It's mostly pity that inspires Mandy to ask Sonny Quinn to come with her to meet up with an asset.

It's been five days since Bravo Three took a header down the stairs. The embarrassment seems to have mostly worn off, but the cracked rib has not. He's off active duty while he heals, and while Bravo Team's recent errands might not be exactly thrilling, they are at least something. She's pretty sure Quinn is going to end up chewing his own arms off, like an animal caught in a trap, if he has to stare at the dull gray walls much longer.

Mandy was never actually told exactly how Sonny's fall happened, but, being who she is, she picked up enough to draw her own conclusions. She knows alcohol was involved, and that Spenser was present. Based on the way the youngest member of Bravo has been moping around with guilt-ridden puppy eyes that rival Cerberus's, there might also have been an ill-advised playful drunken shove that had a very different outcome than intended.

Regardless of the exact circumstances under which the fall took place, the bottom line is that Sonny wasn't seriously injured and will be fine in the long run. Providing he doesn't first die of boredom.

It's a Saturday, and Mandy has scheduled an early-morning meeting with one of her assets, a bubbly young woman who works at a cafe frequented by members of not one, not two, but three separate cartels.

This particular town, Santa Clotilda, is one of the rare places where that sort of scenario would be possible. It is the closest thing to neutral ground that exists in this area of the world.

Due to its isolated nature and strategic location, Santa Clotilda is a requisite waypoint for three equally powerful cartels as they travel north by land. While each would love to take over the town and thereby gain full control of what passes through it, none of the three has been reckless enough to start an all-out war to achieve that end. As a result, Santa Clotilda has ended up as relatively neutral ground - the lone site of an uneasy, cold-war, mutually-assured-destruction sort of truce that has lasted for the better part of two decades now.

Those on cartel business may pass through, but nothing more. All else - be it drug-peddling, violence, recruitment, what have you - is to be undertaken elsewhere.

The town's unique situation makes it the perfect place for gathering a wealth of cartel information in a single centralized location - quietly. Neither the CIA nor the U.S. military is to be caught operating openly in the area. Fortunately, the region's relative safety, in a part of the world widely perceived as dangerous, has made it appealing to tourists who crave the illusion of peril without the reality. As a result, it isn't all that difficult for someone like Mandy to blend in.

With the rest of Bravo currently off discreetly escorting an American politician who has decided to broadcast his bravery and magnanimity by visiting Santa Clotilda for photo ops with sad-eyed children, Sonny is absolutely bouncing off the walls. Mandy is perhaps the only person currently in a position to do something about that.

After compiling an extensive mental list of pros and cons, Mandy sighs, throws it all out, and simply marches over to Quinn, who gives her a narrow-eyed, vaguely suspicious look that largely sums up their working relationship.

"I have a meeting with an asset. Would you like to come along as my unofficial bodyguard?" Mandy asks.

Sonny's eyes narrow further. He chews on his toothpick for a frustratingly long moment before drawling, "Why? You expectin' trouble? 'Cause I ain't cleared for duty."

Mandy slowly counts backward from 10. "No, I am not expecting trouble. I've met with Rosa dozens of times. Usually alone."

"Okay." He draws out the word. "Then how come you need a bodyguard?"

She sighs. "Sonny. Do you want to get off base for a few hours, or would you prefer to continue staring at the walls indefinitely?"

He gives that another minute of consideration, still chewing on the toothpick. Mandy can read the sequence of emotions: realization that she's trying to do something nice, immediately followed by suspicion at the thought of her trying to do something nice for him.

She's not sure whether that's more her fault or his. Possibly both.

Truth is, of all the members of Bravo, Sonny is probably the one Mandy has the hardest time actually thinking of as a friend.

She and Jason have had their issues, but they always work through them, and despite everything she says about needing to maintain professional distance, the truth is that Hayes is not just her friend but one of her best friends. They trust each other, understand each other, and most of the time genuinely enjoy each other's company.

Ray Perry has his share of flaws and struggles but is a deeply, genuinely good man, with a moral compass that bends but never breaks. Mandy may not be as close to him as she is to Jason, but she has considered him a friend for years now.

Trent, for all that he is hyper-competent and made of the kind of steel that lets a man be both a combat medic and a sniper, is kind, and more insightful than he often lets on. More than once, he has pulled Mandy out of her own head with just a few well-placed words when she was floundering in the aftermath of a mission gone wrong.

Brock is quiet and deeply reserved, allowing few people to know him well, but he exhibits fondness toward Mandy in subtle ways that she has gradually learned to recognize, and he always treats her with respect.

As for Spenser, Bravo's 'kid' (a designation that never fails to make her roll her eyes fondly, given that the man in question is nearly 30) is charming when not deliberately being a little shit, and could probably befriend a rock if he really set his mind to it. He's newer than the others and Mandy doesn't know him the way she knows Jason and Ray, but she does already think of him as a friend. A sometimes mouthy, overconfident one, but a friend nonetheless.

