Читать книгу The Searchers - Kay David - Страница 7

Muzo, Colombia

Eighteen years later

THE EMERALD WEIGHED at least fifty carats, probably more.

Hefting the uncut stone in his hand, Shepard Reyes turned to the window as his helicopter rose into the air. A cloud of fine, black dust, stirred by the spinning rotors, enveloped them, then the chopper gained altitude and escaped the choking darkness. Shepard put his hand against the bulletproof glass and stared into the open pit a hundred feet below.

The Muzo mine was the oldest, largest and most productive emerald mine in the world. And the Reyes family had owned it since the conquistadores had come to Colombia.

He’d seen the cuts across the mountain’s top thousands of times but Shepard always had to look. He’d spent years learning the Muzo’s secrets and no one else in the family knew the mine as he did, including his brother, Javier, who was in charge of the family business.

The pilot set his headings for Bogota and seconds later the mine was gone, lost in the mountain mist. Dropping the stone into his briefcase, Shepard wished the problem he’d learned of this morning would be as easy to leave behind, but his gut told him it wasn’t going to go away. At least not until he made it do so.

The peasant woman had come to his office early, before the miners changed shifts. Her name had meant nothing to him, but he’d politely shaken her hand and directed her to sit. He was frequently approached by the wives or mothers of the men who worked in the mine to settle some kind of dispute or fix some problem they’d gotten into. They knew who the real jefe was; they expected Shepard to help and he did. That’s how things were done in Colombia.

She’d perched on the edge of the chair and refused his offer of coffee. Waiting for her to speak, he’d put her age somewhere between thirty and fifty—she wore the exhausted look of someone who worked hard…and never stopped. But her clothes were clean, and she had an appealing way about her even though she was clearly uncomfortable sitting before him.

“What can I do for you, señora?” he’d finally prompted.

She looked down at the floor and spoke softly. “You have already done more than I could ever ask for,” she answered. “I came here today to do something for you.”

“I’m sure you owe me nothing, but please tell me how I’ve helped you. I’d like to hear your story.”

“I have a son who is five,” she said. “He couldn’t run like the other children and he’d get tired very quickly.” With an expression of distress, she put her hand on her chest. “I took him to one of the clinics you opened, and the doctors in Bogota, they operated on his córazon…” Her smile transformed her face. “You saved my child’s life, so I wanted to thank you.”

“I’m glad the doctors could help.”

And he was. For years, the miners had suffered conditions no one should have to endure. Neither Javier nor their father, Eduard, had thought their workers needed anything more so Shepard had put up his own money to build and staff the small hospital.

“I want to pay you back, señor.”

“You owe me nothing.” Shepard looked at the files on his desk. Javier’s name was on the letterhead, but it was Shepard who did all the work, and it was piling up, even as they spoke. “The clinic is free. No one pays for anything.”

“I don’t have money to give you.”

“And that’s fine—”

“I have something else, though.”

“It isn’t necessary—”

“I have a secret.” She ignored his attempt to stop her. “You should have been told about this years ago, but…” She dropped her eyes to her lap and knit her fingers together then looked up at him again. “But I didn’t have the courage. Now I must tell you.”

Her words intrigued him, despite the work he had calling to him. “Go on.”

“Something happened in my village a long time ago and you need to know about it.”

With a sudden uneasiness, Shepard stood and came closer to where she sat, taking the other chair in front of his desk.

“My niece had a child.” She studied Shepard’s face. “He had your look about the eyes, but that’s it. He resembled his father more.”

“His father?” Shepard’s gut tightened. “And that would be…?”

“Your brother, of course.”

Shepard closed his expression and rose. He’d been fooled, but she’d seemed sincere, unlike the others who’d approached him in the past. “I don’t handle Señor Javier’s affairs,” he said coldly. “If you want help for the boy, go to him, not me.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly, señora.” Shepard returned to the other side of his desk. “You are not the first to come here and ask for money, believe me.”

She stood up, as well. “I’m not asking for money and I’m not talking about Señor Javier. The boy’s father was Señor Renaldo.”

His hand on the back of his leather chair, Shepard froze. “Renaldo is dead.”

“I know that. But he wasn’t dead eighteen years ago. He and my niece were lovers and they had a child. He was born the day his father died.”

“Your niece…?”

“Was Maya Vega.”

He sat down abruptly.

Maya Vega.

Shepard had never met her but Renaldo had been infatuated with the girl, describing her in detail, telling Shepard how she’d shared his ways. There would always be a place for women like her in the FARC, he’d bragged. The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known to everyone as FARC, believed in equality for all, be they women…or mining scions.

Shepard had come to hate the unknown Maya Vega. In his mind, she represented everything that had been wrong with Renaldo: the recklessness, the irresponsibility, the wild way he had chosen to live. At some point, Shepard had managed to force his animosity into indifference, but hearing her name now, he felt that earlier anger return.

