Once Michelle dove into her training, it didn’t take long for her to love it. Luke had been right to start referring to her by her real name. Everyone at ICE did. It was like being a new person—someone who wasn’t doomed to a life with an evil drug lord.

Every morning, she ate breakfast in the mess with Luke where he’d go over the day’s agenda. From there, she spent two hours on the firing range with Henri. Good Lord, that woman knew her stuff. After three days, Michelle could tell the difference between an M4 and an AK-47, she could fire every weapon they had, though she was more accurate with a rifle. Henri said everyone was, but handguns were important, too. She’d given Michelle a 9mm Glock to learn. Henri explained the longer the muzzle, the greater the accuracy. Elegant pistols like James Bond’s Walther PPK looked sleek, but they took more finesse.

Michelle liked the feel of a gun in her hands. It gave her a sense of power. They were solid and kicked enough to tell her she was handling some serious fire power.

After mornings at the range, Luke met her for “bookwork” which didn’t always come from a book and changed every day. He taught her things she’d never think of like how to open a car door with a piece of string, how to lose a tail, making weapons out of ordinary things like turning an umbrella into a club by hiding a few spanners inside.

Today’s lesson was about how to be a human lie detector.

“Why not just use a polygraph?” she asked, looking around the empty classroom. But all she saw were tables, desks and AV equipment.

“Polygraphs are great and there are people who spend their lives specializing in them, but sometimes it’s not always possible to hook someone up. It takes equipment for starters. And it’s always nice if you have a somewhat willing subject. On top of that, when you’re working undercover, you often don’t want your target to know you’re observing him.”

“Or her?”

“Yes, ma’am. But for this lesson I’ll speak in the masculine to keep it easy.” Luke wrote the word “baseline” on the whiteboard. “When a polygraph begins, the analyst establishes a baseline with a few basic questions where the answers are obvious.”

“Like what is your name?”

“Probably, but something more like, what color is the grass in a well-manicured lawn. I say that because if grass isn’t taken care of, it’s brown, but with this question, the answer should undoubtedly be—”

“Green.”

“All right, so let’s say you’re on an op where you’re infiltrating a—”

“Drug cartel?”

“Why not?” Luke capped and recapped his pen, then wrote: observe mannerisms. “And you’re being fed information, but are not sure you can rely on your informant.”

“That’s a problem.”

“It is, but the good thing is human beings, for the most part, are terrible liars. After you’ve talked with the person for a while, you can familiarize yourself with his mannerisms when he is not lying. Make the person comfortable. Then ask him what he already knows—things he has no reason to lie about.”

“Then you watch?”

“Yep. Like you toy with your hair.”

“I do?” As she said it, she twirled a lock with her finger. Immediately realizing what she’d done, she stopped and folded her hands in her lap.

“It’s not a bad thing.” He moved to a seat, tapped the touchpad on his laptop and the screen at the front of the classroom illuminated. “Here’s a list of common human quirks people affect when lying.”

Michelle scanned the screen: tapping foot, tossing hair, biting fingernails, unusual facial expressions, lowering the eyes, throat clearing, adjusting clothes, rambling, delayed response and the list went on. “How am I supposed to remember all that?”

“There’s no need to. That’s why you form a baseline first. And remember, the subject will exhibit one of these behaviors in the first three to five seconds.” He clicked to the next screen. “A guilty person often gives you an indirect or a non-answer.”

“El Padrino does that all the time.”

“He does, and it’s hard to believe a word that comes out of his mouth.” Luke pushed his seat back and tapped his foot. “Sometimes the feet give away more than faces. For example, if a person is telling the truth to a customs agent his feet are usually addressing the agent. If not, there is a possibility that he’s lying. A drug smuggler might point the toes of one foot toward an exit when going through customs.”

“Jeez, I’d better watch how I stand the next time.”

“They’re just signs. Not failsafe bets.”

Luke went on to explain about freezing or staring too hard or overreacting.

Michelle listened while her palms grew moist. She’d never dreamed observation could be used to such an extreme. But it all made sense and Luke had observed her plenty before she knew he was a spy. “Did you use this stuff on me?”

“I have to admit at first I didn’t know what to think of you.”

“And now?”

“If you told me a lie, I’d know.”

“Let me try it on you.”

He frowned and crossed his arms.

“You don’t like that idea, do you?”

“Give it a whirl.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Luke.”

“I mean your last name.”

He gave her a look with a cocky grin. “If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because when you said your first name, it came out in a snap. Then you hesitated when I asked for your last name. I’m sure you won’t have to kill me because you cocked your head and gave me a look—a sexy look.”

