His prosthetic leans against the end of the futon. I didn’t even notice it last night. Because it doesn’t matter. Our bodies are not what make us whole.
But it does matter! He lost a part of himself searching for me in Isis’s doomed caliphate, one of the most dangerous places in the world. What will he lose if I stay with him?
I tap my thigh quietly. Blue and Nila move with me toward the front door, Frank stays snoring at Mulberry’s feet…foot.
The morning is crisp, the rain last night ushering in fresh air. We go around the block, hitting up a coffee shop. I buy two cups. If you’re going to tell a man you refuse to marry him despite being pregnant with his baby, you really ought to buy him a coffee first.
When I come back in, Mulberry is on the edge of the bed, his hair sticking out every which way, his eyes puffy with sleep. Frank sits on Mulberry’s foot and thumps his tail, staring up into his sleepy face with adoration. They are adorable.
I have this moment, this flash of what it would be like to stay here in this basement apartment—or one like it—with Mulberry and live together as if we were normal people. As if all the fighting and striving for justice was just something we read about in a book. I could get a job as a barista at that coffee shop and he could go back to bartending, and we could fight about money and bathroom habits and whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher.
“You brought me coffee?” Mulberry asks, scratching his head.
I nod, my throat tight with the vision of us as regular folks. People who don’t worry about mercenary assassins and are not willing to die for the greater good. Couldn’t we just be selfish for a little while? Cocoon ourselves in a fantasy?
Mulberry reaches for his false leg, and I walk to the counter, putting the coffees down and grabbing the bag of dog food I’ve got in the cabinet. Mulberry comes up behind me and reaches around for one of the cups. “That one's mine,” I say. He puts it back.
“Cinnamon in coffee is gross,” he says before grabbing his cup—black and strong, just the way he likes it.
“You’re just saying that because you have no taste.”
He laughs and takes a sip. I feed the dogs, and Mulberry makes the futon back into a couch. I open the back door, and Frank goes out to do his business then settles in a patch of sun.
I stand in the doorway and watch him. “That guy is a real doofus,” Mulberry says from behind my shoulder.
“Yes,” I agree. “He is. I hope he stays one forever.”
“Doofuses usually stay doofuses.”
I laugh and turn to him. “They do?”
He’s got his jeans back on and the green T-shirt he slept in, just a few shades darker than the glints of emerald in his eyes. “Yup.” He sips his coffee, watching me. “You ready to talk?”
I wet my lips and take a deep breath. “We are not getting married.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
He gives me a half smile. “I hear that you’re not ready.”
“You think you are?” Annoyance rises up my throat. “Remember how you weren’t even talking to me a few days ago?”
“I was angry.”
“And you’re not now.”
“I am. But about different stuff.”
I shake my head. “That I won’t marry you?”
“No.” He grimaces and looks down at his feet. “I’m angry at myself for being such a dumbass.” Well, that takes the wind right out of my rage sails. “I shouldn’t have left that morning without saying goodbye. I can’t help how I felt then. Or how I feel now. I want you to be mine. All mine.”
His gaze rises. I can’t look away. “But I will be patient. Wait for you to realize what I already know.” I swallow, a tickle of anger itching the back of my mind. Another man who thinks he knows more about me than I know about myself. “That we belong together.” His eyes drop to my stomach.
“You’re starting to sound like Robert.”
Clouds storm Mulberry’s eyes, and he takes a step toward me before pulling himself up short. “Is that why you’re sleeping in his T-shirt?” He clenches his jaw, as if immediately regretting the words. “Sorry,” he says, dropping his gaze back down to the floor. “It’s none of my business. But the baby is my business. And I want to help.”
“Can you leave me alone?”
He doesn’t look up at me. “You think that would help?”
I don’t know if there is any help for me. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do, alone.”
“Will you tell me what?”
I squeeze my coffee cup too hard and spill some over the edge. It burns my hand and Mulberry turns to the counter, grabbing a cloth. He crosses to me and holds it out.
“I need to go see my mom.” I pass him the coffee and wipe at myself.
“Your mom? That sounds dangerous. I’m sure she’s under surveillance.”
“I know how to hide.”
He huffs out a laugh as I take my coffee back. “You certainly do.”
“You told me you wanted back into Joyful Justice then you disappeared,” I point out.
He stiffens but nods. “That’s right.”
“So why don’t you get back into it? Rejoin the council.”
His lips twist into a smile. “Are you trying to keep me busy? Distracted.” I shrug. “I told Dan.”
My stomach drops. “You what?” It comes out a harsh whisper.
His lips tighten into a straight line before he answers. “I needed his help to find you.”
“So you told him I’m pregnant?” My voice is rising all on its own.
Mulberry takes a step back. “It’s not only yours, you know!” He’s yelling back. Great. Just freaking great. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. “Are you even supposed to be drinking coffee?”
My right hand clenches into a fist, and he takes a big step back. “Sorry,” He hits the kitchen counter. “I just read you’re not supposed to have caffeine.”
“You can have one cup a day,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “I really don’t think my caffeine intake is the biggest danger here, do you?”
