Page 26 of When Lies Unfold

Luckily, the discreet trail I’ve made helps me navigate my way. Dressed in all black, I trudge forward, my cross-body bag secured tightly to prevent additional jostling and subsequent noise.

A part of me thrives on these little excursions. The thrill of it makes me feel alive. The sense of danger, the way it causes me to remain alert, breathes new life into my broken soul.

The instant I catch the scent of a large cat, I freeze in place. Shit. I sense that it’s not Belleza, and I hope like hell I haven’t stumbled upon a mama with her little ones in tow. If that’s the case, it won’t end well for me.

It isn’t until I detect faint movement in my periphery that I spot her. A gorgeous puma stares back at me, and I don’t dare look away, silently communicating that I’m not a threat.

That I know what it’s like to fear being prey.

That I know what it’s like to defend yourself—to the death, if that’s what it takes.

A long moment passes before she turns and slinks off in the opposite direction. And that’s when I notice the slight ripple along the right side of her silky coat. An old wound that’s since healed but left a mark.

I’m all too familiar with dealing with old wounds that leave a permanent mark. I’ve spent years trying to conceal them with ink.

Twenty minutes later, I arrive at the rear border of Esteban’s home. The light over the kitchen sink remains on while his back door sits open, allowing the cooler nighttime breeze to waft through his home.

Seated in his favorite chair inside, he hums somberly to himself. One of his long legs remains outstretched with his foot elevated on a small wooden table.

When I step onto his porch, his even expression morphs into a grateful smile, acting as a silent invitation.

There’s always a risk that goes along with this. But I’ve already danced with the devil and escaped death. I’m prepared to do it again, if necessary. Because Esteban isn’t like so many other men I’ve encountered. He’s a good man.

A good man who accepts me without judgment. One who needs me.

Esteban needs a little piece of the gift I once had. The gift I revered. The gift that once defined me.

The gift that was stolen from me.

5:15 a.m.

Shafts of dawn’s light cut through the jungle by the time I return home. Coated in a sheen of dirt and sweat, my limbs ache from tiredness, but a sense of happiness clings to me. A contentment that I won’t find anywhere else.

God knows I’ve tried.

I enter through the rear door of my casita after removing my boots, but once I step inside my bedroom, that contentment I found vanishes in the blink of an eye. In its place is a suffocating, ominous presence that rapidly surrounds me.

“Bienvenido otra vez.” Welcome back. Those three simple words, spoken in a muted tone, have icy fingertips skating down the length of my spine.

In the dimly lit bedroom, Santiago is seated on the side of my bed.

“You’re out awfully late.” One dark brow rises, oozing with derision. “I’m sure you were checkin’ with the neighbors to see if they need any cleanin’ done, right?”

I lift my chin a notch. “Why are you invading my personal space again?”

He straightens to his full, imposing height, lines of irritation bracketing his mouth. “It appears you didn’t learn a thing from earlier about not answerin’ my questions.”

I heave out an aggrieved sigh. “Sometimes I have trouble sleeping, so I go for a walk.”

“In the jungle.” He states this with obvious disbelief. “With a bag.”

“Being surrounded by nature soothes me,” I bite back. “And I like to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.”

“Such as?”

I hold his imposing gaze. “I carry first aid supplies.”

He mashes his lips thin before extending an upturned palm and making a gimme gesture. “Hand it over.”

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