a chance,” Fiona whispered. “But I could use a cup of espresso.” They’d been hitting the sketchier bars for the past few nights searching for the story, the one that would make them both famous. Then, last evening, their diligence plus a fistful of American dollars had brought them here.
Fiona was thrilled to have the chance to report something worthwhile, but she would have been more thrilled if she’d had a few hours of sleep.
Beneath them, Montoya backhanded Maria across the face, the sound echoing against the brick enclosure. Maria fell to the ground in a small heap, her long black hair spreading across the broken pavement.
A shot of adrenaline surged through Fiona, dissipating her need for rest. “We have to stop him,” Fiona whispered even as the reporter in her told her to stay put. To watch with dispassion and do her job.
“With what? Harsh words?”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “How about calling for help?”
“Call who? The police?” Tony asked with a hint of sarcasm.
She frowned, since the men below them were in charge of the police. “Someone. Anyone,” she said with a scowl.
“See if my cell works,” Tony said, rolling to his side a few inches but never losing the shot. “Front right pocket.”
Fiona dug into his jeans pocket and wrapped her fingers around the phone.
“Farther down,” he whispered with a wicked grin. “And firmer.”
“Pervert.” She pulled the cell out and flipped it open. It blinked at her, showing no coverage. Sometimes, she hated Third World countries. Granted, they had all the best stories, but at times like this she missed the United States and the convenience of a cell tower on every corner.
She shoved the phone back into Tony’s pocket. “No signal.”
“Not a sur—”
Maria screamed, cutting off Anthony. Fiona froze. Squinting in the sunlight, she watched as Montoya pulled the woman to her feet by her hair.
Bastard.
“¿Dónde están, Maria?” Montoya screamed the question—where are they—loud enough that Fiona was sure the neighboring country heard his shout. Yet none of the curtains in the windows surrounding the courtyard so much as fluttered. People didn’t want to get involved, and she couldn’t blame them. When the men in charge were the bad guys, there was no one to turn to.
That was why she was here, she reminded herself. To uncover the truth and help make changes in a country run by a government that was as corrupt as the Mafia and twice as dangerous. If she won an Emmy, or perhaps a Pulitzer, that was icing on the cake and nothing more.
Or so she told herself, even as she envisioned herself giving an acceptance speech.
The air in the courtyard tightened, became electric with tension. Montoya’s men straightened.
Something was about to happen, she realized. Fiona pushed thoughts of a Pulitzer to the back of her mind and strained to listen.
Maria said something, but her husky voice carried no farther than Montoya’s ears. He drew closer. She spat on him. He wiped her spit off his cheek.
“Good for her,” Fiona whispered, but she hoped that Maria’s small act of defiance wouldn’t cost her.
“I’m not so sure,” Tony replied. He tweaked the directional microphone and adjusted his earpiece. It wasn’t large, but Fiona knew it was the most powerful sound device on the market and it picked up sounds that she couldn’t hear.
“What’s he saying?” she asked.
“That if she tells him where the rebels are he will make sure they are imprisoned but not killed.”
“She doesn’t buy that, does she?”
Tony hesitated. “No. She’s still denying any involvement.”
“What do you think?” Fiona asked, wondering if the woman was as innocent as she claimed. Not that it mattered. No one should be subjected to such brutality by the hands of those who were sworn to protect the public. “Is she uninvolved?”
“No,” Tony whispered. “According to my contacts, she’s at the top of that particular food chain.”
Fiona’s blood chilled. If Tony was so certain, it was a sure bet that Montoya was, as well. “Damn it.”
“Exactly, but as long as she doesn’t confess to anything, I think she’ll be fine,” Tony said.
Montoya hit Maria again, the force of the blow making her take a step back.
Fiona winced, wishing she was as sure as her cameraman. “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. “Because in a few seconds, I am going to have to say or do something.”
“Hold your horses, Don Quixote,” Tony cautioned. “I think something’s happening.” He adjusted the camera and zoomed in on the scene.
Below them, Montoya pushed Maria away and pointed toward a door on the far side of the courtyard. “Is he letting her go?” Fiona’s heart pounded with fear and anticipation.
“It looks that way,” Tony said, but his tone suggested the same lack of sureness that pulsed through Fiona.
Maria adjusted her tiered skirt, dusted the leaves from her hair and headed for the doorway with her head held high. The men moved aside to let her pass.
Fiona’s pounding heart slowed, and she breathed a sigh of relief, letting her head drop to her hands. “Thank God,” she whispered. Maria was going to be all right. They had the story, and she’d be able to sleep at night.
A barrage of gunshots sounded from the courtyard below, and Fiona snapped to attention, swallowing her shout of horror.
Through the bougainvillea, she saw Maria on the pavement. Bullet holes riddled her lithe body. Blood spattered the pavement around her.
Even as Fiona gaped in horror, Tony jumped to his feet. “No!”
Below, Montoya whirled, and even at forty feet, Fiona saw his eyes widen in surprise at the cameraman’s appearance. In less time than it took her to realize what was happening, Montoya raised his gun and fired. Tony fell backward, striking the wall behind them as blood bloomed on his chest. His camera clattered to the tiled floor, still filming.
For a heartbeat, Fiona stared at him, stunned. Not sure whether he was alive or dead and not sure what to do in either case.
“Fiona,” Tony whispered, his voice thick with pain.
His voice brought her back to reality. “Oh, my God, we’ve got to get you out of here.”
He coughed and blood stained his lips. “Not going anywhere.” Tony grabbed for the camera, missing. “Run. Take the film to Angel.”
“Angel?” Hands shaking, Fiona moved the camera
