My head is ready to explode from the humming sound that vibrates through every fiber of my bones. Uncomfortable pressure irritates my eardrums. I've flown enough times in my life by now to be certain I'm on an airplane. Prying my eyes open, I find nothing but a bare metal ceiling. Add the hard cot I'm resting on and I'm not on a commercial airliner.

When I turn my head, nausea overcomes me. Two hands hold a bucket under my nose as vomit spills from my mouth. Choking up air, I drop my head back onto the jacket that functions as a pillow. The cramps in my stomach ease. I inhale deeply to slow my breath, even though my lungs wheeze and burn every time I fill them to the brim.

Pushing my upper torso up, I get myself into a vertical position after some struggle. Dizziness overcomes me and I press my palms into my temples to stop the spinning in my head. My stomach is still tight, but the nausea is manageable.

Three sets of eyes observe me from across a small aisle, their expressions indifferent. One guy is chewing gum while another is cleaning the dirt from underneath his fingernails with a knife. Why do men do that? They could as easily carry some type of nail file on them. Maybe they think it's cool.

My gaze scans over the last guy in the row; he has a few years on the rest. Stubble covers most of the lower part of his face and the rest of him is also unkempt. My inspection pauses on a purple ribbon with a small heart that is pinned to the front pocket of his uniform just under the words US Marines. I'm still uncertain if that signals "friendly." The three faces are grim. For all I know, I'm their prisoner and they are taking me to Guantanamo.

A water bottle is held up in front of my nose. "Here. You should stay hydrated so that the tranquilizer can get flushed out of your system."

I divert my head in the direction of the voice. A young guy smiles at me. His eyes are so dark that his pupils almost blend with his irises, a thin layer of sweat pearling on his upper lip. Hair cropped closely to his head, he almost appears bald.

With a little bit of effort, I twist the cap off the bottle. The water is warm but manages to soothe my burning throat. The pressure on my head eases. He watches me with a goofy grin while the others look as if they're pondering whether to shoot me.

I gulp down a few more mouthfuls and focus on Smiles. "Where're you taking me?"

"Fort Eustis."

I've never heard of it. "Where's that?"

He's about to answer when the older guy cuts into him. "That's enough, Staff Sergeant. It's not your job to brief the package."

"Aye, Sergeant Major." Smiles grimaces as he gives me a shrug, mouthing "sorry."

Silence falls over the plane. I sip my water with blank eyes, Miguel's dead face taking over my mind. It hurts that he's gone just as much as his death is liberating. Yet I have no doubt that a piece of me was left behind, a small part of my heart he took to his grave. It'll take a long while before I'll give love another chance; too much heartache and too many complications are associated with it. I'm better off alone than going through all that pain.

"Are you Shadow Chaser?" I ask the leader to get my thoughts off Miguel.

His thumb points at Smiles. "He is."

My respect for him drifts out the window; he's the jerk who knocked me out. No wonder he has been so concerned about my health, probably worried I'd sue him. The uncertainty of what I'll find back in America takes me down a notch. For all I know, they'll toss me in jail and throw away the key for being a threat to the nation. Only Devon can help me out of this bind, but I'm not sure he'll stick to his word.

By the time the plane sets down, my nerves are stretched to the limit. Two heavily armed military police officers take custody of me.

One of them points at a barrack. "This way, ma'am."

I plod along ahead of them, painfully aware that their hands are tightly wrapped around the grips of their machine guns. With every step, my heart plummets a little deeper into my stomach. When we enter the building, it has reached my kneecaps. The elevator carries us to the fourth floor and the MPs usher me to an office at the end of the hallway. Their knock is drowned out by my racing heart.

"Come on in."

I hesitate, but the stern expressions on the MPs' faces convince me to take a chance. When the man by the window turns out to be Devon, a sigh of relief leaves my lips. After a few pleasantries, I'm alone with him.

"Take a seat, Stacy."

I plop into the only chair while he leans against the desk.

"I'm sure you've been wondering what's going on."

"A little. Am I under arrest?"

"No. This country owes you a lot for your services, even though I'm afraid there won't be any formal recognition. The mission tonight was what we call a black op, so on paper, it never happened."

