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Regan Harris
Magari Private Jet
Somewhere over Mexico
I took a moment to straighten Gray’s blanket, the task made more difficult with only one hand. My other was secure in a sling until it healed.
I’d been lucky. We’d been lucky. My bullet wound was actually pretty minor compared to what could’ve happened. Gray’s infection was under control, and, after a few weeks of rest, his full strength would return.
Michael and Frank sat across the aisle from us. Gray and I spent more than a week being interrogated by local and national police about the experience. Other than Liam and Jax, the others had left us hung out to dry.
I still felt anger at Michael and Frank for deserting the parking lot that day. Along with Gracie and Guy, they’d left us there to await help. Because of their business choices in the US, they couldn’t risk being held and interrogated.
Although, Michael did hire the best lawyers in Honduras to help us navigate the legal system. Thanks to his money, we’d been held in a hotel rather than in the local jail until the facts could be sorted out. The American Embassy stepped in and granted Gray a temporary passport. We’d been allowed to leave the country, for which I was eternally grateful. We’d probably want to think twice before visiting again, though.
The anger still simmered. Because of their actions thirty years ago, Gray, Passion and I all almost lost our lives. It irked me even now to share the plane with them, but it was for Gray’s sake, not mine. It would’ve been awful on Gray to try and fly commercially. It would take a lot of time and prayer to forgive them, but I promised myself I would. Eventually. Maybe.
Liam and Jax were released before us. Liam’s career as a policeman helped clear the way for him. While Jax never did anything seriously wrong since her shot had missed her target.
I’d thought everyone would’ve been more receptive to the fact that we’d uncovered a drug ring and helped stall out its operation.
I was wrong.
We were treated as criminals, and the whole experience was almost scarier than trying to find Gray in the first place. For a moment, I thought I was bound to spend my life in a foreign prison.
I shivered at the thought.
G and G Brewery and Hostel was raided. Drugs were found in boxes in Guy’s extra bedroom. They were hiding in plain sight as what Ben and I thought was just old junk. Neither he nor Gracie had been seen since. We never did find out if and how they got out of the country. Guy’s plane was still at the airport when we departed.
Ben was also missing. I’d tried calling his cell phone numerous times to say thank you, but the number was disconnected. I Googled his office number and tried it but was told he was out of the office and would return my call. I didn’t believe that for a second. And, so far, he hadn’t called me back.
Ben was officially gone. I wished him well. He saved the day by committing horrible acts and taking lives. I prayed for his soul. It couldn’t have been easy for him.
“Regan,” Michael interrupted my thoughts. “We didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I hope you know that we are truly sorry.”
It was the thousandth time he’d apologized. I still didn’t want to hear it. I’d held my tongue for the others, but I could feel it bubbling up and out of me now. If I didn’t let it out on them, I’d end up pacing the aisle and ripping my hair out.
“Was it worth it?” I asked.
“What?” Michael asked, confused.
“Whatever you were trying to accomplish by sending Guy away. From what I can see, no. Your relationship with Frank is strained. Your relationship with Gray is probably over. Ours is. So, I ask again, was it worth it?”
Michael took a deep breath, preparing to counter me but thought better of it. His mouth snapped closed. “No,” he finally said.
“Think about that next time you hold a man’s life in your hands,” I said quietly.
“I never thought this would be the outcome all those years ago. I thought I was making the better choice by just not killing him then,” Michael said.
Michael’s frankness took me by surprise. “You replaced one bad decision with another! Murder or exile? None of us are safe now. If el jefe, whoever he is, didn’t die, he will find us and kill us. Guy could come back for us. Our lives are worse off because of one bad decision thirty years ago.”
I’d tried to tell the authorities my theory on el jefe. His English was spoken without an accent although he tried to fake it at times. He wore colored contacts and had a fake tan. I didn’t believe for a minute he was Colombian or Honduran. I thought he was actually Caucasian and blending into society with different disguises. It was why no one knew exactly what he looked like.
In my opinion, it was the perfect disguise. No one had ever lived to identify him before us, but I didn’t think that even mattered. With small changes to his looks, he would be able blend in anywhere as an American Expatriate. With a few other subtle changes, he could pass for Greek or Italian or Mediterranean. El jefe’s face was probably seen hundreds of times a day. Just no one realized who they were actually seeing.
Gray reached out and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back, taking comfort in the small touch. I kept my mouth shut the rest of the flight home. I had more to say but now wasn’t the time. I concentrated on Gray and his getting well.