He put his reaction aside and spoke carefully. “If Maya Vega is your niece, then your husband would be…”

The woman held his stare. There was neither apology nor blame in her eyes—only an empty acceptance that said she’d lived a life with few choices. “Segundo Alvarez was mi esposo.”

Nodding slowly, Shepard rejected his automatic response to this name, as well. He’d hated the uncle as much, if not more, than the girl. He calculated the boy’s age, realizing he’d be eighteen now. There had been rumors at one time of a child after Renaldo’s death but Shepard had had no luck tracking their source or the Vega woman down. The thought prompted a question.

“Did Maya Vega send you here?”

“No. Maya left many years ago, after being told that her baby was stillborn. That was a lie. I don’t know where she is now, but I wanted you to know about your nephew.”

If the woman’s story was true, Shepard’s parents would be beside themselves. Despite his rejection of his family Renaldo had been the favorite son, and his parents had forgiven all his misdeeds. They’d be overjoyed.

Javier would have a completely different reaction.

“Stay here,” Shepard had commanded, rising from his chair. “I’m going to open the safe and get some cash for you then I want to hear more about this.”

When he’d returned, the woman was gone.

Shepard stared out the helicopter’s window and cursed softly. What in the hell was he supposed to do now?

Houston, Texas

One month later

BY 7:00 A.M. Maya Velaquez had already done a full day’s work.

She’d had to in order to make up for yesterday. Wasting hours away from her desk, she’d endured breakfast with two county commissioners, a morning meeting with a law professor, lunch with the bar association, then dinner with a group of potential—spelled r-i-c-h—supporters. With no time for her regular duties, she’d had to come in early this morning and deal with a backlog of paperwork. Every attorney in the firm handled dozens of cases, but her load was much heavier. Well-known and well-respected in the legal community, she was in high demand, her time precious. Her life was about to become more complicated, too. A local judge, Marcus Chatham, was retiring early and Maya had been suggested as the person best suited to fill the resulting vacancy.

She wanted that black robe for more reasons than she could ever explain.

She took off her glasses and dropped them on her desk pad. A cold front had blown in last night and a morning rain scratched at the glass, a rising wind accompanying it. Maya hated winter. In Houston, the temperatures never dropped too low, but the dismal, gray days and even darker nights depressed her. With all the extra stress she’d been under, she’d let the weather bother her even more. Thoughts of home had slipped in before she could stop them and she’d gotten lost in the past, thinking of things best left alone. Of green cathedrals filled with iridescent parrots…of steep balconies shaded by wild hibiscus…of a man who had lived in the shadows and died there, as well.

With dogged determination, she reined in her thoughts. Now was not the time to allow her history to haunt her. If anything, it was more important than ever that she stay firmly in the present.

As if on cue, a knock sounded on her door. She looked up to see her colleague and mentor, Patricia Livingston-Wallis leaning against the frame.

“You were perfect last night, Maya.” One of the founding partners in the firm, Patricia’s aura of power fit her as precisely as her tailored red suit and lustrous pearls. She was Maya’s staunchest supporter and the reason Maya had become a lawyer. Years before, Patricia and her husband, Franklin, had literally saved Maya’s life.

Arriving in the States with nothing but the clothes she wore, she’d slipped in the back door of the first restaurant she’d come to and begged for a job. Franklin, the owner, had taken one look at her and brought her home to Patricia. They’d proceeded to open their hearts—and their wallets—and had done everything they could for Maya, not the least of which had been having her declared a ward of the state so they could then be her sponsors. Using their influence and power, they’d helped her obtain her green card and finally her citizenship.

Their generosity had overwhelmed her and she’d insisted on paying them back by working for Franklin. By the time they’d offered to “loan” her money for college a few years later, she’d come to love them both, appreciating their work ethic and the determination each of them had to succeed. She’d never be able to repay them for everything they’d done for her, but as she’d gotten older she’d begun to understand that she’d given them something valuable in return. Patricia and Franklin had been unable to have children and helping Maya had fulfilled their own needs as well as hers.

And they were still helping her. Patricia’s endorsement was the driving force behind Maya’s pending judgeship. Without the backing of someone as important as Patricia, Maya doubted she’d be in the running, despite her sterling reputation.

“The appointment’s almost in your pocket, young lady.” The older woman beamed at her.

Maya returned her friend’s smile. “I hope you’re right, Patricia. Time will tell. I have to get the nod from the governor first.”

“You will.” She tapped the door frame with her nails. “You aren’t getting discouraged, are you?”

Maya had learned a long time ago that wanting and getting were two very different things. As much as she desired to sit behind the bench, sometimes late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she’d wondered if she was making a terrible mistake or a very smart move. The balance was delicate; it could go either way.

