Page 40 of The Truths that Deceive

“I can kill you.”

“Then try.”

A beat of thick silence spreads, sucking air.

“No.”

I sit up, taking her with me and let go of her hand, but pull her on my lap, right up over my hard cock, and she shudders. The heat at her pussy is enough to light fires.

“You know you’ll be paying for that.”

“Because I tried to choke you?”

I shake my head, beating a tattoo on her hip bone. “No. Because you didn’t try at all.”

“Maybe I wanted to get your attention.”

“Calista, you have it.”

“Who are you?—?”

“Ex-government. And I take on jobs for money. You’re one of them. That’s all you need to know.” I let her go and nod at the seat opposite. “Buckle up and rest. We’ll be landing soon.”

“Where?”

I look at her for a long minute. “I think you should be more concerned with who we’re going to see rather than where we’re going.”

Chapter 12

Calista

Belize in Central America is hardly even a country. It sits in a coastal region that hits a mountain and some dry desert along with jungle. The stretch is long, the regime unstable, and it’s one of those places that’s always overlooked.

So why the hell we’re here, in the jungle, at an abandoned mission is a mystery known to Smith only. I’m actually shocked he finally told me where we landed.

There’s a small city closer to the coast, but he chose the freaking abandoned area. The abandoned area being patrolled by men with machine guns.

It’s more well-known as a farming region, but really it reeks of illegal trade and militia. Or at least that’s what I think.

Smith is hardly forthcoming with any bit of detail.

He changed into cargo pants and an olive-green shirt on the plane and gave me an outfit to change into that’s more breathable than denim. It’s daytime and we had to drive along the coast and into a jungle made up of vines and trees and strange sounds to get to our destination.

“Walk.” That was his command a few hours ago, and as the heat and humidity slowly began to choke me, I just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Thank God I changed my clothes on the plane because this air is oppressively hot.

My lungs and legs burned until we finally came into a clearing with cooler air. In the middle of it stands a mission, complete with its tiny chapel.

A beautiful woman takes my hand and shows me to the shower that’s operated by a pump system. I also hear a groaning generator nearby. The woman, Sofia, talks in fast Spanish that I can understand, telling me about how many businesses have chosen to base themselves in other countries that are more politically stable than here.

“Instability hurts business,” I say as she shows me where things are for a shower, including a change of clothes. I narrow my eyes at the skirt. We’re in the jungle, so it’s an odd choice, but it’s clean so I don’t protest.

“The city has fallen into shambles. And many girls disappear. Some say for a better life, but I don’t know.” And the dark expression that crosses her face hurts my heart. “Things… they happen.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate by saying they happen to women. Her look grows darker, and it’s understood.

It’s the look I’ve seen on people close to trafficking, when I was helping to uncover cells in the early days of my CIA career, to read through chatter and track down a man who turned out to be a low-level Collector, someone who sold women no one wanted—no one among the superrich, that is.

Sofia’s expression is now full of rage and anger and pain, and that tells me it happened to someone she knew.

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