Читать книгу Not Without The Truth - Kay David - Страница 10

ARMANDO TORRES GAVE HER his cell phone then stepped outside as she dialed the number written on the small slip of paper he’d handed her. The first ring had barely finished when the phone was answered at the other end.

“Children’s Clinic. How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak with Dr. Stanley,” Lauren said. “This is his daughter calling.”

She felt strange describing herself as someone’s daughter but as Lauren waited to talk to the man who claimed to be her father, she knew that Armando had told her the truth. She trusted him but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Lauren?”

She gripped the phone tighter as her name was spoken. “Y-yes,” she managed to say. “This is Lauren.”

“Oh, sweetheart! You don’t know how worried I’ve been. Thank God you’re all right! How do you feel? When are you coming home? They told me you lost all your things! Do you want me to come down and get you?”

The man at the other end stopped to take a breath and when he did so, he seemed to realize how rattled he sounded. He laughed apologetically. “I’m sorry—I know I’m running off at the mouth, but I’m just so relieved to know you’re okay. Tell me how you feel.”

“I’m still a little sore,” she said, “but Dr. Torres has reassured me nothing’s broken.”

His voice was strained. “Is he taking good care of you?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Except that I have this…memory problem—”

Her father broke in, his tone switching to a more professional level. “I understand but I don’t want you to worry about that, Lauren, okay? It’s a temporary setback and you’re going to be fine. Once you’re back home, we’ll get you in to see Dr. Gladney right away. The two of you can work everything out, just like you did before. You’ll be fine in no time.”

To Lauren’s ears, his manner seemed forced, but maybe he was simply overwhelmed with worry. “Dr. Gladney?”

“She’s your therapist, honey. You don’t remember her?”

“I don’t remember me,” Lauren replied, half joking, “how could I remember her?”

He took her question seriously and Lauren got the impression that he probably took most things that way. “Dr. Gladney is a specialist in psychotherapy as it relates to traumatic reassessments and integration, Lauren. She’s worked with you for years, ever since—”

He broke off and Lauren asked, “Ever since what?”

For a moment, a static silence whispered down the line, then he spoke again. “Ever since your mother died. You don’t remember that, either?”

A vague reaction tugged at the back of her mind—something forbidden and scary and chaotic. She tried hard to pull more out of the fleeting sensation but failed. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to…”

“It’s okay.” She could tell he was trying to hide his shock. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about that later.”

Lauren pressed him. “Tell me now,” she insisted. “Dr. Torres said all I might need is a single memory and everything else might come back. I want to know.”

“It’s complicated—”

“Then simplify it.”

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “The truth is your mother took her own life when you were ten. It was a very sad time for all of us and it was especially traumatic for you. You found the body.”

“I—I can’t believe I wouldn’t remember something like that,” she said in sudden shock. “It must have been horrible…”

He hurried to reassure her. “Your reaction is extremely typical, Lauren. I’d be surprised if you did remember it. Don’t worry about it, all right? We’ll handle everything when you get back. Dr. Gladney and I will help you, I promise. You’ll be fine as soon as we get you home.”

He sounded as if he thought she were about to crash and burn. Losing your mother was a terrible thing but it’d clearly happened years before. He was acting as if he were afraid she might fall apart completely. What kind of fragile flower had she been?

“When do you think you can make it back to Cuzco?” Her father’s question cut into her thoughts. “That’s the largest town nearby. I’ve already checked the flights for you and there are some going out at the end of the week. I’ve wired some funds to you, as well. The doctor will collect them and get them to you. I know you lost your things. There should be more than enough cash for you to buy some clothes and anything else you might need until you come back but if you need more, let me know. I’ve contacted the embassy and your replacement passport is in the works. I’m not sure which flight would be the best but the earliest one is next—”

Lauren interrupted his flow of orders. “I’m not ready to come back. I have things to do here.”

His voice revealed his surprise. “Lauren, don’t be silly! You have to come home now. Forget about the article. The magazine doesn’t expect you to finish that! I’ve already spoken to Neal—”

“Who’s Neal?”

“Your boss,” he answered. “He said the topic was all your idea anyway and he’s not even sure when it would make the magazine. Your health is more important than writing—”

Lauren gripped the edge of the bed, the realization coming to her that she’d apparently allowed her father to tell her how to run her life. “I appreciate your help,” she interrupted him one more time, “but I’m not coming back until I’m ready. I’ll let you know when that is.”

