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The farmer’s gun rose slightly.
“Delgado’s finca?”
“Yes, and we just escaped.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied us. Then he looked at Lachlan and, to my surprise, switched to heavily accented English.
“You came all the way from Ciro Delgado’s finca through the backcountry?”
“Yes, Rafael Duarte helped us escape.” I squeezed my eyes shut and drew in a deep breath. “He died getting us out. But Ciro was killed too.”
The farmer went very still.
“Ciro Delgado is dead?”
“A woman who worked for him shot him. The compound split into factions, and Rafael used the chaos to get us out.”
His eyes narrowed as he processed the information.
“You know Rafael?” I asked.
“I know who he was.”
The farmer looked toward the mountain for a moment.
“What happened to you?” he asked, gesturing the gun at Lachlan.
“Delgado had me chained in his cellar because he wanted information and to use me as leverage against a powerful organization that’s interfering with his trafficking of women, among other things,” Lachlan said bluntly.
“And you?” He gestured toward me. “You work for Delgado?”
“No. I lived there, though.”
His brows pinched together in confusion as he looked warily at me. There was no way to explain my situation to him, so I kept it simple.
“I wasn’t free to leave.”
The suspicion in his expression eased a fraction. That much, at least, made sense to him.
“Who do you need to call?”
“My people. They’re already in El Salvador looking for me.” Lachlan answered candidly.
The farmer’s grip tightened on his gun. “Are they armed?”
“Aye. I’m sure of it.”
The farmer’s expression hardened again.
“But they won’t come here. Let me use a phone, and I’ll arrange to meet them somewhere else. Your family and your land stay out of it.”
“And if Delgado’s men find you here first?”
“We only need one phone call.” Lachlan didn’t hesitate. “I won’t let anyone hurt your family for helping us.”
For several seconds, the only sounds were insects and leaves moving overhead.
Then the farmer glanced toward the mountain again.
