Page 47 of The Witness

“No need. I brought her with me.”

Sandoval’s startled chuckle drew stares from the men around the circle. He pointed at me with his crystal tumbler; the rum glinted like liquid fire in the candlelight. “You have cojones. I like that.”

“Thank you.” I bowed my head for a moment to accept his praise. My offer to arrange our next meeting at a place that was a carefully organized trap laid by the PNR was on the tip of my tongue.

“Tomorrow, we will talk more. Come to my boat, the Jabberwocky, at eleven. It’s docked in the hotel marina.” He clapped me on the back like I was an old friend.

“To the future.” I raised my glass and forced a smile. Shit.

The fucking boat hadn’t been part of the plan. The PNR agents had arranged for us to meet at an abandoned rum distillery on a dead-end road. His boat was way more public and very complicated. I considered arguing for a change of venue. But Sandoval wasn’t a man that changed his mind. We’d have to make the boat work.

“And you will bring the woman.” He hesitated, his glass an inch from mine. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded. “Wait and hope.”

Our glasses clinked.

My backhanded reference to the closing line of theCount of Monte Cristowasn’t lost on Sandoval. He chuckled and nodded in approval, as I thought he might. I tossed back the rest of my rum like it was a cheap shot and stood. The expensive liquor burned a trail down my throat and hit my stomach like lit kerosene.

Our meeting was over. The American ex-con waited to escort me from the circle. Sandoval’s penetrating gaze dug into my back as I walked away. I had to ignore the urge to turn back for a last look.

At the main bar, I found Acosta. “We all need to go talk somewhere. Sandoval wants to meet on his damned boat.”

Acosta cursed. “This is not good, my friend. The government will not be happy if we bring violence to the Hotel Internacional.”

“Keeping your government happy comes in second to keeping my—” I stumbled over the phrasing, trying to decide on the title that described Sabrina, “client alive.”

Client didn’t feel like a big enough word to describe Sabrina.

God, I hated this plan.

Chapter 22

Sabrina

After I’d played my part in tonight’s events, I’d come upstairs, stripped, and taken a scalding hot shower. The pounding water eased my tense muscles and washed away the remains of my stress sweat. I wrapped up in the oversized hotel bathrobe, grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge, and flopped on the couch, totally comatose.

I’d been out of the shower for over an hour. Long enough that my short hair was dry and I had started to worry. What the hell was taking them so long?

My nerves ate a hole in my stomach, and the knots in my shoulders and neck had returned with a vengeance. On the TV, an episode of the 1990s show Friends dubbed in Spanish played quietly. A million worst-case scenarios ran through my head.Most ended with me and Michael trapped in Cuba forever or worse.

The doorknob rattled, and I bolted up from the couch, abandoning half a lukewarm beer on the coffee table. My heart lurched, an uncomfortable mix of excitement, relief, and anxiety flooding my body. I paused, trying to untangle the mess. I was still trying to process all my emotions when Michael pushed inside.

“You’re okay?” The fear for his safety that I’d been diligently ignoring washed over me and slowly receded. He was fine, all in one piece, and standing there in front of me. My knees went weak with relief.Thank God.

“Of course.” He gripped my upper arms in his hands and squeezed reassuringly.

I collapsed into his broad chest and he enfolded me in his arms. Safe in his arms was where I’d wanted to be since the moment I saw Sandoval. I breathed in his scent, a mix of starched laundry and the coconut-scented hotel soap.

“What took so long? I was about to come looking for you.” I nuzzled into him, my ear pressed to his chest. The steady beat of his heart coaxed my own to slow its pounding rhythm. I soaked up his reassuring presence like I was a sponge.

“The meeting with Sandoval went as expected.” He tightened his grip on me, squeezing me closer like if he could he’d pull me inside himself.

I imagined being sheltered within his rib cage, shielded from danger, safe from everything. It was a tempting metaphor. I’d cling to the image to make it through the next day. I needed him. Soon everything would be back to normal, and I would be capable of running my life, but until then, he was my shelter.

“But?” I lifted my head to look at him. A new worry line creased his forehead. I reached up to cup his tense jaw and stroked my thumb over his five o’clock shadow.

“Sandoval wants to meet on his boat.” He took half a step back, putting space between us.

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