Page 50 of High Intensity

An hour or so later, when Hayley still hasn’t moved despite Nugget occasionally shifting around on the bed, I get up to check on her. She appears to be asleep again and as I return to my seat, the door opens a crack, through which Sloane pokes her head. She glances at the bed before slipping inside the room.

“She asleep?”

“Again. She was awake for a bit and actually spoke.”

“She talked to you?” Sloane says a little too loud, slipping into the room.

Behind her one of the nurses pokes her head in.

“She’s sleeping,” I remind Sloane and inform the nurse.

The woman nods and indicates, “I’ll come back in a bit.”

“She talked to you?” Sloane repeats on a whisper when the nurse disappears.

“She just asked about the dog and then she went back to sleep. I didn’t want to push it.”

“Probably best. It’s good progress though.”

Sloane sits down on the armrest of my chair and I shift to give her some room.

“Reason I came in is Junior Ewing just got back to me,” Sloane says in a low voice, leaning in. “The FBI is sending in a team to cover the girl. It’s your encounter in the parking lot which prompted that move. They pulled the hospital security feed covering the parking lot and were able to get a good view of the guy. Stefano Puma is his real name, and he’s a known associate of the Ovando crime family which, apparently, has been on law enforcement’s radar for years. They’re responsible for sixty percent of the cocaine production in Bolivia.”

“How does a guy like that represent Vallard?”

“As it turns out, he doesn’t. Ewing got hold of Vallard, who denied having sent anyone.”

I’m so confused. What would a Bolivian crime family want with me?

Apparently, my facial expression betrays my bafflement, because Sloane immediately offers up a possible scenario.

“Vallard Logistics is one of the bigger transporters between the U.S. and South America. For that reason alone, it would hold the interest of a producer of cocaine, if they were looking for alternate ways to move their product.”

“Pretend I’m ignorant,” I tell Sloane. It’s not like I’m well-versed in drug trafficking. “Alternate to what?”

She shrugs. “Cartels. Generally, they control the movement of the drugs and thus reel in the bulk of the profits. If the Ovandos could take control of one of the largest transport companies, they could bypass the cartels.”

My mind spins as I try to fit that information in with what happened this past week.

“Are you saying they brought down that plane? What purpose would it serve to kill an entire family?” I mutter under my breath, keeping an eye on the bed.

“I guess they’re still figuring that out, but if the objective was to take out the family, they fucked up. Which is why the FBI wants a detail on her…” She indicates Hayley in the bed. “And her uncle is placed under protection in the U.S. Embassy in Guatemala until he can be safely extracted and brought Stateside.”

“But why approach me?”

“Who knows? But unfortunately, if they think they may be able to get to Hayley through you, it means you’re not exactly safe either.”

Well, damn, it feels like someone just walked over my grave.

Ending up on the radar of a Bolivian crime family was not part of my bucket list items.

Fifteen

Jillian

Sloane pointedly ignores my obvious irritation, which only annoys me more.

I have five dogs—as I’ve pointed out several times, for Pete’s sake—and none of them, not even Nugget, would allow anyone to get too close to me without doing some damage. They may look like placid animals, but I have no doubt each one of them would protect me with their life.

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