We’re going to have a serious talk when we get out of here.
Dani shifts in her seat, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Can you tell me about your life before your arrest, Señor Rojas? Did you live in Caracas?”
His gaze softens, and he stares down at his hands. “No. I am from a small town south of here. Calabozo.”
“Do you have family there? Children?” Her voice has changed now too. It’s gentler. Warmer.
“One daughter,” he whispers as a tiny smile threatens his lips. “I do not know her. She was never in Calabozo.”
Fuck. Luis knows.
I clear my throat, warning both of them to shut the fuck up with this line of questioning. It’s too dangerous.
“Are you married?” Dani asks.
Before Luis can answer, an alarm blares, and bright strobes flash in the corners of the room. The doors behind and in front of us bang open, and guards pour into the room. Two of them grab Luis by the arms while a third unlocks his hands. As they drag him away, I catch sight of his legs. They don’t move. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t even try to walk. And his shoes? They’re brand new. The soles don’t have a single mark on them. Not even a speck of dust.
“You must leave. Now,” a guard shouts as he wraps his hand around Dani’s arm.
“Take your hand off of her.” My anger flares, but I can’t knock this guy on his ass. If I do, I’ll put us both in even more danger.
The guard already has Dani out of her chair, and she lunges for her voice recorder, but can’t quite reach it. “Tr—Travis!”
I snatch the device off the table and shove it into my pocket then rush after her before the other guards tackle me. I can see it in their eyes. They’d love to take me down.
The sirens continue to blare loudly, and out in the hall, the overhead lights have cut out and the emergency strobes are the only illumination. Instead of retracing our steps, we’re ushered down a different route. But I’m finally able to get to Dani’s side and wrap my arm around her waist. I don’t care if General Ochoa thinks it’s odd for a photographer to hold onto his reporter. I can’t not touch her right now.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say quietly as we reach a stairwell and the guards order us down to the first floor.
When we reach the lobby, General Ochoa meets us, his rage barely contained as he clenches his hands at his sides. “I am sorry, Señorita Monroe, Señor Lejune. A small group of prisoners started a fight, and we had to lock down the entire facility.”
“I didn’t get to finish my interview,” Dani says, raising her chin and pulling her shoulders back. “I was promised a full hour with Luis Rojas, and I got less than half of that. When will this lockdown be over with?”
“Not until tomorrow. If you wish to continue your interview then, I will make the necessary arrangements.” The general’s eyes don’t match his conciliatory tone. He’s pissed as hell at something, but he’s trying to hide it and play nice with the Americans. But why? He could probably have us jailed in a heartbeat and no one would ever hear from us again. If I didn’t kill him first.
“I do. What time?” Dani doesn’t move, even though the guards are holding the front door open, clearly encouraging us to get the hell out of there.
“Noon. I trust that will be acceptable?”
“Yes. Come on, Lejune. Let’s get back to the hotel and change our flight.” Without a backwards glance, Dani strides through the open door, and I follow.
Chapter Ten
Trevor
The old tires squeal as I speed out of The Crypt’s parking lot. As soon as we’re beyond the gates, I look over at Dani. “Did they hurt you?”
“What the hell happened back there?” she asks as she pulls the voice recorder from her bag.
“Answer the question, Dani. Did. They. Hurt. You?” My fingers are so tight on the steering wheel, two of my knuckles crack.
“Huh? No. I’m fine, Tre—“
“Not another word. Not until we’re back at the hotel.”
Her eyes widen as realization washes over her face. Yeah, that’s right. I’d be surprised if they didn’t bug the car. After what happened back there, it’ll be a fucking miracle if they didn’t bug the hotel room, too. At least I’ll be able to use Wren’s scanner once we’re back at the Hotel Diamante.
Dani stares straight ahead the whole way back, but when we get caught at a stoplight, she reaches for my hand and mouths, “I’m sorry.”