“Maybe I was just flirting.”

Heat flashed up the back of her neck. “I don’t think so. You haven’t flirted with me since we arrived.”

Tapping his foot, he lowered his gaze. “I don’t flirt.”

“Lie number two. Goodness, and here I thought you to be virtuous.”

He frowned, giving her an annoyed glance that told her to back off. “Maybe you’re taking your lessons too literally.”

“Oh? I thought I was applying myself well.” She looked him up and down. If only she could ask him about the flirting thing. What could she say to re-earn his trust? Nothing she’d tried had worked. He didn’t even flinch when she bluntly stated that he hadn’t flirted with her since they arrived at ICE.

Gosh, he hadn’t even flirted when teaching her self-defense.

***

A few days later, Michelle followed Luke into the computer lab—now one of her favorite places at ICE.

Asa turned in her chair as they walked in. One of the few Icelanders who worked at ICE, Asa was a computer genius, the brains behind their information gathering expertise. “Hey,” she said sounding none too happy while she waved them over.

“What’s up?” Luke asked, looking over her shoulder at the monitor filled with lines of data. Asa had called them both to the lab.

“I’ve run traces upside down and backwards on the phone number you gave me. It’s an answering service for professionals—mainly doctors in Mexico City.” Asa swiveled her chair around to face her computer. “After you called Dr. Labastida, these are all the calls that were placed from the center over the course of the next hour. Do you recognize any of the numbers?”

Michelle leaned in and tapped her lips. “No. Not that I use the phone often enough to recognize any number.” She straightened and glanced at Luke. “El Padrino didn’t give me his direct contact information for a reason. Not even security at Hacienda Paraiso can contact him directly.”

“We need to get into the call center in Mexico City,” Luke said.

“Already done.” Asa clicked to another screen. “Garth sent in an asset two days ago. He came up with nothing…there is no outgoing phone number for El Padrino.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he use a call center if his messages aren’t forwarded?”

“Someone could be manually delivering them?” Michelle shrugged. Anyone in Mexico could be on the payroll. Anyone in the world for that matter.

“You might be on to something.” Luke tapped his chin with his pointer finger. “The other problem is we need to be very careful about surveillance or leaving any kind of message. A man like Morales would drop the service in a heartbeat if he suspected someone was getting close.”

“Even if he dreamed about it,” Michelle said. “I think the only person who can bring him out of hiding is me.”

“No.”

“But he’s probably looking for me now.” Her eyes widened as she covered her mouth and gasped.

“What is it?” asked Asa.

“Do you think my family might be in danger?” Her stomach roiled, making her gulp back bile.

Asa shifted her gaze to Luke. “Does he know who they are?”

Michelle pressed the heels of her hands into her temples. “I don’t know. He’s never spoken of them—I-I don’t even know where they are.”

Asa turned to her keyboard. “What’s your birthdate and where were you born?”

“May 16th, 1997. I was born in Bakersfield, California.”

“Parents’ names?”

A sheen of sweat rose on Michelle’s skin. Did she want to find them? Yes! “Nancy and Larry Bradford.”

In seconds, Asa had the birth record. Luke leaned in. “Is your middle name Angela?”

Covering her mouth, tears blurred her vision. “Yes.”

“And you have a brother named Chadwick?”

“Chad,” she eked out in a whisper.

Asa’s fingers clicked over the keys so fast. “We’ve got them. There’s a series of news articles. They lost their daughter in Puerto Vallarta in 2004. No trace. The investigation was closed as a cold case in 2008. Parents devastated. Look here, they had a child in 2006. A girl named Cynthia.”

“I have a sister?” God, she couldn’t breathe. Mom and Dad searched for me?

“Jà, it looks like you do.” Asa continued scrolling. “And they moved to Ames, Iowa right after the birth.”

Michelle’s next thought made her entire body tense. “Oh my God, if you could find them so easily, so can El Padrino.”

Luke nodded. “She’s right. We need to notify the FBI straightaway and have them put surveillance on the family.”

She could hardly breathe. That was her family they were talking about and all they planned to do was alert the FBI? “I need you to fly me back to the states. I’m the one who should warn them right away.”

“Absolutely not. If you think Morales will look for you there, then that’s the last place you should be.”

“But what if he tries to hurt them?”

“Asa, get the Bradfords on the phone. Ask them something innocuous. Like…”

Still finding it difficult to breathe, Michelle wanted to push Asa aside and take charge of the keys. Help! My parents’ lives are in danger! “Like do they need the police? Or are they safe? Or tell them their daughter has been found?”

