"Julio…?" She looked up at her bearded lover, tears welling in her big, hazel eyes. She remembered what he had said to her in the study: what a dirty business it is, avenging crime. In order to bring criminals to justice, we must become criminals ourselves at times…
His blue eyes were full of pain. "Forgive me, Jill. I had no other choice." She looked at him for another moment, then her hand came down hard on his face. Whaappp! He only winced. She sat back then, between the two men, her head high, hands folded in her lap, big, salty tears rolling down her lovely cheeks.
There was an awkward silence. Then Harris spoke again. "We've contacted your parents. They'll be waiting for you at the airport. You'll have a good rest tonight, then a debriefing session in the morning followed by a meeting with some very important government officials, who want to thank you personally for your contribution."
"Will they want a free fuck, too?" she asked dispassionately.
Harris went on, ignoring her sarcasm. "You'll be flying home tomorrow afternoon."
"Home?" she echoed softly. A small, derisive laugh began in the back of her throat.
"Yes. You'll be back in Kansas City tomorrow evening, and I know that an awful lot of people will be glad to see you."
She was thinking, Haven't you ever read Thomas Wolfe, you stupid bastard? You can't go home again. Not after San Francisco and Mexico. Not after Don Ernesto and Julio and everything that's happened. But they knew that…
"Can't you just picture it?" she said ruefully, "the band, the flashbulbs, the cheering throngs with little American flags in their hands? And the banner: WELCOME HOME, JILL CONKLIN, THE FAMOUS AMERICAN ARTIST."