I want to tell her it’s okay. But that would be a lie, and I’ll never lie to her. Never again, anyway. I did that once, and it ruined everything between us.
No one’s following us, so I keep hold of her hand as I maneuver through the slow-moving traffic. I may be angry, but if she needs reassurance, I’ll give it to her. No matter what.
The silence has a physical presence all its own as we ride the elevator to the fifth floor, but I wrap my arm around her waist and keep her close until we get to the room. Only then do I let her go so I can ensure the clear filaments are still in place over the doors.
Once inside, I dig Wren’s scanner out of my duffel bag and sweep it around both rooms before shoving it into my pocket.
“We’re clear. It’s safe to talk now. And you’d better have a damn good explanation—“
“Trevor,” Dani interrupts, “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I tried…I wanted to tell you last night. But…”
Fuck me. “But I was an ass. You can say it.”
She huffs, then sinks onto the bed. “You were. But I should have told you back in Boston.”
“What were you thinking, Dani? General Ochoa knows. Luis knows. It was so obvious I’m sure the soldiers know too. You just put a huge fucking target on your back. We need to get out of here.”
“No. I have to go back tomorrow—“
“Not an option.”
Pushing to her feet, Dani gets right in my face. “Luis Rojas is part of a resistance movement that could legitimately overthrow the Farías government. I need to tell more of his story.”
“And get yourself killed in the process? You hired me to protect you.” I thread my fingers with hers and pull her over to her backpack. “Grab your stuff. We’re going to the airport and getting the hell out of this country.”
“I need more time! Luis saved my mother’s life, Trev. Didn’t Austin ever tell you about her? About what Jorge Sosa did to her?”
Those two words cut through my anger and frustration. A band tightens across my chest, and I take two steps back. “Jorge Sosa was Gil’s father. Obviously I knew your mother had left him at some point, but Austin didn’t say anything about Sosa doing anything to her.”
Dani eyes me like I can’t be serious. “Sosa kidnapped my birth mother. He took her from Aruba and kept her prisoner in Venezuela. Luis worked for him for almost ten years. He and my mother fell in love, and when she got pregnant with me, he helped her escape to the United States.”
I stagger back until I hit the wall, then sink down to the floor. “Your brother and I are going to have a serious talk when we get back.”
“From what I was able to piece together,” she says, her voice taking on a strange mix of excitement and pain, “Luis stayed with Sosa until maybe a year before Sosa was killed. Then he disappeared. The next record of him anywhere is in Caracas right after Gil died.”
I get up and start to pace, my thoughts pinging from one possibility to the next.
Dani pulls a flash drive from her pack and plugs it into her tablet. After a couple of taps on the screen, she hands me the device showing copious notes she made before we left.
From an interview posted to the Democrática Resistencia’s blog:
Luis wasn’t always on the side of the resistance. He says he joined when a man he used to work for rose to the upper ranks of the Loma Collectivo. Question: Was this man Gil’s father?
Translation of quote from Luis reads: “The Loma Collectivo was not born from hate. Not that I could see. They wanted reform and believed Marcos
Farías would be Venezuela’s redemption. I fought for them and told anyone who would listen that Farías was the ruler Venezuela needed. After he took power, his actions became militant, and I saw him for who he was. A dictator and a monster. I was branded an enemy of the Collectivo the day I joined the Democrática Resistencia, and they have repeatedly tried to silence me, but the truth cannot be silenced.”
“Dani.” I clear my throat, trying to ward off the memories of the worst day of my life. “Austin and I—along with a joint CIA-JSOC task force—spent three years of our lives trying to take down the Loma Collectivo. And you’re telling me that your birth father was a founding member?”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Yes.” With a sigh, she moves to the window and opens the drapes, but I step in front of her and snap them shut.
“Too dangerous right now.”
“Fine.” Stalking over to her pack, she pulls out her tin of thinking putty and starts to work it between her fingers. “I never wanted to meet him, you know.” Her tone turns wistful, and her gaze is somewhere else, somewhere inside—or maybe even back home. “I have a mom and dad. Steve and Betsy were the only parents I ever needed.”
