Chapter One
In el restaurante, Guerrero lifted his coffee, finished the last of it, and then placed his mug on the table with a thud, gaining the full attention of the man across from him. “I already have a commitment. You know that better than anyone. She'll be wasting her time coming here.”
“Rafael, just listen to her.” Juan Diaz took a sip of his coffee.
“Don’t call me that name. That man died the night Anna was murdered.”
Juan released a long sigh. “Dr. Winters needs help, and the government doesn't have the manpower right now. Besides, no one can buy you off."
Guerrero's laugh held no humor. "Things never change. Greed motivates so many. You live in a house that was built on greed."
Juan startled and studied him for a long second. Then he shook his head. “A drug dealer built the home, but an honest man lives in it now.”
“An honest man with an escape tunnel.” Guerrero lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I’m letting the greed that caused my miseries to afflict you with my bad humor.” In his time on the multi-tasked police force, he’d discovered what greed could make evil people do, and it had been confirmed the night his wife died. Money corrupted people, leading them to do many unspeakable acts like murdering his wife and their unborn baby.
His friend scowled. "Greed? Most people just want to feed their families."
Guerrero dismissed the comment. “Who knows? That tunnel might come in handy one day.”
“My thoughts exactly. That’s why I left it alone.”
Leaning back in his chair, Guerrero raised his hand to indicate another coffee while he studied his friend. "Afraid someone might come after you?”
“No, of course not.” Juan stood. "Look. She'll be here in a few minutes. I wish I could stay and explain more, but I'm already late for an appointment. Please, Guerrero, think it over. Her recent problems might even tie into what you're working on. I'll talk to you later tonight."
What did Juan mean by that?
Guerrero watched his boyhood friend walk out of his favorite place to eat even though it was in a squalid part of Bella Ciudad, the capital. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to babysit some American woman, and it surprised him that Juan had asked her to come to this part of town. Guerrero liked to work on his own. He shouldn’t have ordered a second coffee, but he hadn’t slept well last night. He picked up his mug and swallowed several gulps, intending to leave before she arrived.
He started to rise, but he caught sight of a lady standing in the doorway of el restaurante, obviously out of place. She scanned the room, her gaze pausing on him. Too late. Resigned, he relaxed back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest as she started forward. While she made her way toward him, men's heads turned. Petite, dressed in a red jumpsuit, she looked like a delicate flower amidst rough underbrush.
Her gaze never wavered from his face even when several of the patrons made lurid comments as she passed them. Tourists didn't frequent this part of town, especially a tourist put together so nicely. She's trouble. One man reached out to grab at her. Guerrero started to rise when the lady in red quickly sidestepped the guy, avoiding his grasp. Beautiful, gusty, and foolish. Definitely trouble. His brief assessment of her reconfirmed he wouldn't take the job. He didn't need this. He was close to discovering what he’d been searching for the past three years: the identity of those who’d killed his wife and unborn child.
The lady in red paused, his table between them, and placed her hands on the back of the chair where Juan had been sitting. "Senor Guerrero?"
"Just Guerrero." He liked the fact his very name, which meant warrior, caused people to think twice before messing with him. The lady across from him didn’t seem one bit frightened.
“How did you know who I am?”
"Juan showed me a photo of you. May I sit down?"
He nodded, his sharp gaze taking in her medium length brown hair that framed her oval face, her eyes, the color of a forest in the mountains of Puerto Sierra, and her full lips, the color of cherries, ripe, juicy, and very tempting. He couldn't picture Dr. Tory Winters, a renowned archaeologist, among the ruins, living in primitive conditions, miles from civilization.
* * *
"I was told you might be able to help me…Guerrero," Tory said, amazed her voice held