Page 25 of When Lies Unfold

Dark eyes never leave mine. “Think of it as a form of insurance.”

“I think of it as more of another asshole move by you.” I should be careful of my responses, but I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to this man. I’m off-kilter and flailing for the security I’ve become accustomed to for the last five years.

And this man is single-handedly responsible for upending everything.

A muscle in his cheek flexes, those lips flattening with irritation. “What’d I tell you about that mouth?”

I offer an empty smile. “That you appreciated someone who didn’t cave to your every whim?”

What sounds an awful lot like a stifled chuckle erupts from Gordo. Santiago cuts him a scathing look before resettling his attention on me.

“You talk to anybody lately?”

I bat my eyelashes. “You mean besides the bastard who lets himself into my house uninvited?”

His jaw tightens as our matching icy glares hold firm, neither of us willing to give in.

Gordo pulls into the driveway of the house I’m due to clean. I rest my fingers on the door handle, prepared to jump out, when Santiago’s voice stops me.

“You know ’bout your fingerprints?”

Forcing myself to maintain even breaths, I turn to face him with a frown of confusion. “What?”

His critical survey elicits a sensation of tiny needles pricking along every inch of my skin. “Your fingerprints don’t match anythin’.”

I shrug. “I’ve never been arrested, so why would they?—”

He cuts me off, his tone sharp and steely. “What I’m sayin’ is, they don’t match your ID on file.” His probing gaze bores into me, at odds with the casual way he rests an arm along the back of the seat. “Seems kinda odd to me. How ’bout you explain that?”

“I don’t know.” Confusion mingles with defensiveness in my voice. “It’s not something that’s ever been brought to my attention.”

“Really.” Doubt drenches his toneless response.

“Yes, really.” Thick exasperation is threaded through each of my words. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

I push open the door, about to exit the vehicle, when strong fingers encircle my elbow, effectively stopping me.

“I’ve got my eyes on you, Miss Arias.”

With that ominous declaration, I jerk my arm free of his hold and slip from the SUV.

12

LOLA

Tuesday

4:00 a.m.

Darkness smothers my casita. Sparse beams of moonlight dart through the upper, narrow transom windows.

With gloved hands, I exit through the rear door and close it behind me. I swing my leg over the railing that serves as the sole barrier between the jungle and my little house.

As I ease myself down the railing and into part of the steep, jungle ravine, the darkness forces me to operate on my other senses. It isn’t until my black boots land on the hard clay and I find the small makeshift ledges serving as steps that I breathe a fraction easier.

Once I’ve climbed down and reached the ground level, ensconced in the jungle, I pause to listen and allow my eyesight to adjust to the darkness.

The jungle isn’t a safe place at night—anyone here with common sense knows that—but I have no choice. I can’t risk being seen walking this late on the roads.

---