Page 5 of V-Day
2.
PARRIS SETTLED ON HER PACK, which Ramirez had brought down for her, while Cristián and the Masters woman sat on the ground in front of her. It was almost dawn. The camp was fully awake now. Parris asked Lieutenant Locke to set out sentries. She told everyone else to get some shut eye, which they were doing down here in the gully, at the edges of the camp, to the consternation of the people already here.
Parris ignored it all. She assessed Cristián Peña. He had gray eyes instead of the Vistarian black, yet in all other aspects he was typically Vistarian. He had a sharp jaw and nose and a direct way of looking at people which made her think he was assessing her just as thoroughly as she was considering him.
“We’re related?” he said at last.
“As of two days ago, yes,” Parris told him. She didn’t lift her hand. There was no ring there for her to display.
“By marriage,” Chloe murmured.
Cristián frowned. “Only, who…” Then his frown cleared. “Adán Caballero,” he concluded.
Chloe frowned. “He didn’t say he was married…” she murmured to herself.
Parris admitted to herself she was impressed. “I didn’t give you many clues,” she told Cristián.
He shrugged. “You implied we’re related by marriage—and there are…there was not, I mean, any unwed men in the family but Adán Caballero. He’s related to me through marriage, too.” Cristián shifted on the ground. “Is that why you’re here?”
Parris nodded. “We chuted onto the island yesterday—sorry, Wednesday morning now. Just over six hours after I said ‘I do,’” she added.
Chloe smiled. Cristián did not. He was too tense.
Parris noted his tension for later consideration. “Anyway, an hour after we had got moving, we ran into Nicolás Escobedo.” She hesitated. Could she admit aloud what had happened next? It still smarted each time she thought about it…
*
PARRIS AND HER TEAM HADworked their way silently through the trees and undergrowth, heading for the coordinates their orders told them to find and await fresh instructions. It was a typical hide-and-wait scenario. They were being placed on the game board to be called into action when needed. A dozen other units would be positioned across the island. The main American assault forces had made beachhead far to the south, to join the Vistarian Loyalists pushing up to the city from the south end of the elongated island.
Parris and her group had been moving through this same landscape only three days ago. For Parris, the whole world had altered in the meantime. Even the green paradise didn’t look the same. Her perceptions had undergone a radical shift since then.
She had told no one in the group about Adán, yet. There would be a natural time when she could drop the information. Or not. Sharing the fact of her marriage with them wasn’t mandatory. It had no bearing on her abilities as a leader, which was all they should care about.
Except her men operated better if they could trust her. Withholding news of that magnitude would make them wonder what else she was keeping from them, for they would learn about the marriage from another source.
It would be worse if they learned about it from the media, whom Adán had assured her would sniff out the fact eventually.
She saw the man-shape from the corner of her eye as she moved past the trunk of a huge banyan tree. He held himself flattened against the trunk, waiting for her to move ahead so he could take her from behind.
Too late to reach for her knife. She gripped the M-16 by the middle of the barrel and rammed it into his chest as hard as she could. She spun out of reach of his hands.
He pushed himself off the tree and launched himself at her. He gripped her throat and as he sailed past her, the grip tore her backward. He dropped to the ground and tossed her over his shoulder like wet washing—and she was wearing an eighty-pound backpack.
Parris just had enough time to brace herself for the impact. She landed heavily on her belly. It would have winded her if she hadn’t clenched every muscle in her torso. It still stunned her for a fraction of a second, which was all he needed. He flipped her onto her back, pack and all. His knife rested against her throat. Dark blue eyes stared into hers. “Tell them to back off. Right. Now.”
Parris swallowed. Over his shoulder, she could see her men forming a circle around them, their rifles up and ready.
The whole thing had taken maybe two seconds.
Jesus Christ.
She looked up at the man. Red hair glinted in the filtered light under the canopy. She frowned. “Escobedo?” she breathed.
“Give the order,” he demanded, his voice flat.
Parris let her resentment go. “Stand down,” she told her men. “He won’t hurt me. We’re related.”
No one moved. Not even Nick Escobedo, although his eyes widened a fraction. “You’re Parris Graves?”
