Oliver spoke rapid-fire Spanish to someone on the other end of the phone as I tapped my fingers nervously against the windowsill.

The body, or what was once a body, had given us no clues. I hadn’t really expected it to. We were just fortunate enough that the man’s head was still attached.

Oliver had taken a picture, which seemed gruesome under the circumstances, all the while talking to a man in a white lab coat. The only word I picked up at all was dinero. Money. And they’d both said it which meant that either the guy in the lab coat was asking for it, or Oliver was offering it.

They shook hands not long after, and Oliver motioned me to follow him. His contact sat outside the building, pipe in hand as he looked about as if enjoying the blinding sun. When he saw us, he tipped the pipe in our direction and walked away.

Oliver’s hand came down on my shoulder with a jarring thump as he spoke louder than normal. “Cerveza, mi amigo.”

We didn’t walk far before Oliver ducked inside a cantina that looked like the Cuban equivalent to what I thought of as a knife and gun club. The patrons, sketchy at best, cast a glance over their drinks, eyeing us like fresh meat until Oliver knocked on the bar top, calling the bartender to us like a magnet.

A few words were exchanged, and the bartender walked off.

Keeping silent had never been so hard. If it had at least been English, I would have had some idea what was going on.

It wasn’t long before the bartender was back. He gave Oliver a slight nod, and then moved down the bar.

Oliver nudged me, eyes cutting to the door as if to say, “We’re leaving.”

I followed him out, keeping step with him as we rounded the building and came to a stop next to a door. He rapped twice on it and it swung open. When it closed behind us, Oliver led us around stacked crates to the furthest corner of the room.

His contact sat on an overturned keg, puffing away on his pipe.

“It’s done,” the man said, startling me.

“Send this in and have the results from the coroner sent to me as soon as possible,” Oliver said, handing the man a card and the plastic sleeves containing one single hair and the flakes of dried blood. “The money will be transferred when I have the information. The sooner, the better.”

His contact nodded once, slipping the card and plastic sleeves into his shirt pocket.

“Provisions and extra fuel are taken care of. Via con Dios, mi amigo,” he said, saluting Oliver with his pipe as he stood.  

“The Dominican Republic?” I asked, wondering why of all places we’d set up some sort of base camp there.

“I have another contact there,” Oliver answered.

“And…?” I prodded.

He hadn’t told me much of what was said. Only that we got what we’d gone for. Which seemed like nothing at all considering the only thing I knew we’d had was the picture of a rotting dead man.

“I sent off pictures from the boat we found, and the dead guy to have intel run all the information,” Oliver replied, as if he’d picked up on my thoughts.

“So why are you paying off the coroner?” I asked.

“I’m not paying him off. I’m paying him for intel,” Oliver answered.

“Intel that links with the Dominican Republic?”

“Intel that links with underground activity. The guy has a network of people. We should hear something back from him in a few days,” Oliver explained.

“And here I thought you were just an ass-kicking, gun-toting badass. Guess appearances really aren’t everything,” I said, feeling a surge of hope roll through me, adding, “Do you know how odd it is to hear Spanish come out of you? It’s a little off putting. Especially since you look like Mr. Clean.”

Oliver snorted and handed his phone over to me. “Call Jared and let him know that Eli needs to be relocated.”

I brought Jared’s number up and asked, “Relocated to where?”

“Haiti,” Oliver replied. “It’s time for him to head back to his Red Cross outpost for a while.”

“And Alex?” I asked.

“Have Jared get with Cole. Alex needs to be moved back to the States and into Garett’s hands until this is over.”

The call with Jared was quick since it was hard to hear over the wind. His last words to me were, “He’ll find her, Josh. If you believe anything… believe that.”

I handed Oliver back his phone, put my back to the ceaseless wind, and asked, “Why is it time for Eli to head back to his Red Cross outpost?”

I could understand putting Eli in place so that we had someone close in case we needed them. But to send Eli back to the Red Cross didn’t make much sense.

“Works better to keep him undercover that way. No one will suspect a Red Cross volunteer talking to various locals. Makes it easier for him to get intel in and out without becoming suspicious,” Oliver answered, adding, “Plus, there’s someone Cole is interested in bringing on, and she’s already in Haiti.”

I wasn’t sure it had ever really hit me the enormity of what Cole Enterprise was until that moment. It wasn’t just one mission and done. It was an ever-constant change of circumstances. Each mission leading to the next, or overlapping with another one. Nothing was ever over even when it was over. Something would wrap up while something else was in full gear. None of our lives would be complacent, or even our own. We’d go where we were told. Do what we were told from now until we were too old to do it anymore.

No wonder Ella and Trent had made those plans so long ago. Not many people could live like that for the rest of their lives.

What Ella said about the plans her and Trent had made came back to me. Could he have taken her to Chiloe Island?

There was only one way to find out.

“I think I have another lead for us to follow,” I said, telling Oliver about Ella and Trent’s plan of running away.

He listened, sighed, and then nodded, saying, “Take the wheel for a minute while I get a hold of my contact and give him the information.”

I moved into place as he asked, “You’re sure that’s the name of the island?”

I gave a quick jerk of my head and gripped the wheel so tight my knuckles turned white.

What if Oliver’s contacts couldn’t find any trace of them? And if they did, what then?

Ella had become important to me. Our relationship was unlike any I’d ever thought to have. And what was it exactly that we did have? There was chemistry. A simple look from her was all it took to start a fire inside me.

It had been like that since the moment I met her when Oliver brought her to Alabama. She’d been different then… before her world was turned upside down and shaken. Her reality jolted when she found out Trent wasn’t dead after all.

Trent… just the thought of him had me seeing red. Or maybe it was green. The feeling of jealousy was a new one for me. And I found I didn’t quite like the bitter taste of it. And what right did I have to be jealous? She was his wife first. They’d shared a life together long before I came on the scene.

What I did know was that from the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I was lost. What made that happen? To see someone for the first time and think my God, it’s you, as if you knew their soul—an instant connection that told you to stop looking for the other half of yourself because they were standing right in front of you.

But she wasn’t mine. Not really. Any claim I had on her was no more than one of friendship.

Did she feel anything at all? She had to have felt something or else she never would have shared herself with me.

I snorted at the thought. What are you a poet now?

People can have sex and not be in love. It happened all the time.

And Ella didn’t love me. She couldn’t. Not when she was still in love with her real husband. I saw who she’d become after learning he was alive. I saw the shadows that haunted her. She loved him deeply, and would probably love him until her last breath. I was no more than a warm body and someone she trusted enough to turn to when her feelings got too heavy and she needed an outlet.

Knowing it, and accepting it was a whole lot harder to handle.