“Until…?” Pulling her back against my chest, I wrap my arms around her waist, trying to offer whatever comfort I can.
“Until this year. The anniversary of Gil’s death. I don’t know why. But all of a sudden, I just had to know who he was. The more I read, the greater that need became until it was all I could think about. The story is about The Crypt and the fight between the Farías government and the Democrática Resistencia, but I came down here because I needed to meet the man who gave me half my DNA.”
Dani settles in my arms, and she feels so fucking good there, I keep quiet. Every time I try to talk to her I piss her off, and I don’t know how many more times I can get away with that before she cuts me out of her life for good.
“Say something.” She tips her head back to look at me, uncertainty and pain swimming in the depths of her eyes.
“We’ll stay the night. But no gym time for you. No leaving this room at all. I’ll go out and get us some dinner and connect with Leo. He can keep an ear to the ground—try to find out if we’re walking into an ambush tomorrow or not.”
Do her eyes take on a slight shimmer as she turns in my arms? My Danisaur never cries. Well, almost never.
She releases a shuddering breath, blinks, and the shimmer’s gone. “Thank you, TJ.”
The long-ago nickname twists my heart and makes me want…more. So much more. “Don’t thank me yet, Dani. I’m not agreeing to go back to The Crypt tomorrow. Not yet. You’re still my mission. My only mission. There’s nothing I won’t do to keep you safe. Even if that means throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you through customs.”
“You wouldn’t,” she says and tries to wriggle free, but I hold tight, dip my head, and take the biggest fucking risk of my life when I press my lips to hers.
A soft moan comes from low in her throat as she stops fighting and kisses me back. Her lip gloss tastes like watermelon, and I want to go deeper, but I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I pull back slowly and hold her gaze. “I would. Because you’re more important to me than…well, than anything.”
“I’m headed out to meet Leo,” I say as I pull the baseball cap over my dark brown hair. Every weapon I have is strapped to my body somewhere—except for the ceramic knife in my hand. Flipping it around, I offer it to Dani. “Keep this close, and don’t answer the door for anyone.”
She eyes the black, shiny blade, then gingerly wraps her fingers around the handle. “I don’t know how to use this. Beyond...aim the pointy end at the bad guy.”
A quick glance at my watch tells me I have another few minutes before I have to leave, so I drop the cap on her bed and gesture for her to stand facing me. “There are two main type of grips you can use with a knife like this.” I take her hand and position the weapon with the sharp side of the blade pointing up, towards her thumb. “This is a forward grip. You don’t have to get as close to your opponent holding the knife like this.”
She flexes her fingers slightly. “What’s the other one?”
“Reverse grip.” I ease the knife from her hand and turn it over so the blade faces the other way. “You probably feel in more control like this, right?” Dani nods, and I use my free hand to tip her chin up slightly. “If you hold the knife like this, you have to attack using a downward motion. You have to be closer.”
Taking her arm, I raise it above her head, then slowly bring the knife toward my carotid artery, stopping an inch away. “Slice if you can. Don’t stab. Stabbing can trap your knife in your opponent’s body, and you lose your weapon.”
“Trevor…” Her voice is nothing but a whisper, and I guide her hand lower as I pivot my body until the knife rests against my inner thigh.
My jeans are unbearably tight with her this close, but the thick material protects my skin from the lethal blade. “Femoral artery.”
Finally, I turn the knife over in her hand, back to the forward grip, and skim the very tip of the knife along my upper arm over my light gray jacket. “Brachial artery. Severing any of those three will drop a man in under five minutes.”
I need Dani more than I need my next breath. But not like this. Not when I can’t give her…everything. All of my focus, all of…me. She tosses the knife onto the bed and wraps her arms around my neck. “I don’t want you to go.”