I pinch the bridge of my nose; this all sounds complicated. "What do you expect from me, Devon?"

"All you have to do is keep your mouth shut." He drums his fingers against the side of the desk. It drives me crazy. The tension in the room is borderline explosive.

"If your parents ask questions, tell them whatever, but keep the events of the last few days under wraps. Play the ignorant damsel who had no clue about the wheeling and dealing of her dead husband." He grins. "Or better yet, pretend to be the mourning widow who's too upset to talk about anything. That'll get them off your back."

That could definitely work with my parents. They'll probably insist on counseling with Pastor Colin, but otherwise, they'll give me space to grieve. "What about the press?"

"I doubt they'll approach you since Malaguay is nothing more than a speck on the map of global politics. If they do, just refuse to talk to them. They might try to throw some money your way, but if you take it and spill the beans, the government will come after you. I won't be able to protect you."

I nod, not intending to rat him out. He got me back home, just like he promised, and I'm grateful. "Do I get my citizenship back?"

"Already done." He pulls a passport from his pocket. "Here's your old passport. The Marines secured it during the operation. The State Department decided not to pursue the matter further since they don't think they'll win if you dispute the revocation in court, so this passport is still valid."

What a relief. "What's happening in Malaguay?"

"After the attack on the mansion, war erupted. There has been heavy fighting between the rebels and Santino's forces. With Santino's escape, it could swing either way. We'll know in a few days."

I sigh. So much misery will crush the people, who will be the ultimate losers in the conflict. The orphanage will probably burst at the seams, if every available boy is not recruited right off the street. The death and destruction of the aftermath will be the worst. Executions and torture are going to dominate public life while the shortage of food and other necessities will cause havoc.

"What changed, Devon?" It's a question that forced its way into my head during the plane ride. "I mean, all was set to take out the Coyote. What happened to him?"

"We got intelligence that he double-crossed Miguel. Apparently, he told Varela about Miguel's plans. Santino was going to have his son executed after the attack in Indianapolis."

"So the Coyote was never going to come to the mansion?"

Devon nods. "The meeting was just a ploy to give Miguel a false sense of security."

"And the attack? That's supposed to be tomorrow."

"We eliminated the threat as much as we could after most of the summit's participants pulled out. That's global intelligence for you—those gentlemen weren't prepared to take any chances. We closed the hotel down, and cops and the National Guard are stationed all over the city. Not a mouse will get in or out of Indianapolis over the next week without the proper checks."

I'll still warn my parents and we will go out of town for a few days. Just to be sure. "What about the Coyote?"

"Gone. We've already confirmed underground whispers that he went into hiding and the security measures we have in place are just a precaution. For now, we won't be able to catch him."

So the identity of the Coyote would remain a mystery since Miguel took his knowledge to the grave. Maybe that was the reason the Coyote went after him, my husband being one of the few who had ever laid eyes on him. Miguel had been so proud that the Coyote had trusted him, but in the end, he was nothing more than a threat to be taken out.

A knock draws my attention to the door.

"Just a minute," Devon calls out. "Your parents are here and are waiting next door."

I gasp. Why didn't he say that earlier? With excitement, I leap to my feet. "Can I go?"

"Not yet." He studies me for a moment and his lips twitch. "I got you out tonight, which cost me a lot of favors. You owe me."

I frown. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'll be watching you"—he chuckles when my shoulders drop—"and one day, I'll be calling in my own favor. That's how it works."

For now, I'm home and the fear that I could never open the door again without the chance of finding him on the other side is a worry for another day. My head buzzes with anticipation. I'll finally be able to hug my parents; a moment I've been dreaming of for months. The rest I can figure out later.

I follow him down the corridor. After a few steps, he halts in front of a door. "Remember, not a single word."

I push him aside, my look deadly. I'm so ready to put this chapter of my life behind me. The sight of my mom robs me of my breath. Tears start to stream down my face and I throw my arms around her. As I weep against her shoulder, all the horrors are temporarily forgotten. I'm a little girl again, safe in the embrace of my mother.

When I don't let go of her, my father clears his throat. "Hey, do I get a hug, too?"

His grip is just as firm and I spill more tears on his shirt. Only when my nose is stuffed up do I manage to settle down. An occasional hiccup shakes my body.