In the quiet that followed, she could sense his disbelief. His voice changed subtly. “I really think you need to return, Lauren. You can’t possibly get the care you need down there.” He paused. “I’m a doctor myself, sweetheart, and I know what’s best, especially for you. I’m sure Dr. Torres is…all right, but I know your case. After all, I’m your father. He’s a stranger.”

She looked out the screen door where Armando stood. Her father might be correct in what he said, but just the opposite felt true. She sensed no connection whatsoever with him but strangely enough, Armando Torres had seemed like someone she knew—and knew intimately—from the minute she had seen him. The idea was disturbing.

“I appreciate your concern,” she repeated. “But I have things to do here. When they’re done, I’ll leave.”

They hung up and Armando came in shortly after that for his phone. While Lauren got ready for bed, the dynamics of the conversation that had taken place between herself and the man who’d said he was her father replayed in her mind. She was a grown woman and had her wits about her—why did he feel the need to tell her what to do? Even more importantly, why did she feel the need to stay where she was? When he’d told her to come home, she’d declined instinctively. Why? She worried over the situation for a while longer, then sleep overcame her.

She woke abruptly at 2:30 a.m., her scream still echoing in the empty ward. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed so hard, the scrapes on her palms had opened and begun to bleed again.

A blond man had been leading her across a rope bridge. She was almost to the other side when he magically appeared on the bank ahead of her, but before she could reach him, the rope went slack. For two seconds, Lauren was suspended in space and then she was falling.

She blinked and the images faded but, without any warning, she recalled the moments before she’d gone into the water. She’d been going over the river on a rope bridge. And she’d fallen.

She sat up in excitement and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The sheets and her hands were a mess but she barely noticed she was so stunned by her memory. If she could remember this, she told herself, she could remember the rest.

She stood on shaky legs and crossed the empty room for the desk that served as Zue’s nursing station. A glass-fronted cabinet behind the chair held bandages and tape.

Her mind on her discovery, her nerves ringing, Lauren didn’t see the shadow standing at the door of the clinic until it was too late. The door squeaked open and she jerked her head toward the sound, almost losing her balance in the process. Armando stood on the threshold.

“You’re bleeding!” He came to her side in three long strides and took her hands in his. “What happened?”

They were inches apart and Lauren could feel the energy that seemed to be part of the air whenever Armando was near. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her closer to the desk and opened the cabinet she’d been approaching.

“I—I had a dream,” she stuttered. “When I woke up, I had scraped my hands on the railing—”

“I can see that.” He began to clean her palms with a strong antiseptic, his movements swift and efficient, but kind at the same time. “Is that why you screamed?”

Still holding her hands, he turned from her to pick up the clean dressings, and Lauren realized she had a decision to make. She had to reconcile the disparate ways she felt about Armando and she had to do so quickly.

She made her decision impulsively.

“I’ve begun to get some of my memory back,” she said. “I think I know how I ended up in the river.”

ARMANDO WENT QUIET, Lauren’s statement freezing him. “Tell me,” he said.

She licked her lips and briefly told him her dream. As she explained about the bridge, an uneasiness built inside him he didn’t like. He knew the crossing she described and he’d heard nothing about that particular bridge being down. In fact, once a year, Manco made sure it was replaced so accidents like that wouldn’t happen.

“Are you quite sure the rope went slack and then you fell?”

“Absolutely, yes. I’m positive.”

He returned to tending her palms, his attitude as neutral as he could make it. He’d had a lot of questions about Lauren’s presence from the very beginning, but what had really happened to her was near the top of the list.

He tied off the bandage, his voice noncommittal. “If the rope gave way, I’d say it was frayed then, wouldn’t you?”

“Not necessarily. Someone could have worked on it before I got there and weakened the twine. My weight in the center would have been enough to get the job done.”

Armando hid his surprise at her astuteness. “But why would anyone do such a thing? Do you think someone’s out to hurt you?”

“No, I don’t think that, but who knows? I ended up in that river and I want to know why.”

He put a final piece of tape in place, then released her, replacing the tools and antiseptic in the cabinet behind them. “You need to get back into bed.”

She didn’t move. “I want to go see it.”

He knew what she meant but he asked the question anyway, giving himself some time to think. “See what?”

“The bridge,” she answered impatiently. “I want to go back there. I might remember more once I see it.”

“It’s a half-day hike from here. You don’t have the strength.”

Her jaw tightened, a look of determination adding to the frown she already wore. “I might not have it today,” she said, “but I will soon. And when I do, I’m going back.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“I don’t know if it’s wise or not,” she snapped. “But I don’t have a choice in the matter. If I want to figure out what happened to me, I have to go back to that bridge.”

