Page 56 of The Witness

“I didn’t like it, but there wasn’t a better alternative that got Sabrina what she wanted.” I never wanted to be in a position like that again. Offering Sabrina to Sandoval had been gut-wrenching for her and me.

“Smart man. Always give a woman what she wants.” Gunter chuckled.

“Do we have any idea what happened after we got out of there?” I asked Gunter and Smith.

“I’ve spoken to an old acquaintance at DI, the Cuban Intelligence Directorate. It was officer Mora’s fault things went to shit. He was showboating instead of doing his job. Sandoval got the drop on him and took Mora hostage.”

“At knife point?” I asked.

“Yes.” Smith raised an eyebrow.

“My knife.” I recalled the sick feeling in my gut when I passed the blade to Sandoval.

“Shit.” Gunter shared a wry smile with us both.

“Gunfight broke out. Shot up a bunch of boats at the Hotel Internacional Marina. Sandoval’s Jabberwocky burned to thewaterline. Apparently, the smoke was visible to half of Havana. Most of Sandoval’s guys escaped. Mora’s in surgery. And Sandoval took a bullet in the leg before getting arrested.”

“Mora’s going to wish he’d joined Acosta here in Miami. That’s a career ender,” Gunter said.

“Could be.” Smith didn’t look convinced.

“He was young and stupid,” Gunter added.

“Or?” Smith prompted me and Gunter to think beyond the obvious.

“A faction in Sandoval’s organization paid him to botch the arrest?” I could see it all now. Mora had been selling me so hard on how much he loved Cuba. What a good patriot he was. He’d been planning to pin Sandoval’s escape on Acosta the whole time.

“Who was paid?” Sabrina had silently slipped into the room.

We all stared at her. She looked windblown and a little sunburned, but a lightness around her eyes made her look younger and happier than I’d ever seen. Another surge of accomplishment washed over me. We’d survived the most ridiculously risky bullshit plan and made it home safe.

“We don’t know for sure anyone was bribed.” Gunter turned in his seat. His tone was cautious, like he expected her to fall apart at any moment. Her smile faded, but her spine stayed ramrod straight.

“The other PNR officer: Mora.” After the vandalism at Viande, I’d learned my lesson. I wasn’t hiding shit from Sabrina. She was smart and could handle the truth.

I dared a quick look at Smith to see if I’d pissed him off by telling her my theory. The calculating look of agreement on his face told me all I needed to know. Smith not only approved of me sharing information with Sabrina, he liked my Mora theory.

I stood and pulled another chair over to face Smith’s desk and offered it to Sabrina. She sat down slowly, processing what I’d said. “Did Sandoval get away?”

“No.” I rushed to answer.

“Am I safe? Is this all over?” She gripped the narrow arms of the chair so hard the kitchen scars on her knuckles seemed to pop white and angry from the backs of her hands.

None of us said anything. I looked from Smith to Gunter, waiting for one of them to take the lead. They had all the information I was the muscle. The bodyguard. Not the spy.

“God damnit. I’m a full-grown woman. I’ve been on my own for years. Don’t think you can put me on the sidelines while you manly men handle this. It’s my life. I want to go home. I want to stop looking over my shoulder—being afraid. My restaurant opens in six weeks.” She laughed at the impossibility of the last statement and dropped her head into her hands. “I want to have a merry Christmas.”

“It’s complicated,” Gunter started. His smooth European accent was like a candy coating on the bullshit answer.

“No, I’m not talking to you, Gunter.” Sabrina stood and loomed over Smith, seated at his desk. She might not have been tall, but the power that radiated from her made even me feel small. This was the badass chef that made line cooks tremble and lazy wait staff rush to do her bidding. “I’m talking to you, John Smith. Agent Wright said you’d fix my problems. Well… fix them. It’s time. I did as you asked. I risked my life in Cuba. For what?”

“Fair question.” Smith nodded slowly and maintained eye contact with Sabrina, treating her like an equal or valued client, not a victim that needed to be coddled. It was a stark contrast to how he’d spoken to her before today. “Sandoval is in jail and injured. His odds of surviving a Cuban prison’s medical wardaren’t good. My primary concern is that the remains of his organization may come looking for retribution.”

“He seemed like the kind that inspired fear, not loyalty. So, what are the odds?” she asked.

“More than you should risk.” I’d gotten her home safe. Damn if I’d let her get hurt now.

“Gunter, work your Cuban and Interpol contacts and see what they have to say. In the meantime, Quinn will set up a schedule for a twenty-four-hour guard detail at your home and restaurant.”

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