As soon as we’re alone, Ladd attempts conversation. We haven’t had a chance to talk seriously about anything other than the mission, and we have an entire meal before us. “What have you been doing over the last few years?”

  He means since I last tracked him down but didn’t approach.

  “What I always wanted,” I reply, my tone a little too bright and confident. “You know me… all about the adventure and adrenaline. Making this career my bitch.”

  “That career,” Ladd corrects me somberly. “Not your career anymore.”

  He’s not saying it to be unkind but to remind me I’m no longer CIA. Even if I loved every bit of time I spent with the Company, they abandoned me, and I’m not a part of it now, nor will I ever be again.

  I deflate, unable to paint any type of rosy picture for him or even myself. “I worked hard,” I say, a truthful answer to his question. “I worked a lot. Never took vacations except for mandated time off in between missions, visited my parents when I could, and that’s pretty much it.”

  “Sounds lonely,” he surmises.

  And yeah… that’s pity in his voice.

  I swallow past the shame, because that loneliness was of my own making. “It was.”

  Glancing down at the table, Ladd seems to be collecting his thoughts. I’m on edge, wondering where we go from here. We’re skirting around touchy subjects that are backfilled with bruised feelings and broken hearts.

  His eyes rise to meet mine. “I wasn’t able to compromise with you and I pushed you away forever.”

  I’m so stunned, I don’t know what to say. When we broke up, it wasn’t nice or a mutual parting of ways with fond memories. Ladd said some awful things when I told him I couldn’t be what he wanted. When I offered the option of having kids later, he didn’t want to hear it. He put the failure of our relationship squarely on my shoulders, and I let him because I felt so horrible for letting him down. I’m still ashamed to this day that I hurt him so badly.

  “I also think I hurt you as much as you hurt me, and I want to say I’m sorry,” he adds, his tone heavy with regret.

  I swallow hard against the painful lump that forms and manage to rasp out, “Thank you for saying that.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Ladd

  Dinner was a turning point. Not for the information we got on Mejia, which will definitely help us devise a game plan on how to get him, but for the breakthrough I had regarding Greer.

  She’d made a mistake. She’s clearly been carrying the guilt of that mistake since we parted ways. She wanted to rectify that mistake, but I had moved on.

  Those are all things Greer would say if evaluating herself.

  But my revelation is a bit different.

  While Greer felt she’d made an error that had a waterfall of consequences, I understand now that I made a mistake too.

  My mistake was in letting her go. My mistake was accepting her proclamation that she wasn’t good enough for me because her desires did not match with mine. My mistake was in thinking that my wants and needs were more important than hers. My mistake was my inability to really listen and try to find a way to compromise so that I would not lose the love of my life.

  I don’t know what to blame it on… immaturity, impetuosity, sheer selfishness. Probably all three. I know I was hurt she didn’t want the same things that I wanted right at that moment. I failed to recognize that she had dreams, too, and rather than agree to be her partner on that journey, I tried to be the dictator. And when my subject didn’t fall in line, I let it fall apart.

  The rest of our dinner after Orellana left was spent discussing logistics. I was too afraid to delve further into the idiocy of myself, mainly because my mind had already started thinking about ways to repair the damage. And it only follows that after I repair the damage, perhaps I can make something new with Greer. But I have no clue if her head is even there. Maybe she’s far too hurt that I moved on so quickly.

  And I did move fast after we broke up. It’s almost as if I had a need to prove to myself that my dreams were important and that I was going to do whatever it took to attain them. Did I fall in love with Britney?

  Absolutely.

  Was I vulnerable to falling in love maybe a little too fast?

  For sure.

  I wanted a way to prove that I was right and Greer was wrong.

  So I got my wife. I got my kid. I got my house with the picket fence, although we never got the dog because Britney was allergic.

  And deep down, I always knew there was something important missing. Britney knew it, too, and I’m so grateful that when we realized the marriage wouldn’t survive, she forgave my shortcomings and was still willing to not only be my partner in parenting, but my friend as well.

  After dinner, Greer and I leave the restaurant with a divide between us, and as I contemplate it all, I know the thing that’s been missing from my life—that element of perfecting my happiness—is Greer.

  The restaurant is only three blocks from our hotel, and we walked rather than take transportation. Three blocks was an easy journey, but the only reason one might consider taking transportation is because El Salvador has a fairly high crime rate.

  But we’re in about the safest part of the city. It’s the upscale part, with many tourists and an abundance of police to make said tourists feel safe and encourage further tourism for the country. The streets are clean and well lit, and they are full of people walking among the many restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and swanky retail stores.

  We walk silently, side by side, and I’m immersed in what-ifs. But then Greer gently slips her hand into mine, and it feels right. Reflexively, my fingers curl around hers, and she reciprocates.

  One, two, three strides and Greer says, “I don’t want to have any regrets. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow when we go after Mejia, but it’s reasonable to assume I could die. I just want you to know if I could go back and do things differently, I would. If I could talk to my younger self, I would tell her to do whatever it took to keep a man like you.”

  Greer’s words are as much a physical punch as they are a warm blanket. All at once, they tear me apart and gently knit me back together.