LAUREN PROCEEDED TO DO exactly as she’d promised Armando. She choked down every drop of soup Zue brought her and swallowed every pill without comment. Three times a day, she walked an ever-widening circle around the clinic’s compound. In a week, she felt much better, in two she was ready to hike.

The clinic was especially busy that Friday, a steady stream of patients coming in from all directions. She waited impatiently until the last one left, then she went into Armando’s office with determination.

“I want to go see the bridge tomorrow,” she announced. “I’m ready.”

He put down the pen he’d been using to make notes on a chart and looked up at her, pushing his chair back from the desk at the same time. His eyes were speculative but they often were. She’d come to see that Armando accepted very little in the way of information without further examination.

“What makes you think you can make it?” he asked.

She was prepared. “I can walk four miles without tiring, nothing hurts and I’ve gained five pounds. My recovery time is over.”

“Are you getting anxious to go home? I would expect you to care more about that rather than going back to the scene of the crime, as it were.”

She tried to figure out how to answer as she sat down in the chair in front of his desk, one of Zue’s wide, colorful skirts—all she had to wear—pooling around her feet. She’d had several conversations with her father since the initial one and his message had not changed. He wanted her to return to Dallas as soon as possible. But she didn’t want that.

“My father has asked me that same question, numerous times as a matter of fact.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know. I guess I should want to go home but…”

He seemed to read her mind. “But you feel no urgent need.”

She met his steady stare. “That’s awful of me, isn’t it?” she asked. “He’s clearly worried and upset. I need to reassure him, but I feel like there are more answers for me here than there are back in Dallas.”

Armando came from behind his desk to perch on the edge. “Why do you think that is the case?”

“You’re the shrink,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I should never have let you see my diploma,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “You know my father is one, too.”

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t you find that weird?” she asked. “That you’re both psychiatrists?”

“Not really,” he said with an engaging smile. “There are quite a few of us, you know. We’re not a rare breed.”

“It just seems strange to me,” she said. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“How do you know?” he asked softly.

She blinked in surprise, then said, “I just do.”

“You’re remembering more and more,” he noted. “That is good.”

“I guess it is,” she agreed, “but it’s like putting a giant jigsaw puzzle together. I remember I like purple, but what shade? I know I lived in Peru as a child, but I can’t recall our home. The pieces are all there but they don’t quite fit.”

“They will eventually.”

“I don’t intend to wait for ‘eventually.’” She stood and they were eye to eye. A shiver she wasn’t expecting went down her back at their nearness. She pushed its appearance aside and concentrated on the moment at hand. “Visiting the bridge will speed things up.”

“I do not believe you are ready. Your strength is much better but traveling to where the bridge is located…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I do,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve been exercising and I want to go. If you won’t take me, then I’ll find a way to get there on my own.”

Their gazes met and this time the impact was even more noticeable. Armando wasn’t a man who could be ignored but Lauren couldn’t allow physical attraction to dictate her actions.

“You are a very stubborn woman,” he said.

She looked at him unblinkingly. “Will you take me?”

He gave a Latin sigh, then spoke with resigned acquiescence. “All right. You win. We will go in the morning. Wear pants and bring a sweater.”

ARMANDO CALLED MEREDITH that night on his encrypted cell phone and told her about the upcoming trek. She quizzed him about Lauren, asking why she simply didn’t come home now that she knew her true identity.

He repeated Lauren’s comment.

“What does that mean?” Meredith demanded. “Why would she feel there are ‘more answers’ for her in Peru? Answers to what?”

Armando spoke with uncharacteristic hesitation. “I’m not sure. She said something else that concerned me even more.”

“And that was?”

“She said she didn’t believe in coincidences.”

“So?”

“I think she came here for a reason, Meredith. I have a feeling her magazine article was just a cover for something else.”

“And I think you must be getting paranoid on me.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, “but I agree with her. I don’t believe in coincidences, either. She did not come to Peru just to wander about the ruins and write some pretty essay.” He’d given the facts a lot of thought and he’d decided there was only one real reason for her appearance. He told Meredith that reason now. “We’d be foolish to think her mother’s death has nothing to do with her trip here.”

Meredith’s pause echoed down the line, her voice puzzled when she spoke. “You don’t think she suspects you had anything to do with that, do you? Wasn’t she shot by an intruder?”

