Today’s Forecast Just Another Shitstorm （Two Months Later） #3
The truck idled in the middle of the road.
She tried to collect herself, and it was several minutes before she was able to ease down the panicked gasps.
And all the while, her hands grasped the steering wheel with the death grip of someone hanging onto a ledge one hundred stories in the air.
Someone who knew they could never possibly hold on long enough to be rescued, but were foolish enough, and desperate enough, to try anyway.
The goat continued on its merry way, completely unaware of the crisis it nearly became the center of.
Even once she’d overcome the memories assaulting her, her past circled around and attacked from the other side.
In the days after Joey’s death, days spent sleeping on the couch of a friend of a friend of someone she knew from class, she’d become obsessed with the news.
She soaked up every word, and for a week, all it seemed anyone could talk about was that the police and the FBI were searching for members of the 619 Crew in the wake of the late-night shoot-out that left nine dead.
A crew that worked under the protection of Hector Colonel’s cartel out of Argentina.
Hector Colonel was a dead man.
If it was the last thing she did, she would end the man responsible for her brother’s death.
The man who was the reason her family could no longer… Well, they’d never loved her. But maybe they’d tolerated her at one point. Now she didn’t even have that.
He’d taken everything from her. And when you didn’t have much, you viciously guarded what you had.
So, in retrospect, Joey’s death was the reason she’d offered herself to a monster. When her chance came, it would be revenge she’d take. Not justice. Because justice didn’t exist if the victim wasn’t alive to enjoy it.
But she hadn’t killed Hector Colonel. Instead, she’d been convinced it was her role to infiltrate the family from deep within.
Use his son, Guillermo, and his obsession with her to gain access to everything she could within the cartel and pass that information back to her handler.
Hector was more useful to her alive than dead.
Besides, when she brought his whole operation down, it would be so much more satisfying to look down on him in the dirt at her feet, groveling.
She wanted to see his eyes light up with the knowledge, then the fear, that this little puta his son refused to put aside was the reason everything he had was in ruin.
The fantasy was so much better when it was not only Hector but also his sons, Guillermo and Ignacio. All three of those sadistic fucks deserved everything coming for them.
However, it was just a fantasy, and now there was no hope of it coming true.
Hector had been killed last August. The cartel had teetered briefly with the news, but Guillermo had snapped the reins quickly and brought the organization to heel.
And apparently, now she’d been outed. Hard to bring anyone to their knees when you were barely treading water to survive.
Focus. That’s what she needed to do. Focus on getting home—to the States, to safety. Worry about the rest later.
She put the truck back in gear and continued down the road.
But that was the problem. How was she going to get home?
She’d clearly been burned, which meant all exit contacts were unusable.
She had no money, save for a few Argentine pesos that were left in the pouch of the backpack she carried.
She was driving a stolen truck that would soon run out of fuel.
That meant she’d either have to hitchhike, which was very inadvisable given that Guillermo had spies everywhere, or steal another vehicle in order to make her way to the border.
Without papers, getting across the border to Peru, let alone into the United States, was a near-impossible feat. What the hell was she going to do?
It was about three hours later, as she skirted the city of Villa La Angostura, that a long-shot solution came to her.
“M,” she whispered.
Chances were, he was long gone from the contact information she’d once had for him, but right now, he was the only hope she had. Finding him was going to take a miracle.
She glanced down at the crucifix that had disappeared underneath her stolen shirt. Did it have one more miracle left in it? She pulled the cross out, kissed it, and sent up another prayer before dropping it back down between the material and her skin.
She needed a phone that couldn’t be traced, so she started searching for a store that sold pay-as-you-go phones.
Ten minutes later, with five phones in hand and no pesos left, she plugged in the first to charge it through the cigarette lighter in the truck and continued north.
In fifteen minutes, she would attempt the call.
If he didn’t answer, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do next.
All her hopes for survival rested in the hands of a man she’d never seen, let alone met. A man who’d been merely a voice on a secure line, answering her calls with bad jokes she never knew the answers to, and what sounded like the sexiest smile on his face as he delivered the punch line.
A man who’d begged her to rethink this assignment.
Guess he’d be able to tell her he’d told her so.
She hoped to God he’d pick up the phone. If he did, she’d let him tell her that a million times if he’d help her.