“I—”
“It’s probably the mercenaries trying to kill me, right?”
“They could be after Robert,” he points out. “You seem to be doing fine without him.”
“I do just fine on my own, period.” I look over at Blue and give him an apologetic nod. Obviously, he knows I need him.
Mulberry puts his coffee down on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I just want to help. And if you want to go see your mom, then let me help you do that.”
“But you think it’s a bad idea.”
“Of course I do.”
“Robert said I should go.”
“Well, bully for him.”
I laugh. “Did you just say bully for him?”
Mulberry’s face is getting red. “Can we not talk about him right now?”
“I need to go see her. She’s on tour in Louisiana. I’m going to head there today.”
“Can I come with?”
“No.”
“Well, that answers that.”
“Just give me some time, okay?”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“We have a bit of a ticking clock here,” Mulberry says, gesturing toward my stomach. I cock my head and give him a look. He sighs. “Can you please just call me? Tell me how you are…stay in touch. Can we do that? Can we stay in touch?”
That seems reasonable and fair, so it will probably get us both killed somehow.
“Okay,” I agree, unease slipping down my spine. “I’ll stay in touch. Will you rejoin the council?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Then why do I feel so bad?
Robert
I sit at my desk, my feet on the floor, one hand resting on the glass surface, the other holding the phone—it rings on the other end twice. “
Robert,” Amy answers. She doesn’t sound surprised to hear from me.
“Amy,” I say, my voice even, warm almost. “How are you?”
“Good, and you?”
“I’d like to meet again.”
“Would you?” She knows.
“I’m coming back to Cartagena. Let’s have dinner, at my place.” My fingers tap on the desk, and I still them. Still everything.
“Sure.” She says it all light and breezy. “When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Perfect, should I see if Josh can join us?”
“I’d love to see you both.”
We hang up, and I wake up my computer, looking at the records again. There is no death record for Natalia Rojas, though a death in the jungle could easily go unrecorded. Born in 1972 in a rural village outside Medellin, she lost her parents at fifteen and joined the FARC that same year.
We met in 1990; we were both so young.
I saw her die. It was my fault. I used her.
We weren’t the only people who looked for privacy in the storage area—butts of cigarettes littered the dirt floor. It was the only solid structure in the camp, with walls of knotted wood. On the day Natalia pulled me in, rain pinged off the metal roof and the metal chains that bound my wrists clanked. Light piercing through holes in the walls revealed propane tanks lined up like sentries and shelves stacked with cans.
Natalia unlocked my cuffs, her breath fast, rainwater beading on her skin…her gorgeous, soft, kissable skin. The chains dropped to the ground, the keys following, and I filled my hands with her as she wrapped herself around me. We were starving for each other, desperate to be one.
“I love you,” I whispered against her neck, my fingers pulling at her clothing.
“Te amo,” she responded, unleashing a fresh wave of desire inside me.
We made love, furious and fierce, her legs wrapped around me, my mouth covering hers, promises of a future lingering in the air.
We’d been at the camp for almost two weeks, and I didn’t know how much longer we would stay; they moved us almost constantly. In the months since my mother’s death, Natalia had become the center of my world. We’d fallen in love. But I still needed to get out—and I needed to take her with me.
After, she locked my cuffs on again, her mouth—swollen from my kisses—pulled into a sad frown. “I’m sorry,” she said, slipping the keys into her back pocket. I put my arms over her head, my chained wrists at her back, and pulled her into a kiss. She went weak against me, my fingers digging into her, slipping the keys from her pocket and palming them. When I let her go, Natalia’s eyes were glassy, and a dewy smile turned her wet lips.
She went out first and I followed, pausing for just a moment to open the valve on one of the propane tanks, the low hiss of the gas escaping quieter than the rain…
My hand closes into a fist on the desk. We—Amy, Josh and I—would never have escaped without her.
The house in Cartagena is all put back together. The rug in the living room replaced, the fountain repaired, the bloodstains scrubbed away. Valentina greets me with the same welcoming smile she’s always used. “Welcome back, Mr. Maxim.”
“Good to be back,” I say.
Amy and Josh arrive on time, and we start with cocktails on the roof. A warm breeze stirs the surface of the pool, and the sun sets in the distance, splashing the sky with pastels. All so gentle. A smooth transition from day to night.
In the jungle, twilight arrived in a crescendo of wailing insects, the setting sun piercing through the foliage—a bright orange warning: the heat of the day is over, and the cold and wet of night is about to begin. The bugs were always bad, but at night it felt like their feasting on us was more personal. As if, though the FARC were our captors, the bugs were our tormentors.
“I hope you’ve changed your mind,” Josh says, swirling ice in his drink, bringing me back to the present moment. “You’ll help us destroy Joyful Justice?”
“Well,” I say, calm as ever, “I am more open to your request. I’d like to make an exchange.”
“You want to know about Natalia,” Amy says.
I nod slowly, as if her words didn’t just send my heart skittering around in my chest looking for something to hold on to. “She’s alive,” I say.
Josh leans forward, his hair flopping over onto his forehead. He pushes it back—he still seems so young, even if only five years my junior. But that is just old memories clouding my vision. He is dangerous. “We will need your help on Joyful Justice.”
