“I’m going to buy a plane ticket to Africa.”“Reconsider this trip, Kate.” Liv Reed stood at the center of Kate’s room, arms at her sides and shoulders back. A pillar of grace and dominance.
“No.” Wrapped in Tiago’s worn tuxedo coat, Kate sat in the corner of the loveseat, buzzing with nervous energy. “You would do the same thing if you lost Josh.”
It had been one month since she left Tiago on that burning island.
One long fucking month.
Cole Hartman had finally acquired the names of the casualties from that night.
Both Tiago and Arturo were on the list.
They’d been counted among the dead.
Deceased.
Gone.
When Cole gave her the devastating news, she could’ve let it destroy her. But she wasn’t ready to curl up and die. She couldn’t give up.
So she decided that Tiago had taken a page from Cole’s book and faked his own death. There was no evidence to support her claim. Nothing to go on but hope.
Hope was all she had.
She spent the past month hunting for Boones’ village.
His scarification, the jewelry and clothing from the photo of his daughter, the sounds of his native tongue, and a thousand other tiny little details led her to Northeast Africa.
She contacted a linguistic specialist at a university in Texas. Weeks of correspondence with the professor helped her narrow down Boones’ vernacular to Tigre, an Afroasiatic language spoken in Sudan, Ethiopia, and Eritrea.
The three countries sat together along the Red Sea. She was getting closer, but not close enough.
The language had a lot of dialects, and those unique nuances helped her determine that Boones used the patois of the Tigre people in Eritrea.
That was the break she needed.
He was Eritrean, and they referred to their language as Tigrayit.
She had the country of Boones’ home, but nothing more specific. After another week of digging, she hadn’t been able to pinpoint a town or village.
Impatience dug in its claws.
Throughout her search, she tried so hard to control the emotions that swarmed inside her. It had been one month. At this point, she didn’t think she could survive another day without him.
But she would. She would survive as long as it took.
Her flight departed in four days. Luggage lined the far wall of her room, packed with the essentials for her trip to Eritrea.
She’d worked with Matias’ staff to purchase everything she needed—clothes, travel documents, fake passport, and ID. She funded every cost and set every demand, all while keeping her destination as secret as possible.
Those involved knew she was going to Africa. Nothing more. Tiago hadn’t shared the location for a reason, and she wouldn’t, either.
Liv crossed the room and stood near the window, watching her teenage daughter through the glass.
Livana sat on the veranda of Kate’s suite, with her nose in a book. She’d grown into a beautiful girl and seemed to be thriving in Colombia. Matias provided her with private tutors and an education far superior than what she received in the States.
“Have you decided to stay here for good?” Kate asked.
“We’re working out the details. Van and Amber want to stay and join Camila’s fight. Josh and I are willing to do the same, but the shared custody with Livana’s adoptive mother complicates a permanent move.”
“You could always fight for full custody.”
“Yes, but that would be selfish. Livana was raised by her and—”
An urgent, rapid knock pounded on the door.
“Kate.” Van barged in without waiting, and his silver eyes cut through the room until they landed on her. “He’s here.”
“Who?” She leapt from the loveseat, staggering to right herself as her heart pounded out of her chest. “Who’s here?”
But she knew.
She knew before Van said his name.
“Tiago Badell.”
A gust of dizziness hit her sideways.
He was here. What did it mean? Was he hurting? Angry? Completely insane?
Her blood pressure skyrocketed as she sucked in breath after breath. She was going to hyperventilate. Or pass out.
She needed to go, run, get to him right now.
“Where?” She sprinted to the door, her voice rising to an explosive shrill. “Which way?”
“The west wing.” He followed her into the hall and nodded to the right.
The hairs rose on her nape as she bolted in the direction he pointed her.
She hadn’t visited the west wing but knew enough about the horrors Matias imprisoned there. Slave traders, traitors, and rival cartel members—the captives were the worst of the worst and deserved every punishment they received within those walls. She heard that Frizz, one of the men in Matias’ inner circle, often sewed up their mouths to match his own.
If Tiago was there, did that mean he’d been captured? Were they torturing him?
Her stomach threatened to empty as she picked up her pace, racing through the halls with no idea which way to go.
The sound of sneakers gave chase, and a moment later, Van caught up with her.
“Turn left at the next bend.” He directed her through the halls, sprinting easily alongside her.