  I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, other pedestrians veering around us, and pull her into my arms. My hands go to her cheeks, and I bend down to give her a soft, lingering kiss. I hope it conveys a silent message that her words have meaning.

  I lift my head, locking eyes with her. “If I could go back and talk to my younger self, I would tell him to not be a dick. Listen to what you are trying to tell me and do whatever it takes to figure things out. I didn’t work hard enough for you and me. And I’m sorry.”

  I kiss her again, feeling like this might be the beginning of a new life. Does she feel the same? Can this be the start of us again?

  We must have this conversation, and it has to be the first thing we do when we make it back to our hotel. I need to know that if we come out of this intact—or rather when we come out of this intact—we’re going to work to have a future together. I’m not willing to lead an incomplete life anymore, and I hope Greer feels the same.

  Our kiss breaks, and I reach for her hand when the screeching of brakes and tire rubber hissing jolts me straight out of romance and into full protective alert.

  Taking Greer’s arm, I pull her behind me as my eyes pin on an older model van with brown paint and even browner rust covering the lower panels. It halts just two feet from where we’re standing on the sidewalk.

  It happens too fast for me to react. The side door springs open, along with the passenger door, and men pour out of the van. Four dressed head to toe in tactical gear, masks covering their faces and automatic weapons in their hands pointed straight at me.

  By their attire and weapons, I know they’re not Vecindario 18 but rather paramilitary—and no doubt in Mejia’s employ.

  The crowd disperses amidst a cacophony of screams and shouts, and three of the men grab me. That leaves one for Greer to deal with, and I know she can handle herself.

  I’m stunned when, as I struggle against the restraint, and just before a bag is pulled over my head, that the fourth man doesn’t even attempt to mess with Greer but rather stands protectively with weapon raised to prevent any person with a hero complex to attempt a rescue. My eyes connect with Greer’s for a moment, and I can see the confusion that they’re taking me and not her, and then my world goes dark as the bag fully covers my head.

  I hear one of the men shout in Spanish, “Stay back! Stay back!” and several shouts from presumably people who are gawking that a kidnapping is taking place.

  “Llame a la policía!” Call the police.

  Then a woman screams, not Greer, and the van door slams shut as I’m shoved forcefully onto the floor, face-first and hard enough my teeth slice into my lower lip. I taste blood.

  They took me and not Greer, and my relief is immeasurable. Obviously, I’m worried about my predicament, but as long as Greer is safe, that’s all that matters.

  CHAPTER 18

  Greer

  I’m so lost to Ladd’s kiss, I’m absolutely unable to react when the van screeches to a halt and armed men pile out with AK-47s in hand.

  The trafficking in weapons that Mejia conducts stems from the huge stockpiles of unaccounted-for guns after the civil wars in Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua ended. In El Salvador alone, over 360,000 military-style weapons were floating about, and that’s big bucks to someone like Mejia who has no problem pushing them off to good-paying buyers.

  It’s the fact that these men are using assault rifles and not pistols that gives them away as paramilitary and not Vecindario 18, as they almost exclusively use handguns.

  Regardless, they’re pushing Ladd into the van and once I snap out of the stupor of his kiss, I step forward.

  Three men wrestle Ladd, and one man holds his rifle diagonally in front of him, a pointed message that he’ll use it but doesn’t want to aim it at civilians. “Permanezcan atrás. Permanezcan atrás.”

  Stay back, my ass.

  I take another step forward, intent on fighting him for the gun while he has it in an innocuous position, but his hand shoots out and he pushes me hard in the chest. I’m caught off guard, my ankle twists, and I fall to the sidewalk, landing hard on my butt.

  A woman screams in terror nearby, and some men shout to call the police. Before I can plant my hand onto the concrete to push myself up, I watch with dismay as Ladd disappears into the van, the men pile in after him, and the vehicle takes off in a blast of burning rubber before the door is even pulled shut.

  I’m not surprised they took Ladd, but I’m stunned they didn’t take me. What in the hell?

  And then it dawns.

  They didn’t recognize who I am. They didn’t attempt to kidnap me, and there was no sign of recognition when the man knocked me to the ground.

  Someone grabs my arm, and I’m hauled upward.

  “Thank you,” I murmur distractedly, staring off down the road to where the van disappears from sight.

  The grip to my arm tightens, and I whirl toward the person who helped me up, trying to pull free.

  I’m stunned to see Kynan McGrath there, his expression icy. “Had you let us come as a team, that wouldn’t have happened,” he accuses.

  Jerking my arm away, I glance back down the street, but it’s desolately free of the van. My mind races with the implications of what happened and how I’m going to get Ladd back.

  “Let’s go,” Kynan says, and I look back at him, except it’s not just him standing there. Cruce is behind him. And Cage. And two other men I don’t recognize.

  “Go where?” I demand, because if it’s anywhere other than to a vehicle that will take us to Mejia, I’ll pass.

  “We’re at the same hotel you’re staying at,” Kynan replies. “Bebe and Dozer are there. We need to come up with a plan.”

