CHAPTER FOUR
Leo
“What partof ‘stay on Ferrier’s good side’was confusing?” Trevor asks. “Because I just got off the phone with your former SSO, and you’re exactly one parking ticket away from being shipped back to the States, permanently.”
“None of it. I’dplannedto watch Panama beat Sweden on the pitch.” My shoulders feel like two solid pieces of granite, and a tight band holds my head in a vise. “You think I should have let my neighbor get beaten up? Or worse? You would have done the same damn thing.” Tearing the wrapper of a protein bar with my teeth, I sink down onto my couch. Traffic was a bitch getting back from the Embassy, and after barely sleeping, my body is one—or a thousand—raw nerves.
Trevor sighs. “Probably. Though I would have used the door.Andfound a way to keep my name out of the National Police’s records.”
“I didn’t just hand over my driver’s license, passport, and top secret work history. Give me a little credit, will you? Domina said she’d take care of it. That no one would know my name. I believed her. Clearly, I was an idiot.”
“Domina. Not ‘my neighbor.’ Just how well do you know this woman, anyway?”
“Met her last night.” The protein bar tastes like shit, and I choke down the last bite before balling up the wrapper.
“Got a last name? I’ll have Wren do a background check.” Trev’s all business now, but there’s still an edge to his voice. One that tells me he thinks I fucked up. Big time.
“Not necessary. She’s a neighbor. Nothing more.”
Except she works for Vice President Cortez. And knows what I used to do for a living.
“Leo, if the Panamanian government finds out you worked for the CIA, you could be in deep shit. After the coup, things got a hell of a lot better between the United States and Panama, but we’ll always be one fuck-up away from relations breaking down again.”
Slumping back against the cushions, I close my eyes. Once, Trevor trusted me with his life. But then I spent the better part of a decade at the bottom of a bottle whenever I wasn’tactivelyon assignment. I drowned that trust in rum, and I deserve to be treated like a first-year probie.
“Even at my sloppiest, Trev, I never broke cover. Leo Basher has a clean arrest record, an average-Joe work history with the Department of the Interior, and legal firearms and P.I. licenses for the country of Panama.” After a beat, I add, “And is eleven months sober.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Eleven months. That means you stopped drinking in…”
“January. Yeah. The night you and Dani showed up at my house? I’d poured my last bottle down the drain an hour before.” I ball my left hand into a fist, so tight my fingernails dig into my palm. “Wasn’t sure it was going to stick, but when you ended up in La Crypta, I promised God, the Universe, and whoever the fuck else would listen I’d never touch the stuff again if we could just get you out.”
“Fuck me.”
Warning bells go off in my head. That was too much information. Trevor doesn’t open up. Hell, neither do I. Usually. We’ve both been through hell and didn’t come back…whole. We have secrets the other will never know, despite once being almost as close as brothers.
“I didn’t give it up for you, Trev. I did that for me. But when I get low, I remind myself of that promise. Someone up there looked out for you, so maybe they’re looking out for me too.”
* * *
After three hoursscrolling through security camera footage from a bodega at the edge of the El Chorrillo neighborhood, I reach for my eye drops. A series of pops all along my spine reminds me I was a fool for sitting in one position this long.
What was I thinking? Being a P.I. seemed like the logical career choice after the CIA. The best way to use my skills and not be in mortal danger on the regular. I wasn’t counting on the endless hours at the computer or the constant surveillance that has me on my feet on my worst days.
Back in Venezuela, I spent most of my time going from coffee shop to bar to public market. Watching. Listening. Drinking when I could. As one of the few officers in country and theonlyone not stationed at the Embassy, I had it easy.
Now, though I don’t have to work every day, when I do, it’s hell on my aging body.
After I can blink easily again, I turn my gaze to the patio doors. The clouds rolled in a few hours ago, and sheets of rain fall at a steep angle, the wind howling all around the building.
A bright flash illuminates the room, followed by thunder so loud, it rattles the windows. Shit. I rush to unplug my laptop as the lights flicker.
That’s my cue to give up for the night. Thank fuck I charged the battery pack for my tablet. If the storm is as bad as the news predicted, I won’t have power much longer.
Lighting squat, long-burning candles in every room, I grab a can of club soda and yesterday’s leftover pizza from the fridge. A blip in the constant hum of the air conditioning is almost immediately followed by another clap of thunder.
And someone knocking.
I shuffle over and check the peephole. All the anger and frustration from this morning come flooding back, despite how miserable Domina looks. If Ferrier had wanted, he could have sent me directly to the airport and back to the States. All because I tried to be a good guy.