“Easy there.” Luke grabbed her shoulders and held them firmly. “We definitely want you to be reunited with your parents, but only once we’ve determined it is safe for both you and your family.”

Michelle wanted to jump out of her skin. Mom and Dad had looked for her for four years. They’d worried about her. They’d missed her. Didn’t Luke realize how panicky she felt?

He turned to Asa. “Tell them you’re from the police. Say…there has been some mild property damage in the area—like damaged mailboxes. The police think it’s kids, but they’re asking citizens to call—give them the callback number for the Ames’ police—and report if they see anything suspicious.”

“Got it.” Asa worked quickly and dialed the number, switching the sound to speaker.

Luke wrapped his arm around Michelle’s shoulder. “Sorry, love, but you cannot say a word. If they know you’re on the other end of the line, you could be putting them in danger. Until we know what Morales is up to, their best defense is ignorance.”

Shaking her head, she covered her mouth as her mother’s voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Bradford?” Asa sounded official, affecting an American accent.

“Yes.”

Michelle’s knees gave out. Tears welled in her eyes while Asa relayed the message. If only she could grab the headset away and tell her mother she was alive. But Luke was right. She absolutely could not do anything to put them in danger.

“Have you seen anything odd in your neighborhood?” Asa asked.

“Nothing at all. I haven’t even seen a damaged mailbox and I just went for groceries this morning.”

Unable to take any more, Michelle threw her arms around Luke and muffled her cries in his shoulder.

“Thank you, ma’am. You have a nice day now.”

As soon as the line clicked, Michelle pushed away. “I have to see them!”

“You will. But first, we’re going to put surveillance on their house.” Luke pointed to Asa. “Get it done now.”

“Straightaway, sir.”

The room spun. Surveillance? Did Luke honestly believe putting a couple of officers outside the house would stop El Padrino? Mercy, it was her mother on the phone—and after fifteen years, Michelle still recognized the voice. Her heart twisted and pulled. Tears poured from her eyes. “No! Surveillance isn’t good enough. I’m the only one who can draw El Padrino out. He’ll come after me. And there’s no way I’m going to hide in Iceland and let him get to my family.”

“Stop. Think. First of all, you don’t even know if he’s got people in Iowa. It’s a risk.”

Shaking her fists, she sucked in a gasp through her teeth. “But he could have someone watching them.”

“That’s another reason you must stay away.” Luke pulled her into the hallway. “I cannot let you go there. We’re close. I can taste it and I am the one who will go in and take him down.”

“No. I’m the one who can draw him out of hiding.”

“What about the crown of pain?”

Rage boiled through her as she hit her fists against his shoulders. “You would bring that up! This is my family. I’ve survived the crown of pain before—besides you disabled it.”

“That doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed.” Luke grabbed her arms and gave them a shake. “Think, Mia—”

She stamped her foot. “Michelle.”

“I’m dealing with your family’s security right now, but you are not going to Iowa or back to Mexico and that’s final.” His face was redder than a tomato, his nostrils flared. With a low growl, he turned and headed off. “I’m canceling tonight’s sparring session.”

She stood watching him, her entire body shaking.He didn’t understand how much she needed to save her parents from that monster. That’s final? Luke understands nothing! Clenching her fists, Michelle shook all the way to her toes. “I thought you were a hero, but you’re nothing but a big jerk!”

Sobbing, she turned and ran the other direction. She had no idea where she was headed, but it was anywhere as far away from Luke What’s-his-face as she could get. The man was an overbearing, bombastic, controlling toad. He didn’t understand anything about her.

She could barely see through the distortion of her tears, but onward she ran. He’d once called her immature. Yes, she might be. She might be naïve in the ways of the world, but she wasn’t about to crumble into a crying heap and let the people at ICE take over her life. No, no, no. How could she sit back and let Luke run everything as if she had no say whatsoever? I am no one’s pawn! Mia was dead. Michelle Bradford had spent enough of her life unable to make her own decisions.

Reaching the end of the hall, she pushed through the door of the Command Center—the hub of operations which she had only visited on her tour of the facility. Her gaze homed on one commanding figure—a man Luke respected at ICE—someone she must talk to at this very moment. And his gruff guise didn’t frighten her any more than El Padrino.

“Mia? I’m surprised to see you here.” Garth moved toward her and gestured to a chair. “You look upset. Tell me, how are things progressing with your training?”

As she sat, everything poured out like a flowing faucet.