"Oh, Stacy, I'm so glad you're home." So much relief reflects off my mother's face and the hugging starts again.

I finally free myself from her arms. "What about you?" I glance at my father. "Are you still together?"

My father smiles warmly at my mother. "We are. A lot happened while you were gone, but all in all, we've realized that our family is the most important thing to us." He grimaces. "In a way, it's all because of you. Your leaving was a wake-up call to cherish what we have."

"And Lauren?" I'm still wary that their happy act is a homecoming gift and things aren't as good as he claims. Trusting him again will take some time.

"Both Lauren and Katie are part of our lives now, but we've managed to find a way to get along. You'll see"—he nudges my shoulder—"it's not that bad to have a little sister around. Even Owen has warmed up to her."

I snort, picturing my brother in the backyard with the baby. He'll probably corrupt her with his video games.

All of a sudden, the urge to see the rest of my family is overwhelming. "Can we go home?"

"Of course."

Looping arms, we stroll toward the elevator. My steps are lighter than they've been in months. With a grumbling tummy, I think of my mom's home cooking and almost start drooling. But even if we get seats on the next plane, it'll still take a few hours to get back to Indiana.

I tap the elevator button. "Can we bake apple pie?" It'll be freezing in comparison to Malaguay and I've always loved indulging in warm apple pie with a hot cup of cocoa in front of the fireplace during the winter months.

"Of course. Juliet also made peach cobbler when she found out you're coming home. She can't wait to find out all about Malaguay, especially the wedding." The look my mom gives me suggests that my sister isn't the only one who's dying of curiosity.

"Miguel is dead." The words ring false to my ears, my mind still scrambling to accept that he is truly gone. Numbness has settled in every fiber of my body, although I'm sure that the full impact will hit me eventually.

She gapes at me with an open mouth while I pretend to fight the tears.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." Her hand shoots forward to squeeze my arm. "I didn't know. Are you okay?"

I quickly wipe my face with the back of my hand. "I'm all right, but I'd rather not talk about him at the moment." My smile is timid. "As a matter of fact, I'd rather not talk about Malaguay at all. The memories are just too painful." I muster up a few tears. "Maybe later, but not now."

"Of course." She squeezes my arm again, avoiding my gaze. "Take all the time you need."

I mentally grin; Devon should be proud of my acting skills.

The arrival of the elevator shatters the heavy silence with a low ping. When the doors open, I stare right into Shadow Chaser's face. He jumps back to make room for us.

"Ground level?" he asks.

"Yep." I avoid his gaze but still feel his eyes upon me.

The doors close.

"What's your real name?"

"Sorry." He clears his throat. "That's classified."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

My mother scolds me with a look. I snort; some things will never change. I'm not even back an hour, but I've already managed to earn her disapproval.

The elevator stops on the third floor. An older woman gives us a good once-over and shoves her heavy body inside the already cramped space. I'm sandwiched between my dad and Shadow Chaser. When he twists around enough to face me, he gives me a crooked smile. The whole situation is more than uncomfortable on top of being awkward. My broken rib throbs and I can barely breathe.

"Brody, hold the elevator," a voice shouts just as the doors close again.

A smirk sneaks on my face and I wiggle my brows. Busted.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought and only followed orders when he knocked me out, the way a soldier is supposed to.

His friend stops the doors from closing with his hand. When he squeezes inside, the older lady huffs. "Don't you see this elevator is already full?"

"Sorry, ma'am, but I have to catch my plane."

As the doors slide closed, I'm pressed into Brody. His body is rock solid and squeezes the last air from my lungs. The small space is making me anxious and the elevator doesn't move fast enough. For a fleeting second, I wish Tomás were here. His presence would let everyone shrink into themselves and give me my space. When the elevator finally arrives in the lobby, we spill out.

Watching as Shadow Chaser walks away, I push myself to voice my gratitude. It's only for him that I'm still alive. "Brody."

He spins around.

"Thanks for getting me out."

His smile spreads from ear to ear. "My pleasure, ma'am." He salutes before turning around to follow his friend onto the airfield.

---To Be Continued... ---

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© Sal Mason 2017

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