But Patricia knew nothing of that.

“I’m not discouraged,” Maya replied firmly, substituting a simple concern for her real one. “But the process does seem to be taking a long time.”

“That has nothing to do with you, my dear. These things simply require a lot of finesse. When Marcus retires next month—and he will—that vacancy has to be filled. And whoever is behind the bench will be elected to return next November. Stay fast and hold steady. You’ll get that gavel, I promise you.”

With that, the other woman strode down the corridor, the sound of her heels fading as she crossed the silk rug in the entry and made her way to her own office.

She should have started on her paperwork, but instead, Maya turned back to the gloomy window. Patricia may have made the promise, but until Maya’s name was approved, nothing was for sure. There were no guarantees.

That was another lesson she’d learned early in life.

A telephone rang down the hall and someone laughed loudly. The sounds pulled Maya away from her thoughts and made her realize she needed to get back to work, otherwise she’d be at the office until midnight. Again. Swiveling her chair to the credenza behind her, Maya opened the drawer that held her files, thumbing through them until she found the one she needed. As she pulled it out, a voice sounded at her door.

“May I come in?”

Holding the manila folder, Maya turned.

A man stood on the threshold of her office, his hands at his side, a leather bag in one, a dripping umbrella in the other.

Without conscious thought, she stood, the file slipping from her fingers to the floor, papers fluttering in every direction as her pulse suddenly roared in her ears. The man said something else and she heard him, but she had no idea what the words even meant. Her brain had ceased to work and all she could do was stare.

SHEPARD REYES HAD always wondered what his brother’s whore looked like.

Now he knew.

They stared at each other, the luxurious office shrinking until there was barely enough air to breathe. Dark eyes. Black hair. Full lips. A straight nose that belied her ancestry. Her expression was so fierce and commanding that he could easily imagine her choosing the same lifestyle as his brother. With equal detachment, however, Shepard could see why Renaldo had been attracted to her. She was more than simply attractive; her eyes pulled a person closer and wouldn’t let go.

His voice was low and contained and gave away nothing of what he was thinking. “Are you Maya Vega?”

She swallowed and her throat moved. His eyes went to the motion, then she spoke, pulling his gaze back up. She’d recovered her composure so quickly someone other than Shepard would not have even noticed it’d fled.

“Who are you? How’d you get in here—”

Uncovering the whereabouts of Maya Vega—now Velaquez—had taken more money and more time than he had anticipated but Shepard had been forced by his conscience to hunt her down. She was the one person who could confirm or deny the peasant’s story, and if it turned out to be true, then he would be spending even more time and money. He had no patience left for the niceties.

“I told your secretary we were old friends. And you know who I am.” He paused. “My name is Shepard Reyes. Renaldo Reyes was my younger brother.”

Sweeping up the papers she’d dropped, then dumping them on her desk, Maya Vega stared at him. Her demeanor was steady but her expression held fear, and her ivory skin was pale.

Shepard felt a twinge of sympathy that he immediately squelched. If everything he knew about her—and half of what he suspected—was the truth, then she deserved nothing but his scorn.

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Something has come to my attention that no one but you can confirm. If I could have some of your time, I’d appreciate—”

“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.” She interrupted him and tilted her head toward the hallway. “You can talk to my secretary on the way out. Perhaps next week sometime…”

Their gazes locked, the knowledge flowing between them that she would be “booked” until the end of time…at least as far as he was concerned.

He ignored her obvious brush-off. “You do remember my brother, don’t you?”

“Of course, I remember him.” If she was this cool in front of a jury, he could see why she was in the corner office. “But what happened back then took place in another lifetime. What could you possibly want with me now?”

“That’s what I’d like to discuss. If you’d accompany me to breakfast, I’ll explain.”

“I don’t have time for that. You’ll tell me why you’re here right now and then you’ll leave.” The words came out hard and flat. “Talk or walk.”

He understood exactly what she was doing; in her office, she held the power. If they went somewhere neutral, they’d be on even ground.

“The issue is too involved to be explained in five minutes.”

She glared at him stonily. “Then I guess it won’t be discussed at all. I’m not leaving. I have appointments I can’t break.”

Anger flooded him. He didn’t want to do this the hard way, but he could if necessary. “I’m sure that would be best—for you. But that’s not going to happen.”

“And if I refuse to cooperate?”

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not at all,” he said. “It’s simply the way things are. If I were you, I’d accept that. Otherwise I might be forced into looking elsewhere for help.”

She didn’t blink and she didn’t speak.

He nodded toward the rolled-up newspaper lying on the edge of her desk. “I’m sure the press would be delighted to assist me. It’s not every day a former leftist guerrilla aspires to become a judge.”