It’s my turn to swirl ice, clinking it against the crystal. I take a sip of the rum before answering. “I think we can work out an arrangement. How long have you known…that she survived?”
Amy and Josh exchange a look. “She’s been our contact since the beginning.”
I take a sip of the rum. Since the beginning! The liquor burns my throat but I don’t cough—I give no outward signal of the turmoil inside me.
“Is she well?” I offer a gentle smile, as if I’m asking after an old friend rather than the first woman I loved…who I thought died because of me but turns out didn’t.
Amy stands and paces to the edge of the roof, the wind playing with her loose hair. There are more secrets here. “We need your help, Robert. Natalia does too.”
“With Joyful Justice. She received a packet too?” My mind leaps to asking Dan about her—though she must be using a different name. She could not have operated for decades without my hearing her name. Natalia Rojas. How many times did I whisper her name in that horrible, freezing darkness made warm and beautiful by her presence? My grip tightens on the glass, and I consciously relax it, pushing those memories away. I can’t think about her now.
I’ve spent decades hiding those memories. I can certainly keep them at bay through cocktails.
“No, she has not been contacted by Joyful Justice,” Amy turns back to me, her hands clasped together. Behind her the church glows in the sunset. “But she is intimately involved in our business.”
“And you never told me.” My voice is low, the thrum of a threat lingering below the surface.
Amy stiffens, her chin rising. “She asked us not to.”
I sit back in the chair, forcing nonchalance to ooze out of me. “She didn’t want me to know she was alive. Thought I deserved the guilt?”
“What guilt?” Josh asks, his cheeks red. His glass is empty. He’s getting drunk. Still a boy in so many ways. My gaze returns to Amy. She’s protected him too much.
“She never shared her reasons with me,” Amy says, her voice tight. “But I imagine she felt betrayed.”
I should have gone back for her. “I did get shot.” I say it like I’m joking around, as if my reasons are ironclad. “And I thought she was dead. Why would I go back for a dead body?”
“That’s in the past now, Robert.”
Anger tries to dig its claws into my gut, but I pry the talons loose, clinging to detachment. “Yes,” I smile. “It’s in the past. But here she is,” I open the palm of my free hand to indicate the present, “trying to kill me. Now.”
“She’s not trying to kill you.” Josh waves it off, standing and heading to the bar. Amy watches him, her lips pressed tight. She wants to tell him to stop drinking but won’t do it in front of me.
“Isn’t she?” I ask, raising a brow.
“No,” Amy says. “Despite everything, I believe she still cares for you.”
My heart is skittering around again, and I struggle for a brief moment to maintain my composure. “So, who then is trying to kill me?”
“It’s not her,” Josh says.
“Who then?” I ask again. “Someone is using her yacht.” I wave my glass through the air. “Her resources.” They glance at each other again. “What?”
“It’s not for us to say,” Amy answers. “If you help us, we can put you in touch with Natalia and she can answer all your questions.”
“If I survive.”
Amy smiles. “Robert, you always survi
ve.” I sip my rum, trying to cover the bitter taste her words leave in my mouth. “Do you agree?” she asks, pushing me. “You’ll help us destroy Joyful Justice in exchange for a meeting with Natalia?”
“Yes,” I answer, the taste of betrayal curling my tongue. Amy’s right—I always survive.
Chapter Twelve
Mulberry
Birds sing in the tree canopy, monkeys hoot, and grass tickles my exposed skin. The sun warms my bare chest and beats down on my closed eyelids, making the darkness behind them glow orange.
I’m lying in the open field used for combat practice. But it’s the hottest part of the day, so everyone is grabbing food or resting, waiting out the sun.
Footsteps approach, and I peek between my lashes. “Hard at work?” Merl asks.
I raise a hand to shield my face from the sun. “Just taking a break.” I force a smile. The aerosol line-striping machine lies next to me. I’d offered to freshen the lines around the fighting circles, but the heat of the day and the weight of my worries dragged me to the ground.
Merl sits next to me on the grass, wrapping his arms around his knees. His three dobermans fan out around him, like sentries. “Nice spot.”
“Yup.” I close my eyes again, hiding the view of the jungle. Merl shifts, his exercise shorts scraping against the grass. “How are you?”
I huff a laugh. “Awesome.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“What is there to say?”
Merl doesn’t answer. He’s like a zen master, just sits silently waiting for people to spill their guts—it’s a classic detective trade tool. But I’m not planning on spilling anything. Nope. I’m staying quiet. Keeping all my raging emotions shut down tight where they belong.
The wind carries a sweet flora scent to me and I sigh, some of that bubbling emotion welling up into the sound.
“Did Dan tell you?” I ask.
“He tells me lots of things.”
I crack an eyelid and look up at Merl. He’s staring straight ahead, his chocolate brown eyes with their long black lashes focused on the jungle in front of us. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and black, shiny exercise shorts. His skin, browned from all his time down here in the sun, glistens with sweat. Merl isn’t a big guy, but he is a martial arts master, and his corded muscles speak to the hours of practice he puts into his craft.
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