Cortez says something to Domina I can’t hear, and at her nod, he gives a sharp wave of his hand to his detail. “Release Mr. Basher. He is aguesthere.” The vice president approaches the desk where my billfold—with my PI license—lies open and examines it closely. “You know, of course, that all official private investigators in Panama must be vetted by your own organization, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” the officers grumble in unison. One of them unlocks the cuffs, and I rub my right wrist, willing the spasms to subside. Shoving my hands into my pockets would only get me shot.
Domina hasn’t moved, and the uncertainty in her eyes drives an axe deep into my heart. She still doesn’t want anything to do with me.
The plexiglass doors open, and Cortez waves me through. “Come, Mr. Basher. I would like to meet the man who helped Domina the other night.”
“Sir,” one of the IPS agents says, “we have not vetted him.”
“And you will be no more than two meters from me for the nextfive years,” Cortez snaps. “Check him for weapons, then you will wait outside my office until we are done.”
Stunned, I step through the doors, widen my stance, and hold out my arms so a dark-haired man wearing a gray suit and tie can pat me down. He takes his time, and if I didn’t think it would earn me a one-way trip to jail, I’d make a joke about buying me dinner first.
The groper finds my cell phone and Bluetooth earbud, then rifles through my backpack. “We will return these to you when you leave.”
“No problem, man.”
The agent passes the bag to his pal, who locks it in a cabinet against the wall. “He has no weapons, sir. We will be right outside the door.”
“Domina, I would like a moment alone with your neighbor. I will send him to your office when we are done.” Cortez doesn’t wait for her answer, but I shoot her a quick glance before I follow him down the hall.
Her lips are parted, her cheeks devoid of their usual color. I ache for even a moment to see if she’s all right, but angering the man who will—in under a week—be the president of the whole goddamn country isn’t a good idea. Not when he saved me from a very uncomfortable prison stay not more than two minutes ago.
“Sit,” Cortez says with a tight smile as he rounds his desk. The office is simple. Understated. The Panamanian flag stands proudly in the corner, family photos line one shelf of a bookcase, and he shuts his laptop before folding his hands on the dark, antique wood. Windows behind him overlook a courtyard with tall fences, a single palm tree in the center, and ferns surrounding half a dozen benches.
“Thank you, sir,” I say. “For stepping in.”
He studies me, his stare so intense, I think most men would look away. “Domina has been with me for almost six years now. She is a brilliant speechwriter, but more than that, she is honest and kind, with a good heart. She told me about the attack this morning. I did not know her rescuer was American, though. Who are you, Mr. Basher? Besides a private investigator living in one of the nicer middle-class neighborhoods in Panama City.”
Do I tell him the truth? Or the sanitized version of my life that keeps me out of the Chief of Station’s crosshairs? Shit. With his contacts, Cortez could probably learn everything about me in under an hour. Hiding who I am won’t end well.
“I left the CIA eight months ago and came here to live out my retirement in peace. To disappear.”
His brows lift slightly. “Such honesty is surprising, Mr. Basher.”
“Call me Leo. You’ll verify who I am and where I used to work as soon as I leave this room. Lying would be pointless. It would only serve to put Domina’s loyalty to you in question, and I won’t do that to her.”
“And your relationship with her is…?”
The urge to squirm in my seat is hard to ignore. I’ve never had to ask a father for permission to date his daughter, but I suspect it would feel a lot like this.
“We’re neighbors. Friends. Nothing more.”
Yet.
Leaning back in his chair, he steeples his fingers under his chin. “I have only one other question. Why did you come here? I heard you calling for Domina before the police stopped you. That was not the tone of a man who dropped by for coffee with a friend.”
“You’re a very observant man, Mr. Vice President. I heard about the trouble here this morning. Coming only two days after a man breaks in to Domina’s apartment? Ignoring coincidences in my former line of work can get you killed. Or worse. I need to know the details—if you’re willing to share them with me—but more importantly, I need to make sure Domina is all right.”
Cortez’s gaze softens for a moment before the mask of his position snaps back into place. “You will find her office three doors down to the right. But do not leave, Mr. Basher. I need to make those calls you mentioned. After I find out what I need to know, I may want to speak with you again.”
He picks up the phone, a clear dismissal, and as I shut the door behind me, I sense her.
Turning, I expect to find anger. Pain. Betrayal. All the emotions I saw in her eyes the other night. Instead, Domina wraps her arms around me.
“You came,” she whispers against my neck. She’s trembling, and I pull her closer.
There’s so much I want to say to her, but I can only force out three words. “I’ll always come.”
