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talking or the lying it required.
    Lying. She shuddered. All she wanted was an honest life. One where no one killed for the truth and the truth didn’t kill anyone.
    She sat in her chair, deflated, contemplative. She was right back where she’d been these past years—living the life of lying that Drew had tricked her into.
    She’d been a naive fool, falling hard for him from the minute they met. He was so genuine and true. Just the type of man she’d always dreamed of—smart, handsome, funny, adventurous, honest. By the time they married, he was everything to her. She couldn’t imagine not loving him passionately and sharing her innermost thoughts with him for the rest of her life.
    Then came the day about a year into their marriage when her rose-colored glasses shattered and she discovered what Drew really was—a spy and a professional liar. Watching the man you love fall from the pedestal you’ve put him on was a horror she wouldn’t wish on anyone. She didn’t know him and couldn’t believe him. Who was he really? What part of himself did he keep from her? Why hadn’t she left him then, before he dragged her into his world of intrigue?
    It was her own fault. She never should have begged him to take her with him on a mission. Never should have pleaded to go with him to the notorious city of smugglers and drug lords, Ciudad del Este, Paraguay.
    But it had all sounded so romantic and adventurous. Drew had tucked her away in a sweet little apartment of her own, keeping her secret and safe from the world. Hiding her someplace where her inability to lie didn’t matter. He had his own apartment and kept up a cover identity separate from her. She never knew any of the details of it, not even where his apartment was.
    It was safer for Staci not to know anything. Drew told her that if anyone ever found them out, she should claim to be his American mistress. No one of importance.
    She sighed, remembering beautiful, hot spring nights in Paraguay with Drew. And the intoxication of having a clandestine affair with her husband.
    Handsome, dark, cocky Jack Pierce with his slightly crooked nose, their friend from Seattle, accompanied Drew on the mission. He was the only other person in Paraguay who knew she was really Drew’s wife, and where she lived.
    He stopped by, hung out, drank, complained about the chaotic traffic through town, and shot the breeze with Drew several evenings a week at her flat during the month she was there. The consummate considerate guest, Jack often came bearing a hostess gift, something he’d gotten from the smugglers’ markets—knockoff designer perfumes and sunglasses, pirated DVDs, a new memory card for her camera, all trinkets sold on the streets.
    “You treat me better than Drew does,” Staci teased him, shooting a sidelong glance at her husband.
    “I know better than to waste good money on that cheap crap,” Drew said.
    Jack shrugged, a twinkle in his eye. “I have to buy something. It’s the price of admission to get through the streets.
    “It’s just a shame you don’t smoke or snort coke, Staci,” Jack said. “Everyone’s pushing contraband cigarettes and drugs out there. It’s a pain fighting them all off.”
    “Yeah, what a shame.” She shook her head.
    “You know, you really should let me get you a nice AK-47. For when that one’s not around.” He nodded toward Drew. “In case trouble comes calling. I’d get you a good price.”
    Staci shook her head again. “I bet you would. But I think it’s overkill. I have no idea how to use one.”
    “Oh, they’re just point and shoot, really. Why do you think all the terrorists love them?”
    Jack liked weapons. Actually, Jack loved weapons. Staci had a feeling, though she didn’t know for sure, that Jack was trained as a sniper.
    Another time, Jack tossed her a plain brown bag he’d brought with him. “A little something for the man of the house, though I think you’ll enjoy it, too.” He winked at her.
    Staci