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do unofficially.” He hesitated.
“Unless the situation changes, of course.”
    Nick didn’t twitch in reaction. “Isn’t
it unusual for the United States to be hanging back and waiting for
a cue from another country? Mexico isn’t considered a world leader,
after all.”
    “But Mexico understands your nation’s
strengths and weaknesses far better than we do,” her father
replied. “If they feel it prudent to acknowledge your Loyalists and
open up diplomatic dialogue, that would be the best indication to
us that your efforts will bear fruit.”
    It was diplomatic double-speak, full of
passive verbs and indirect references. Olivia sighed mentally.
    Nick shook his head. “Mexico is waiting
for you to acknowledge us officially. They won’t move until you
do.”
    Callan Davenport smiled and it was a dry
expression. “A genuine Mexican standoff,” he mused. “You do have a
problem, don’t you?”
    “Not necessarily,” Nick said, just as
dryly. “We’re not shooting at either Mexico or the United States.
Your real standoff is with the Insurrectos. If you’re looking for a
sign of weakness, Colonel, then consider this—the first person to
shoot in a genuine Mexican standoff is generally the loser, because
the third person can fire at leisure.”
    “An interesting analogy,” her father
replied and for the first time, Olivia saw something other than
diplomatic indifference in his eyes. His attention had been
pricked. “Are you saying the Insurrectos shot first?”
    “They haven’t shot their bolt yet,” Nick
said. “But we know Serrano much better than the Mexicans do.
Serrano will shoot first. He won’t be able to help himself.
He has sloppy impulse control. He’ll go off half-cocked and he’ll
do it very soon.”
    “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t
it?” her father asked sharply.
    Nick inclined his head in an almost
regal nod. “That is what I am waiting for,” he confirmed. “Then
I’ll drive a stake through the weakness he reveals. I’ll drive it
right through the weakness and into his heart.”
    Olivia detected a faint air of
admiration from her father. She didn’t blame him. She was
impressed, too.

Chapter Five
    Carmen found Garrett in his little monk’s cell, bent
over patient charts on his desk. Despite it being seven in the
morning, he had a gas lantern hissing on the corner of the desk,
shedding a white glow over the desktop. The lantern told her
Garrett had not gone to bed.
    “If you haven’t slept, perhaps you
shouldn’t come to the rendezvous,” she said.
    “And who would go in my stead?” he asked
dryly.
    “I could go. I started this,
anyway.”
    He snorted and turned back to his
charts.
    “ What ?” she demanded. “You’re
laughing at me?”
    “I’m laughing at your notion that you
could lead anyone to do anything.”
    Carmen swallowed her ire. “I’m trying to
do something nice for you,” she said, her jaw tight. “My fucking
mistake.”
    “Don’t do that,” he snapped back.
    “Do what?”
    “Don’t do anything nice for me.
Don’t start pitying me. Don’t make allowances for me. In fact,
don’t think about me at all, okay?” His clear gray eyes skewered
her and it was almost painful being pinned by his glare.
    “I wasn’t making allowances!” Carmen
shot back, although the relentless voice in her mind challenged
her. Didn’t you spend most of your night wondering how damaged
he was? “Look, Garrett, what happened to you was shitty. It was
the worst luck in the world and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst
enemy. I wouldn’t even wish it upon you. So yeah, there’s a little
part of me that feels a smidgen of sorrow for what you went
through. But you’re not the only sad sack stuck in this war.”
    Garrett’s eyes narrowed.
    Carmen didn’t give him a chance to
respond. “My father was a good and kind man and a brilliant leader.
He was a moderate and he ran this country like Swiss clockwork for
two decades. Then, because some deluded