They stared at her, mouths open.
Pitón caught her chin between his fingers, turned her face to look at her bruised cheek. “What about your face?”
“You created that problem, not I.”
Pitón stepped back, his expression shifting from anger to resignation. “Topo, take her with you. If she tries to run, shoot her. If she says anything she shouldn’t, shoot her. If she gets away from you, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand,güevón?”
Topo nodded, looking less than happy about the arrangement. “Don’t run,Hermana. I don’t want to shoot you.”
“I won’t run, Topo.”
Topo reached inside his shirt and drew out the key that hung on a chain around his neck. He unlocked the main doors, and they walked out into the street, the sun warm on Gabriela’s face, the air humid but fresh.
Topo pointed with a jerk of his head. “Those men are selling things.”
Almost directly across the street, two men were doing a brisk business in black-market goods, their wares stacked behind them.
As she’d done last time, Gabriela turned her head to the left and to the right then looked upward, hoping to give anyone surveilling the place a good look at her face. “Let’s go and see what they have.”
Gabriela crossed the street and waited her turn, watching the men work. One, a tall, good-looking black man, kept track of the money, a pistol visible in the waistband of his jeans, while his partner, a man with a Cuban accent, negotiated with customers, his face turned away from her.
The first thing Gabriela noticed was how comparatively little these men were charging, not turning anyone away, but making sure that everyone was able to afford what they needed, whether they paid in bolivars, Colombian pesos, or US dollars. The mother who needed diapers and condoms, the grandmother who was desperate for corn flour, the boy sent for rice—no one left empty-handed.
Then the Cuban turned to her, met her gaze—and Gabriela’s heart seemed to stop.
God, he was good-looking, his features a mix of European, Latin, and African, his lips full, his eyes a light shade of gray.
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.
His gaze focused on her bruised cheek. “Is there something you need,Hermana?”
Somehow, she found the words. “Tampones o toallas sanitarias, por favor.”Tampons or pads, please.
“Sí, we have those, but not here.” He turned to the man behind him, who hurried away. “I’ve sent my friend upstairs to get them.”
“Gracias.” Gabriela glanced back to find Topo standing a good five feet behind her, probably embarrassed.
“Is there anything else you need,Hermana?” the Cuban asked.
She’d just opened her mouth to answer, when the man leaned closer and whispered for her ears alone.
“We’re here to free you and the other hostages, Sister,” he said in perfect American English. “Don’t be afraid.”
Holy shit!
Adrenaline hit her bloodstream, but she kept her composure.
She pretended to examine a bag of coffee beans. “We’re in the basement. They have seventeen men. There’s an armed guard with us at all times. The stairway to the basement is to the right of the main doors. There’s no other way out of that room. The windows are too high and barred. Topo, the man behind me with the glasses, has instructions to shoot if I say too much or try to run.”
He looked behind her, saw Topo, then switched to Spanish. “The coffee beans are yours,Hermana. Will you pray for me?”
“Of course.” Overwhelmed with relief, she made the sign of the cross. “May God bless you and keep you. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
The other man, who must also have been a US operative, reappeared with a box of maxi pads and a box of tampons in his hands. “For you,Hermana.”
She paid with the handful of dollar bills Topo had given her, the intensity in the man’s gray eyes offering reassurance.
Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Gabriela hurried back to Topo, her hands full. “They gave me the coffee beans in exchange for a blessing. See? I told you I would not try to run away.”