Page 85 of Struck By Love

Grace and Mateo, on the other hand, had no right to be inside the compound.Oh, dear.Lena should never have implied to Grace that payroll wasn’t her real job. A little unpleasant pressure and the female civilian, who had no training in interrogation, might let the cat out of the bag, jeopardizing Lena’s entire mission.

* * *

With Mateo’s head heavy on her chest, Grace stiffened at the sight of headlights sweeping over the terrain around her. She turned to her left to see a convoy lining up at the cargo bays at the far end of the warehouse. Their bright headlights seemed to spotlight the small vehicle in which she sat. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare.

Oh no.This did not bode well. Lena had implied that the National Army might show up to salvage their weapons. Was that happening right now? With her heart spurred to a gallop, Grace heard the bay doors rumble open. Maybe the trucks would all slip inside, and no one would bother asking what she was doing out here.

But that didn’t happen. With rising alarm, she realized a pickup truck had broken out of line and was rolling toward them. She could sense the two occupants in the cab discussing what they saw‍—a woman sitting in a car with a child on her lap. Should she get out and run away? Where would she go? She had no idea where she was, let alone how she was getting out of the country.

Loath to disturb Mateo, she held perfectly still. The knock on her passenger-side window made her break out into a cold sweat. She hadn’t seen anyone get out of the pickup.

“Abre la puerta,” barked the dark shadow bending to see into the car.Open the door.

Grace flinched as a flashlight panned her face, then dropped to take in Mateo.

“¡Ahora!”Now.

Realizing a pistol was pointed at her, Grace reluctantly released the lock. The door swung open. Rough hands seized her, forcing her paralyzed limbs to unfurl. She rose on quaking legs, her grip on Mateo ferocious. Remarkably, he did not wake up.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The rapid-fire Spanish would have been hard to understand if the questions weren’t expected. “I’m just waiting for my friend to finish work.”

“You’re North American?”

Grace’s accent had given her away. Her mouth turned as dry as ash. Denying as much would be foolish since she carried a U.S. passport. “Yes.”

“Whose child is this?”

“He’s mine. I’ve adopted him.” She gave a thought to the precious dossier, lying in her backpack on the rear seat of the car.

Her inquisitor seized her by the arm. “Come with me. Joaquim, search this vehicle. Bring anything you find that identifies the owner.”

Certain she had made things worse for Lena, Grace let herself be marched through the same door the woman had entered earlier. Halogen lighting illuminated the building’s immense interior, which smelled of pine pallets and gun oil. A truck blared intermittently as it backed up into the loading area. All around them were stacks upon stacks of crates and boxes. At one end, a staircase led to second-story offices, all overlooking the interior. Lena had to be up there.

Grace took measure of the man gripping her arm. His square jaw, broad cheekbones, and deep-set eyes all combined to make him look like a brute. He wore an olive-colored uniform with a red patch and double gold bars identifying him as an officer of the National Army.

“Oscar,” he called, dragging her toward the only man not dressed in combat fatigues.

Slim and wearing a pink silk shirt under a dove-gray suit jacket, Oscar turned an inquiring gaze at them. Perfectly shaped eyebrows winged with surprise.

“Do you know thisnorteamericana?” demanded her captor.

Oscar’s eyes narrowed as he took closer stock of her. “No,Capitán. Where did you find her?”

It was all Grace could do to keep up with their rapid-fire Spanish.

“She was sitting in a car outside, waiting, she said, for her friend to get off of work.”

Oscar’s head swiveled, and his eyes rose toward the offices where a light shone. “Lena Montoya,” he muttered with contempt.

In that instant, a soldier came running up to them, bearing Grace’s backpack. “I found this,Capitán. But there’s no registration on the car.”

Oscar snatched the backpack from the soldier and began to pick through it. To Grace’s rising concern, he withdrew Mateo’s dossier and riffled through it. “These are adoption papers.”

“Yes. I’m…I’m just trying to take my son back to the U.S.” Fear made it harder than usual to convey her thoughts clearly.

He had her passport now and was comparing her with the photo in it.

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