Page 41 of The Truths that Deceive

Henry and I might have been the illegitimate children of someone who was trafficked, left behindwhen our mom was taken, but we still didn’t experience what she did while she was in captivity. We just dealt with the upheaval growing up, handling life with a mother who was damaged beyond repair.

“Might have been.” Because we don’t know for sure if we were the indirect victims of trafficking. Our grandmother’s story kept changing. To protect herself or us, or our mother, I don’t know. And in a way, I’m not sure I want to know.

All we know is she got out. Physically, anyway.

And we made do when our grandmother died, and Mom was… Mom.

But her fate is one I want to avenge.

Her fate is one I don’t want others to go through, either directly or as a loved one left behind like Sofia likely is.

I thank her, shower, and pull on the top, flowy skirt, and boots I’ve been given. I leave the laundered cotton panties and wash mine. At first, I thought the skirt was a strange pick, but it actually lets my skin breathe so I’m grateful for it.

Then I go and search for Smith, scouting the area as I walk.

If it’s a base for illegal operations, it’s small. Three off-road vehicles and, as far as I can tell, just three men with guns and their rifles swung casually on their backs. They’re clearly not planning to use them.

Or maybe this area’s known for bandits. Maybe they’re just protecting livestock at night. There’s plenty of it, from what I can see.

The place doesn’t seem lived in as a dedicated home, but it’s used, so it brings me back to the fact that there might be something here to be guarded. Although, these guards don’t look like the lethal type. I could steal a truck and—then what? I know I’m in Belize. But beyond that? I know nothing.

And even if I got away, where the fuck would I go?

Smith has the fake passport, and I’m assuming mine got blown up in France.

Dammit, I miss being able to slide into news and the intel behind it all.

He’s also got a heavy-looking canvas pack that he pulled from the plane.

I’ll need to get into it before I can go anywhere.

The little building reminds me of what I’d expect a convent to look like. Scouring the area, I look for Smith. He’s nowhere to be seen, and as I step backward to take another glance around, I almost fall over a chicken and the chubby child who’s chasing it.

Sofia mutters something, sweeps up the child, and hands me an empty bowl. “Please help?”

With a sigh, I follow her in to begin my foray into kitchen prep.

Not my strong suit, by the way.

Sofia is in and out of the small kitchen while I chop and prep vegetables for a stew that looks like it’s going to be spicy.

“I’m sorry, Juniper,” she says, chasing off after her child again. When she returns with the little boy tucked under an arm, she tries to drag the big pot onto the woodfire stove.

“Unless we’re having boiled toddler,” I say in Spanish as I take the pot and fill it with water, “I’ll get everything going.”

Because clearly this is women’s work. But I don’t allow myself to utter those words. Instead, I look at the vegetables and grains as Sofia insists on putting the order of things in a line for me, so I can chop and put it into the stew. I smile and nod and wait for her to finish.

She’s older than me by a handful of years, and the child’s clearly hers, but if she’d just leave me alone, I can think. If I’m alone, maybe I can smuggle a knife as a weapon.

When she’s gone, I fall into a routine of thinking, chopping, and planning revenge against Smith. That and trying to untangle what I know.

“Nothing, that’s what,” I grumble.

But I must have stumbled onto something. And the CIA obviously thinks I’m behind the stolen weapon. The Bolivia connection bugs me, too.

Dammit, I haven’t done anything wrong. If I can just make sense of some things, like where the hell my field agent is, like who and where are the Collectors, like what’s become of the founder, Trenton, who might have raped and abused my mother… then I’ll happily walk in to talk to the CIA.

With a deep, resigned breath, I concentrate on chopping.

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