SOMEWHAT TO GILLIAN’S surprise, El Jefe had been a perfect gentleman, and she had felt safe in the room he had assigned her—at least once she had locked the door and shoved a heavy piece of furniture in front of it. As far as she could tell, her room had remained undisturbed all night, and she should know. She’d spent most of the night staring at the door while holding one of the pistols in her hand. She had nodded off once or twice, curled up on the chaise lounge she had positioned for the task, but never for more than a few minutes.
She was exhausted, but safe, when she left the room the next morning and joined El Jefe for breakfast, finding the room he had pointed out to her the evening before. After a bracing breakfast of huevos rancheros and several cups of strong Columbian coffee, h
