Page 62 of Fated for his Flame

The weight of the knife, strapped directly to my back beneath my shirt out of sight, was all the reminder of what I was doing.

“Gracias,” I mumbled to the driver, shoving some of the cash I’d pilfered from Silas’ stash into his waiting hand before slipping out into the crowd wandering the street market.

By arriving there, I could lose myself in the mass of people. Just in case. I slipped between two vendors stalls, ignoring the incessant hawking of their wares, and made my way deeper into the foot-traffic-only area, pausing every now and then to admire various items while using the opportunity to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

After spending ten minutes looping back and forth without seeing any signs of a tail, I altered course once more and left the market, walking down the block and around the corner to a clothing shop.

I entered, pretending to look at the bright dresses and sequined shirts. But really, I was waiting, watching to see anyone who walked by on the sidewalk.

Nobody familiar did.

“Hola, miss,” the owner of the shop, a surly-looking Latino in his late fifties, greeted me from where he sat on an old, worn barstool behind his counter, leaning against the back wall. A thick mustache drooped from the corners of his mouth, so long it threatened to tickle the big beer belly his arms rested on.

“Hola,” I said.

“Can I help you?”

I stifled a frown. Clearly, my accent was slipping because he easily IDed me as an English speaker and not a native.

“I was wondering if Alvarez is working today?” I asked, my outer demeanor calm, even as my heart pounded against my ribcage.

Was I really doing it?

The owner didn’t blink. “He’s upstairs,” he said. “Would you like me to go get him?”

I shook my head. “I know the way. I’ve seen him before.”

“Okay.” The owner reached under his desk and slid a key across the counter to me.

“Thank you.”

I took the key and headed for the back, well aware the “owner” was now pressing a button to alert the CIA station chief someone was on their way up. He was also probably palming a silenced pistol. Just in case I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I went up the rickety metal stairs and stopped at the second door on my right. The key unlocked the door, and I stepped inside. The next room was just a little box with another door in front of me and a camera in the upper left corner. Behind me, the door clicked shut. I was now trapped. Only Alvarez could let me proceed.

If he didn’t, I wasn’t leaving the square alive.

A voice barked over a hidden speaker, demanding identification. I read off my code. Then I glared. “It’s me, Alvarez. Open up. I know it’s been a few years, but come on.”

There was a long pause. To my divided soul, it was an eternity.

I’m doing the right thing. I’m doing the right thing. I’m doing the right thing.

The door clicked open, and I was greeted by the sight of Alvarez staring at me down the length of a silenced pistol.

“Really?” I growled, reaching up to brush it aside. “Put that thing away. You know me.”

He nodded. “And I know you’re not supposed to be anywhere near here. Which begs the question, why are you here at my front door?”

“Because this is the first chance I’ve had to get away,” I said.

I was really doing it. I was going to report in and give them what they needed.

Then what?

Maybe I could go back to Silas somehow? Perhaps the war would never resume, and my actions would never be discovered. We could just live our lives together.

“Are you okay?” Alvarez asked warily.

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