Groaning, I pull her against me and bury my face in her hair, the scents of jasmine and vanilla washing over me in calming waves. When I pull back, her lips are parted, and my dick feels like it’s being strangled. “I have to, Danisaur. I don’t trust room service. They know our names. Who’s to say Ochoa hasn’t paid off someone at the hotel? Hell, I’d do anything not to leave you here alone, but it’s still early, and there are enough people around you should be safe for an hour or two.”
“You’re not making me feel any better,” she says, then snorts softly as she turns back to the bed and picks up the knife, examining it and trying out both grips I taught her. “I won’t leave, Trevor. I need to write up my notes from the interview. Start cobbling together something for my editor so he doesn’t go batshit when I tell him we’re staying another day. But just…hurry back, okay?”
I grab my hat and tug it down low, then reach out and trace the line of her jaw. “Nothing will keep me away from you again, Dani. Nothing.”
Dani
He’s been gone half an hour, and I can still taste him on my lips, smell him on my skin. And never—ever—has being taught how to use a knife been so damn sexy. Something shifted between us when I fessed up to all of my secrets, and I’m desperate to have him back in my arms so we can finally have an honest conversation about this thing between us.
Sitting at the hotel room desk with a small keyboard attached to my tablet, I start to cobble my notes together into something approaching a story. What Luis looked like, his quiet voice, his reserved demeanor.
After eight months of imprisonment, Luis Rojas is a changed man. In video shot just before his arrest, he stands tall, shoulders straight, with a fire in his eyes that compelled thousands to gather, risking detainment themselves, just to hear him. The Luis Rojas of today speaks carefully, measuring every word. He says he is “being treated as he should be.”
In an interrogation room on the third floor of The Crypt, Luis spoke of growing up in a small town south of Caracas. His two brothers, Andrés and Franco, are younger by five and seven years, respectively. Only one month after Luis was arrested, Andrés was also detained. His whereabouts are now unknown.
I make a mental note to ask General Ochoa about Andrés Rojas if Trevor thinks it’s safe to return to the prison tomorrow.
Despite how often I’ve traveled to dangerous countries for a story, I don’t trust myself here. Because this isn’t a story, this is someone who risked his life to free my mother from a horrible situation. He’s not my father, and I
need to stop thinking he is. But we’re connected, and he knows it.
I add another paragraph on the Farías regime and the history of The Crypt, then save the draft and upload a copy to the Washington Post’s server. After that, I transfer copies to three of my flash drives, and tuck two of them into the hidden pockets in my backpack.
Satisfied for now, I shut down the tablet and start to pace the room. Sunset is less than an hour away, and I don’t want to be alone after dark. Not in a country where the police work for a corrupt government and they probably know I’m hoping to expose them.
Picking up the knife, I practice the grips Trevor showed me for several minutes until it hits me. I’m lying to myself. It’s not that I don’t want to be alone.
I don’t want to be without Trevor.
Trevor
I wander the streets of Caracas like a man without a care in the world. Or so I pretend to be. In reality, I watch everything. Everyone. My frequent stops to browse jewelry, sunglasses, and little trinkets in the stalls of an open-air market a mile or so from the hotel? They’re all planned. Executed at regular intervals to scan my surroundings.
I haven’t seen a tail the whole time, but with Dani consuming my thoughts, I worry I’m off my game. We’ve turned some sort of corner and there’s no going back. We’re going to talk about everything once we’re back on US soil, and I’ll grovel if I need to. Beg. Anything. If she’ll give me another chance.
A scarf vendor catches my eye, her racks filled with hand-dyed silks in every color, and I run my fingers along one that bears long streaks of purple, pink, and gold. “¿Cuánto cuesta?”
The woman—who looks to be close to seventy—shuffles over and peers at me. My father was Hawaiian. My normally dark stubble is now almost a full beard—intentional to mask my appearance. While there’s no way I can pass for Venezuelan, my skin tone and extensive language training don’t automatically mark me as American either.
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