“That was what the embassy’s press release said but I always wondered. My gut feeling told me something else went on there that night.”

“But how could Lauren have been involved? She was…what? Ten years old?”

Armando closed his eyes but the image in his brain didn’t go away. “She was ten. Officials in the States believed there was a mole inside the Peruvian embassy and they thought Margaret Stanley might be it. I was sent there to eliminate her.” He paused until his pulse steadied. “But I arrived too late. She was already dead, supposedly killed by a burglar. No one was ever arrested and eventually the matter was dropped. The press moved on to its next tragedy.”

“That’s convenient. Was Margaret Stanley the mole?”

“The problems at the embassy stopped after her death, so it was assumed so,” he answered. “The father took Lauren and departed the country right after Margaret’s death. I had developed a contact on the inside, but he had no idea who I really was, of course. I couldn’t call him up afterward and ask.”

“Who was he?”

“His name was Daniel Cunningham. He was Margaret’s attaché. I arranged to play squash beside his court one day and we struck up a conversation. He invited me to the embassy’s Christmas party and that’s how I gained access.”

“Who do you think killed her? And why cover it up?”

“Why is any crime covered up? To hide another one, I would presume. As to who actually pulled the trigger, I don’t know, although I always wondered about the father.”

“He is a nervous fellow, kinda strange.” Meredith’s voice lightened. “Then again, he is a psychiatrist. You guys are all pretty weird.”

“Cunningham had said the man was little more than a fixture but Stanley definitely had the motivation if he’d wanted to kill her. He was very unhappy. He didn’t want to be in Peru and I could understand why. He’d had a large practice back in the States and he’d sacrificed it to come with his wife.”

“Could he have been the mole?”

Everything had pointed to J. Freeman Stanley as the guilty party, but to Armando that fact alone was enough to make him suspicious of any conclusion. “I wondered about that, too,” Armando replied, “but no one wanted my opinion on the matter. I was only the hired help.”

Promising Meredith another report when he had more to tell her, Armando hung up a few minutes later.

Lauren was waiting early the next morning, a backpack at her feet, when he stepped outside his bungalow. Gazing out over the valley beyond the clinic, she seemed unaware of his presence until he crossed the grass that separated them. As she turned at his approach, Armando hoped, just as he had sixteen years previously, that her father hadn’t been involved with her mother’s murder. To a child, a loss like that was overwhelming. A betrayal on top of it would be impossible to accept, even after all these years.

He put aside his concerns, his attention diverted by her clothing.

She’d dressed as he’d instructed but something didn’t seem right about her pants.

Seeing his puzzled expression, she tugged on one baggy leg. “Recognize them?”

He frowned and looked closer, then raised his eyes to hers. “Are those mine?”

She grinned. “Zue stole them for me. I didn’t have anything else.”

“They fit you a lot differently than they fit me.”

“Thank goodness they do,” she said. “If they didn’t, I’d be worried.”

He started to argue. If she hadn’t looked so great, he wouldn’t have been quite as distracted as he now found himself. Forcing his eyes away from her curves, he tried to concentrate on the upcoming task. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” She set her tea cup and saucer on the nearby patio table. “I’ve been up since daylight. I guess I’m nervous.”

“You might be in for an unpleasant time,” he warned. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter. I need to see.”

He hadn’t expected to convince her otherwise, but he’d had to try. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

She grabbed her bag and they set off toward the barn. He’d told Zue last night to see that the BMW was ready and the tank topped off, and as always, she’d followed his instructions to the letter. Leaning just inside the opened doors, the bike was ready, the bags packed with water bottles and food.

Behind him, Lauren stopped. “Hey! I thought you said we had to hike—”

“I said it was a half-day hike. I didn’t say we had to go that way.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair here. We could break down, we could have an accident, we could be ambushed…a million things could happen to us, all of them bad. If you didn’t have the strength to walk out on your own, then you weren’t prepared. I don’t operate that way.”

He expected her to argue, but her gaze narrowed and she stared at him instead. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

He nodded once, then threw one leg over the seat. She joined him, and a moment later, they headed for the jungle.

LAUREN WOULD HAVE CUT OUT her tongue before she complained but she was definitely relieved when Armando slowed the powerful cycle. For more than an hour, they’d been riding over what was basically a path, and she was ready to take a break. Every rut and bump had made itself known and she was aching in ways she’d never before experienced. Even worse than the roughness of the ride, however, was the impact of Armando’s nearness. She wasn’t accustomed to the sensations he was creating within her and she didn’t know how to deal with them.