Page 188 of When Lies Unfold

When she just peers at me expectantly, I continue. “You’re no longer with the CIA?”

“Correct.”

“You workin’ in any capacity with any government agency?”

“No.”

“And you want me to hire you?”

“Yes.”

I press my lips thin before summonin’ the bravery to ask the next question. “And you know what happened to Lola?”

“Yes.” Her lack of hesitation both gives me hope and dread.

“Did she die that day?”

This time, Garcia hesitates. “No.”

Forearms planted on my desk, I lean forward, my tone itself threatenin’ harm. “Don’t fuck with me, Garcia. You better tell me what the hell happened to my woman.”

She doesn’t appear the least bit threatened as she leans back against the leather cushions and crosses her legs. “Why’s it so important to you?”

I clench my teeth so hard my molars start to ache. “’Cause I love her, goddammit, that’s why.”

“That’s good.” Garcia uncrosses her legs and plants her feet flat before risin’ from her chair. “That’s real good to know. I knew I was asking the right man for a job.” She breezes toward the door, leavin’ me to stare at her.

She’s fuckin’ crazy. That’s gotta be it. This whole interaction is strange as hell.

Still, I call after her, “Why the hell do you want a job as a house cleaner?”

Garcia pauses in the doorway and tosses a smile over her shoulder. “I don’t.”

When she winks, an edgy sensation takes hold. It grows tenfold when she adds, “But someone else does.”

Before I can ask who she’s referrin’ to, Garcia disappears, and another woman steps into view.

88

SANTIAGO

I swear my lungs stop workin’ and my heart skips a few fuckin’ beats.

Shock has me frozen like a complete jackass, but my eyes drink in the sight of her. Her hair’s shorter, barely reachin’ her shoulders, and she’s got a scar that runs in a thick line along her left temple.

I don’t know if I’m seein’ things or not. Fear that my mind’s playin’ tricks on me has my voice raspy as fuck. “Lola?”

She edges her way inside my office as if worried about my reaction.

I push myself up on unsteady feet, unwillin’ to tear my eyes off her for fear of her disappearin’ all over again. I rush around my desk, and she meets me in the center of my office.

I reach for her but hesitate. “It’s really you.”

She nods. “It’s really me.”

Anger and hurt battle their way to the forefront. “Where the fuck have you been?”

She flinches at my sharp tone, and her words are rushed, heavily laced with nervousness. “Agent Garcia—and Rodrigo—helped me escape, and it wasn’t easy because I was shot twice.

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