Page 13 of Fear No Evil

“Are you taking the antibiotics?”

“Yes.” And the malaria tablets. And her antianxiety pills. “How do we know the rebels won’t take our meds from us?”

“We don’t.”

Terrific. She could get stuck in the wilderness with a raging infection and a case of nerves, with malaria to top it off.

Jake brushed her shoulder while inclining his mouth to her ear. “It’s not too late to turn back, Lena. When we get to Bogotá, we’ll just say you’re feeling sick, and we’ll buy you a return ticket.Pas de problème.”

She whipped her face toward his so their noses were mere inches apart. “I amnotbacking‍?—”

He cut off her furious retort‍—spoken in English‍—by covering her mouth with his.

In an instant, she was in Paris again, being swept away by the kisses of the young man she adored. The taste and texture of his kiss was exactly the same, but his technique was layered with a confidence that sent her pulse skipping.

Maggie drew away with her heart trotting.Oh, dear.

“Fais attention.”

Jake’s cautionary word rankled. She didn’t need to be reminded not to speak English. She’d slipped, was all. Steeped in chagrin, she turned her attention out the window and peered down.

Far below them, the coast of Venezuela resembled a flouncy green skirt with a hem of sand and a ribbon of peach againstthe blue-green waters of the Western Caribbean. Picking out landmarks, she pinpointed the area called Maiquetía, just outside of Caracas, where she’d worked for fifteen months inside a government-owned weapons depot. Her objective then was to discover which countries were supplying President Maduro with what weapons. If not for Jake’s timely rescue, she might have gone up in a ball of fire as a rebel army, intent on a coup that had ultimately failed, was about to fire a missile at the warehouse.

Jake, with a direct line to the rebels, had gotten them to divert their missile, which ultimately struck a retreating convoy filled with the dictator’s arsenal. Jake had then whisked Maggie to safety aboard the USSTheodore Rooseveltbefore vanishing on her.

How bizarre that she was now with him again, ten miles in the air, headed for another tenuous assignment.

Would she rather be alone‍—or worse‍—paired with some stranger while pretending to be that man’s wife? No way. Jake would keep her safe while she got her gumption back. When all of this was over, she would be stronger and more self-reliant than ever.

CHAPTER 4

An hour and a half later, their plane began its descent toward Bogotá. Nine thousand feet above sea level, Bogotá filled a basin in the Eastern Cordillera Mountain range. Among the largest cities in the world, it covered the plateau like a patchwork quilt, home to nearly eight million people who clustered into neighborhoods of differing wealth and ethnicity, with the slums pushed up against the hills. Regardless of wealth, every citizen was privy to a mountain view.

As their airplane floundered through the thin air, the pilot addressed the passengers, alerting them to the local time and the weather. Maggie watched Jake adjust his watch, turning it back an hour to 5:32 P.M.

“You brought your watch with you?” She’d left hers at home. “You know they’ll probably take it from you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She was still puzzling his reply when their plane bounced three times before landing at El Dorado International Airport. Maggie had to peel her fingers off the arms of her chair. At least it wasn’t raining, this being August and one of the drier months of the year.

“We’re good.” Jake’s soothing tone told her he was conscious of her fear.

As the plane continued leisurely toward the terminal, she peered outside at the familiar mountain range. When the doors opened, admitting the one-of-a-kind scent of South America, she relaxed further, having had positive experiences in this part of the world. And when Jake clasped her elbow as they strode up the jetway with their carry-ons, a portion of her old confidence welled inside her.

It wasn’t long before their identical jackets, which, in hindsight, they should not have been told to wear, caught the attention of the Colombian customs agents inspecting their backpacks. All they’d brought with them were limited items Charles had instructed them to bring, along with the first-aid kits that had come inside of the backpack delivered to her door.

“You’re both with the UN?”

“Yes.” Jake’s dampening tone suggested to the official that he had better not ask any more questions. The UN’s agenda needed to be kept secret since Colombia’s counter-narcotics company, the JUNGLA, would jump at the chance to find out where the FARC were hiding.

To Maggie’s relief, the customs agent asked no more questions. After pawing through their packs, he returned them with a dismissive nod. Then, it was time to have their passports stamped and their tourist visas scrutinized.

A dour-faced customs official eyed both items, comparing the photos in their passports to their faces. “Which area of Colombia will you be visiting?” He spoke in English, the universal language of travel.

Maggie’s heart thumped unnecessarily. Their passports would certainly hold up to inspection, and Colombia’s visa policy was a lax one.

“JuustBogotá.”