Page 149 of Stains of Desire
26
Axel
It's been almosttwo weeks since I left France. All four of Santiago's mountain homes have traces of Millie. The last one has a little girl's pink and purple blanket. It's soft and worn, and my heart aches more, remembering how Penelope told me Millie loved her blanket and stuffed animal. I'm not sure if this is the same or not, but I stuff it in my bag.
Every location that fails to produce Millie makes the clock in my head tick faster and louder. And the ache I feel to know how Penelope is doing and rescue her only intensifies with each passing day.
I promised her I would rescue Millie, no matter what happened to her. I took the oath on our love. So no matter how much I need her, I keep moving forward.
And ever since I saw Millie on the video, my heart is torn further.
I call Gustave on the burner phone and tell him I'm at another dead end and heading to Colombia. I drive from Venezuela through the border passing Gustave has arranged. It takes several days to get through the mountain terrain of Venezuela. I get to Colombia, and smoke flies out of my vehicle.
"Shit," I yell, pounding on the steering wheel.
I pull over in a parking lot and call Gustave again.
"My radiator is blown. I need a new vehicle."
"Where are you?"
"Bucaramanga."
Silence.
"Are you still there?" I ask.
He clears his throat. "Yeah. I'll get you a new vehicle. It might take a day. I'll let you know when I arrange it."
"All right." I walk several blocks with my backpack, searching for a hotel, when I stop, dead in my tracks.
At first, I think she's an apparition and I'm going crazy. But when she turns, her green eyes catch mine, and her hand flies over her heart.
Gustave's wife, Bernadette, is with her. I only met her briefly, the night I was at their house in France. They have shopping bags in their hands, and a driver steps away from the curb and takes them. While he puts the items in the trunk, she grabs Bernadette's hand to steady herself.
Bernadette sees me, but I barely notice. I can't take my eyes off Penelope.
Bernadette says something to the driver and then steps in front of Penelope, cutting off our gaze. They walk several stores down, and Penelope sneaks a look at me before walking into a coffee shop.
I put my hat on, walk across the street, buy a coffee, and slide in the booth behind her. It's two in the afternoon, and no one else is in the restaurant. She sits with her back to me. The scent of her skin flares in my nostrils, stirring my ache. Her energy radiates off her, buzzing against me.
"I need to go to the restroom," she says then gets up and leaves.
I wait a minute then follow, entering the women's room and locking it. Penelope's tears fall as she steps forward.
I pull her into my arms, and she sobs.
"Shhh. Oh God, I missed you, green eyes," I murmur into her ear.
"He said you were dead. Then Bernadette said you weren't," she cries.
"Shhh. Why are you in Colombia?"
"After the shooting—"
"What shooting?" My pulse increases.
"Jorge Cano and Eduardo Macias were shot at the embassy party in Belize. Zoe was singing, and the lights went out. I didn't see her after they came back on, the men were dead."
