trees swallow us up again. I stretch out my arms high toward the sky and a small shout runs over my lips. He nudges me in the side; his tickles solicit a squeal.

"Don't do that."

When he doesn't stop, I swat his hand away, which earns me a goofy grin.

He slows down at the next turn and pulls the Jeep in between a couple of trees. "We hike from here. The creek is just a mile inland."

The forest is thick. I stumble a few times as I trudge along, keeping close to him to avoid the branches of the bushes hitting me in the face. His long strides are swift; by the time we reach the creek, I'm out of breath. Doubling over, I watch through hooded eyes as he sets up the rifle stand.

"Ready?" His eyes hold the same sparkle as they did when we went scuba diving in Colombia. Without the tension on his face, he looks so much younger, almost boyish.

I nod, his excitement catching. For the next hour, he explains the weapon, allowing me to shoot off several training rounds. Just as in basic training, he's patient and takes his time. After a few misses, I finally hit the cone next to the one I was supposed to shoot down.

"Your body is still not fully centered. You're putting too much weight onto your right foot." He moves behind me and places his hand on the middle of my stomach. "Here, this is your center of gravity."

When he pulls me closer against him, a gasp is caught in my throat. His warm breath that happens to smell like peppermint grazes the sensitive part under my ear, causing a tingle to spread in my lower region. My heartbeat triples as his hand travels south, stopping just above the waistband.

"Can you feel it?"

"Yes." I close my eyes, trying to focus. His closeness jars me, but my voice fails me and only hot air escapes my mouth. The tingling in my stomach slowly spreads to my groin—he's so close that his lips almost brush against my skin.

"Tomás," I breathe.

"Yes, Stacy."

"You're distracting me."

"Am I really?" He chuckles. "Well, sorry about that."

As the warmth of his hand falls away, his fingertips graze my boob. A shudder runs through me and my nipples tighten. Taking in a sharp breath, I try to control the sudden tremble in my knees. My eyes find his. His gaze is hooded, but I still catch a glimpse of desire. The signature smirk on his lips finally kills the moment.

"You're such an ass," I mumble.

"I know. Now try again."

It's pointless. After our little banter, I'm unable to concentrate, missing the target by a mile. He packs up the equipment while this odd smile plays on his lips.

We walk back through the underbrush in silence, but despite what happened, it doesn't feel awkward. He smirks at me from time to time, making sure that the path ahead of me is cleared of branches that could scratch me. When we get to the Jeep, he loads the equipment into the back while I jump into the passenger seat. A few minutes later, we are on our way back to the compound.

"You know he doesn't trust you," he says when he turns onto the main road.

I'm sure he's talking about Miguel. "What makes you say that?"

"It's the way he watches you." He shifts down in the next curve, the same one that tossed me into him on our way over. "I don't know what you did, but he's totally paranoid."

"I didn't notice anything." Miguel has been clingy, but not more than his usual overprotectiveness.

"Well, has he let you out of his sight?"

"No, but that's just because he has been showing me stuff."

With a sigh, Tomás pulls the Jeep over to the side of the road. The brakes screech slightly and he kills the engine, shifting into park. For a moment, his eyes soak in the beauty of the mountains. He turns to me. "Just be careful, all right. Miguel will not hesitate to kill you if he's convinced you're betraying him."

My snicker is forced. "Tomás, you're scaring me."

"Good." All humor has vanished from his face. "Fear is your friend in Malaguay. It keeps you alert and on your toes. And whatever you do, don't trust Miguel. He's after his father's throne and will eliminate anyone who stands in his way."

I squint, wondering if he knows about the overthrow. "Whose side are you on, Tomás?"

"Only my own." His smile is curt as he slides the gear back into first. In his usual reckless fashion, he takes off.

Arriving back in town, I'm still trying to make sense of his statement. The streets are now crowded, mothers pulling their kids along while pushing carts with groceries in front of them.

"Damn, I should have taken the bypass," Tomás mumbles more to himself. "I forgot there's a market today."

I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of the town square. Pearson's truck in front of the tavern catches my eye and an idea pops into my head. "Can you pull over? I really have to pee."

Tomás frowns. "Can't this wait until the compound?"

"No." I turn to him with a pleading smile. "Please. It'll only take a second."

"Sure." The annoyance is evident in his posture as he stops the Jeep behind Pearson's truck and cuts the engine. "Hurry. Miguel's probably already wondering where we are."

I nod, hopping out onto the sidewalk. As I rush into the tavern, I glance back over my shoulder, but he makes no attempt to follow me.

Only a few patrons are scattered inside, most of them sitting around a large round table. Cards are spread in front of them. Their faces are obscured by thick smoke from their burning cigarettes, the brash shouts and boisterous laughter only interrupted by loud thumps when cards are pounded onto the stained wood of the table.

I zoom in on Pearson at the bar. "I have to talk to you." My words are no louder than a whisper and I look around to reassure that no one is close enough to eavesdrop.

He scans the tavern, but every other patrons is absorbed in the card game. "Kitchen. I'll be there in a minute."

He nods to the bartender who opens a narrow door behind the bar for me. I duck to slip through the small opening. By the time Pearson joins me, my teeth have managed to tear into the nail of my thumb. The burning pain is overpowered by the prickling adrenaline under my scalp.

"You have to give Devon a message." When the prickling turns into a mob of ants, I let my gaze travel around the kitchen. I could swear someone is watching us, but when I don't find anything out of the extraordinary, I dismiss the sensation as paranoia. "Tell him that the Coyote will strike this Thursday. There's a secret meeting in Indianapolis, where almost all the hotshots of global intelligence agencies will get together to make a plan on how to best fight world terrorism. It's at the Hyatt Regency Hotel. I'm sure Devon or his boss knows the specifics."

Pearson's eyes narrow. "Do you know the plan?"

"They'll set off a nuclear device that will flatten half the city." I clutch his wrists. "Pearson, my family lives close by. They will likely be impacted by the fallout. Please tell Devon to get them to safety. That's all I'm asking for."

"I promise I'll take care of it, even if I have to fly to Indiana myself and get them out." His nod gives me reassurance. "Don't worry, okay?"

Moisture blurs my vision. "Okay, thanks." I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. The fear for my family still holds a firm grip on me, but at least I warned Devon. He'll do everything in his power to stop the Coyote.

"I'll leave through the back door. Gimme a couple of minutes before following me."

I nod, my gaze drilling into his back until the door closes behind him. With a sigh, I spin around. Pacing back and forth through the kitchen like a caged wildcat, I count down the seconds.

"I heard you."

The voice makes me freeze.

"You betrayed Malaguay."

I slowly turn, staring right into the barrel of a gun. The young hand holding it is barely able to keep it steady.

"Emilien, it's not what you think." I keep my voice calm as much as I can, my mind feverishly scrambling to come up with an excuse.

"Oh, no?" He pulls back the hammer of the gun. "Well then, I guess you have thirty seconds to explain it to me." His lips split into a wide grin. "Ticktock, the time is ticking."

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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