Then ominous silence settled over the area once again. Megan’s fingers twitched on the trigger. Suddenly, she spotted movement to her right. She swung that way. “Que pasa, chica?” A tall, Creole man stepped from cover first. Umberto. He was one of the oldest men on Juarez’s team. “Everything okay here?” Megan made herself lower her weapon and put a smile on her face that she hoped looked real. “We’re on our way back.” Since Umberto hadn’t been in camp when Zak broke out, she relayed how the kid had some trouble with Juarez and ran away into the jungle, then how she’d hooked up with Mitch, her mercenary friend, for some help. As she spoke, nine other men came forward, their rifles slung on their shoulders. They took their cue from Umberto, and Umberto took her at her word. She’d known him for a year, and had a surreal kind of friendship going with him—or as much as you can make friends with an enemy you knew you might someday have to shoot.