And then there's Sonny.

When she first met him, there was a time period in which she assumed - perhaps unfairly, based on his aggressive Texanness - that his problem with her was related to gender. She has come to realize it isn't, at least not mostly. It's more that he doesn't much care for her job, and also that their personalities just clash.

All that said, she does respect his competence and admire his loyalty. She likes to hope he feels similarly about her; if he can't like her, that he does at least trust that she tries her best to do right by his team.

After some more thought, Sonny nods, reluctantly, as though he is doing Mandy a favor and not the other way around.

"Good," she says crisply. "We leave in 20."

It's a beautiful morning. This early, the ever-present humidity lends the air a gentle, fragrant sweetness rather than the thick, sticky mugginess that will set in later as the temperature rises. The dawn sky is a vivid blue, streaked with furrows of pink and gold cloud. A bougainvillea-scented breeze ruffles Mandy's hair and plays with the touristy scarf she has knotted at her neck.

She and Sonny settle at the cafe table and sip coffee in a silence that feels almost companionable. For all that he's not really needed, Quinn is clearly taking his role seriously. He's alert, keeping track of passersby, vehicles, doors opening and closing, but he's also relaxed, his body language less jittery than it's been in days. Mandy, who had been questioning her own wisdom in bringing him along, starts to settle into a sort of contented confidence that she made the right decision.

"How long you reckon it'll take her to show up?" Sonny wonders, after a while.

Mandy smiles. "Well, she is rarely exactly what you'd call punctual." As soon as the words are out, she internally cringes a bit, realizing she's given the Texan a perfect opening to make some kind of rude comment regarding the tendency of some Latin American cultures to prioritize events and relationships over precise timing, but thankfully Quinn just nods and takes a sip of coffee.

After another 15 or 20 minutes, as the tables around them begin to empty, Mandy starts to get a faint sense of unease. It has never taken Rosa this long to show up before.

A glance at Sonny sharply escalates that unease, because he's clearly on edge.

A stranger might not recognize the stillness and precision in his posture for what it is. Mandy has been around him long enough to know it means he's expecting trouble, and sooner rather than later.

Quietly, in an unconcerned-sounding drawl, Sonny asks, "Any good reason for there to be no traffic?"

Without moving her head, Mandy darts her eyes toward the street … which sits silent and vacant.

Cold rushes up her spine. Matching his soft, even tone, she responds, "No."

Sonny nods. He gives her a casual, fake smile. Quietly, he says, "We're goin' now."

In unison, they push their chairs back and stand up.

From behind them, the waiter says in perfect English, "I don't think so."

Sonny makes a single, aborted move toward the gun at the small of his back, and instantly they're surrounded. Three more people, two men and a woman, stand up from nearby tables, weapons already drawn.

Mandy's pulse pounds in her throat. When she automatically looks to Quinn, he widens his eyes at her slightly like he's trying to send a message, but she doesn't know what it is.

The 'waiter' saunters over. "Phones," he says, holding out his hand, "and guns."

Sonny looks like he's thinking about doing something stupid, so Mandy shakes her head at him, minutely. He sighs, hands over his phone, lets them take the Glock from the back of his waistband.

After giving up her phone, Mandy explains that she isn't armed, predictably gets disbelieved, and receives a pat-down of the sort that should only be administered by a licensed gynecologist. She distances herself, refusing to let her expression change - unlike Sonny, whose eyes blaze with fury. When he starts to take a step forward, she has to warn him off with another slight head shake.

A black car swings around the corner and heads toward them, traveling down the otherwise deserted street. Mandy watches it approach. Blood rushes in her ears.

If she gets inside that car, she will never go home again.

Behind her, in quick succession: a scuffle, a thud, a sharp grunt of pain, and then two rapid shots. By the time Quinn yells "Down!", Mandy has already dropped to the ground.

Three more shots, the last two almost simultaneous, and then Sonny orders sharply, "Up! Move!"

Mandy scrambles to her feet. There are bodies on the pavement. Tires squeal. Sonny grabs her arm and drags her with him toward the alley. Bullets ping off asphalt, and she braces herself for the impact, but it doesn't come.

They run, down the alley, across another eerily empty street, into a different alley. When they've managed some distance, when there's silence and they let themselves pause to take a breath in the shelter of a dumpster, Sonny looks at her and gasps out, "What the hell, Ellis?"

Before she can answer, a distant explosion shakes the ground, followed by faint gunfire.

Mandy breathes. She forces herself to focus, to put the pieces together. Synthesize details. Draw conclusions.

Whatever is going on, it is much bigger than just the two of them. Santa Clotilda may have just become a war zone … one they're stranded in with no transportation, no way to communicate, and no weapons other than the Glock Sonny stole back from their would-be captors.

Conclusion: Basically, they're screwed.

I'm baaaaack!

Next up: A Jason POV chapter in which the rest of Bravo quickly realizes things in Santa Clotilda have gone to hell.