  “That’s a waste of time,” I mutter, and then the reality that they are actually here hits me hard. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “Let’s just say I didn’t accept your rejection of my offer to help,” Kynan replies dryly. “We’re here with the manpower and resources to get Ladd back and take Mejia down. You should have let us come with you from the get-go as this wouldn’t have happened. But we’re in the game now, so let’s finish it.”

  I’m ashamed that he’s probably right that my stubborn refusal of their help has led to Ladd’s kidnapping. It was two people against a gun lord and his army of soldiers and gang members. It wasn’t stupid to think we could do this on our own, because that’s what Ladd and I did in the CIA. We operated individually or in partnerships of two, highly trained at being so clandestine, our targets never saw us coming.

  But Kynan is right… we need the strength of their numbers now.

  I nod my assent, and we head to the hotel. In the elevator, Kynan presses the button for the top floor. The ride up is silent.

  Turns out, Kynan has a suite with two rooms and a large living area. Inside I find Bebe and Dozer sitting at a dining table with five laptops opened. The two of them appear to be working on all of them.

  A handful of other men and women stand about, none who I recognize from my short time spent inside Jameson’s headquarters, but I assume they’re Jameson.

  “Introductions first,” Kynan says as he moves to the middle of the room. He points at certain people, calling out their names. “You already know Cruce and Cage. That’s Malik, Jackson, Saint, and August… they’re from the Pittsburgh office. From the Vegas office, Rachel, Bodie, Kara, Benji, Cash, Locke, and Hannah.”

  With my CIA training, I would ordinarily have no problem focusing in on the details and remembering all of their names. But I’m so discombobulated about Ladd, I doubt I’ll remember any of them. I nod at each one in greeting while my head calculates numbers and not names. Bebe and Dozer aren’t field agents and will most likely stay here in the hotel, so including me, there are fifteen people willing to ride into battle to save Ladd. I couldn’t be more grateful.

  Kynan fills the group in on what just happened.

  “What’s the plan?” I say, moving to the table to pull out a chair beside Bebe. She glances up from one of the laptops, smiles, and pulls another laptop closer to her before going back to work.

  “That depends on what Mejia is up to,” Kynan replies. “Why weren’t you taken?”

  His tone is suspicious, and I don’t like it. “Sounds like you think I have something to do with Ladd’s kidnapping?”

  “Not ruling it out,” Kynan growls. “How do I know you didn’t sell Ladd out to Mejia as the one who killed his son in exchange for leaving you alone?”

  I stand up so suddenly, my thighs catch the edge of the table and it rocks hard enough to cause Bebe to reach a steadying hand to one of the computers.

  I slam my palms down and snarl, “I love Ladd, you son of a bitch. I’ve loved him for twelve years, and I would rather die a million times over than risk a hair on his head. So save your sanctimonious patronizing—it’s a waste of time.”

  The room is silent except for someone who issues a low cough of surprise. Talk about making a statement about my feelings, but I don’t have time to be embarrassed. I’ll tell Ladd that sentiment myself once we get him back.

  Kynan blinks at me, and I think I may be the only one in this room who has ever talked to him like that. There’s no contrition or apology, but his words are not accusing. “Why do you think you weren’t taken?”

  That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? “I don’t think those men recognized me. Mejia knows me as a woman with long, blond hair. That whole kidnapping happened in less than five seconds. I don’t think they spared me a second glance because I didn’t have blond hair.”

  “Stupid of them,” one of the men mutters and I don’t remember his name, only that he was in the Vegas group Kynan introduced. Until that moment, I didn’t know he had a Vegas office.

  “These aren’t the brightest bulbs,” Cage says, leaning against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “But they are trained and have guns.”

  “And he probably has Vecindario 18 members involved,” I point out. “They won’t be trained, but they’ll be vicious. Most carry handguns.”

  “We can assume your snitch Orellana was in Mejia’s pocket the entire time,” Kynan says, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

  I nod. That bastard most assuredly alerted Mejia the moment his cousin passed on our request for a meeting. “The question is, did he feed Ladd and me false information? He clearly let Mejia know Ladd was in country, but he sat right at the table with me tonight, and there was no recognition. We couldn’t tell if he just had a really great poker face, but I’m guessing by the fact they didn’t grab me, Mejia doesn’t know I’m here, thanks to a little bottled color and a decent haircut. Which means he won’t see me coming when I take his ass down.”

  “We have to assume the information Orellana gave you as to Mejia’s location is fake,” Cruce says. “So how in the hell do we move on him without knowing where he is?”

  “Greer offers herself up in exchange for Ladd,” Bebe says without looking up from her computer.

  “No,” Kynan says.

  “Yes,” I agree with excitement. Mejia would rather kill me. “How do we make the offer to Mejia to take me in exchange for Ladd?” I ask Bebe curiously.

  “Easy… I’ll give you his cell phone number.”

  My eyes almost bug out of my head. Of course she has a cell phone number. I’m beginning to understand there’s probably nothing this woman can’t access. I definitely need her story.

  “Excellent.” I reach into my purse to pull out my own phone. “Give me the number.”