Reckless by Samantha Love Read Free Book Online Page B

of Caroline Davis or Miranda Hill. My own background will probably make the most sense. Besides, I haven’t mapped out Caroline’s family history.
    “My mother died giving birth to me and my dad recently lost his battle with cancer.”
    Diego nods. “Sorry to hear. My parents died when I was very young, as well. My father was killed fighting in the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. He was a high-ranking official. My mother was murdered to threaten my father into stepping down from his role in the People’s Army.”
    “That’s awful. What did you do?”
    “It was a crazy time. My father put me in to hiding when I was six. I was raised in safe houses among the People’s Army. They kept me out of the fighting and taught me how to survive, how to organize, and the realities of the world. Occasionally I saw my real parents.”
    I want to press Diego on his political stance and to argue the fallacy of Marxism and Bolivarianism or the hypocritical nature of using guerrilla warfare for peace, but I don’t think Caroline the cocktail waitress is that politically astute.
    Diego studies me. “You don’t agree with our tactics, do you? I see the disdain on your face.”
    Perhaps I’m not the skilled actress I think I am. “I just don’t think violence is ever the means to peace.”
    Diego scoffs. “Yes, your country would know nothing about violence. You may enjoy peace at home, but your nation’s imperialist endeavors bring misery and destruction around the world. It is your main export. Our own government brings that upon its citizens. Corruption and evil is a way of life in South America.”
    The butler returns, cutting the tense mood. He smiles and sets down my American dish before leaving again.
    “Do you ever blame yourself for your mother’s death?” Diego asks. “I mean, do you feel like you have something to prove to yourself in order to make your life worthwhile?”
    “That’s a very rude thing to ask.”
    “Is it? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable question. Why are the most important manners of life considered rude while flattery, which allows someone to lead a false existence, is deemed polite? Where’s the honor or respect in that?”
    “But you hardly know me. What if I were to ask you the same? Do you think you have to do something exceptional in life to make up for your parents’ young deaths?”
    Diego sets down his glass of wine and stares at me. “Absolutely. Every single day I feel that pressure.”
    “And has the coffee business tamed those demons?”
    Diego smiles. “No. However, what I can do with the proceeds makes up for it. Besides, the coffee business is a temporary thing. I have my sights on bigger endeavors. Positions that can bring about real change.”
    Before I have an opportunity to respond, a man wearing a suit rushes out of the pergola, sweat running down his face, his hair flopping with every step.  
    Diego doesn’t get up or act alarmed. He waits for the man to whisper in his ear. I lean in closer, pretending to take a bite of my sandwich, hoping the mic will pick up the conversation.  
    Diego nods and shrugs.
    “It happens,” Diego says. “I’ll handle it.”
    He folds his napkin and places it on the table.
    “Is everything okay?” I ask.
    “Of course. We should hurry, though. Let us get you your dress.”
    As we head back to the compound, I ask Diego if he’ll show me around. I haven’t gotten a single shred of intel that Nick and José can use.
    “Not today,” he says. “My business demands my attention.”
    I try to look for anything: coca leaves lying about, discarded gasoline or acetone drums, a hydraulic press used for stamping the bricks. I see nothing. If Diego is one iota as smart as I think he is, an illegal drug has probably never been anywhere near any of his homes.
    As he takes me down a spacious hall with marble flooring, I see something I never expected in a drug smuggler’s home.  
    I stop and peer into the room.
    “Wow,” I