Читать книгу River of Secrets - Lynette Eason - Страница 11

How do you know so much about evidence collection?

The question tormented him. How did he know what to do? The work felt natural, second nature, as if he’d done it before. He closed his eyes and searched his brain. Then he groaned with frustration. Why couldn’t he remember?

He’d had CAT scans, MRIs, everything. Lucas had donated both of the extremely expensive machines to the hospital—and used them on Juan. Nothing showed up as permanent damage. In fact, his last scan showed his brain had fully recovered from his head trauma.

And yet—he couldn’t remember.

God, are you there? I honestly believe I can say I believe in You. So, can you help me? Please?

He opened his eyes and looked at Amy, who stood waiting for an answer to her question. He wished he had one to give. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Amy’s eyes conveyed sympathy and she turned to Jonathas. “Well, guess that’s it for the excitement around here. Anyone ready for something to eat?”

Jonathas flashed a rare smile. “Always.” He headed toward the cafeteria located off the side of the main building.

Amy saw Salvador and Carlita walking with several other children. She waved and smiled. Salvador waved back; Carlita stuck a finger in her mouth, but at least she didn’t turn away this time. In fact, she even offered Amy a shy smile. Progress.

Lucas said, “I’ll call the police and talk to the chief, see if he wants to come out here. My guess is he’ll just tell me to bring him the evidence. There’s a small lab here in Tefe. Any big stuff has to be sent to Manaus or São Paulo.”

He headed off, and Juan turned to Amy. “Walk with me along the river? I’m not very hungry right now. My appetite is still trying to work its way back to normal.”

She smiled. “Sure.”

They headed down the path that led to the river and he asked, “What are you doing here, Amy?”

Juan watched her hesitate, her delicate brows drawing together into a frown. “What do you mean?”

He wanted to ask her all about herself, her background, find out what made her tick. The sadness he sometimes saw flicker in her eyes told him she had a depth to her that he was interested in trying to discover. What had happened in her life to shadow her beautiful eyes? “Just, why here? Why this orphanage? You’re very passionate about helping. More so than the average person.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m just curious as to why.”

She kept walking, turning her head as she thought. He wished she hadn’t, he wanted to see her face. Finally, she said, “Because of my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Mmm, hmm. Because of her, I want to spread goodness, kindness, compassion, everything good you can think of. I want to be a part of it, helping others, telling them about Christ.”

Was she for real? “That’s—admirable.”

Amy ducked her head self-consciously. “Well, I don’t know about that. It’s just how I feel right now. The decision I’ve made. And I hope God honors it.”

“God, huh?”

She nodded, looked up at him. “Yes, God. Why?”

Juan stuck his hands into his pockets and scuffed the mud path. “I wish I knew what I thought about Him. I mean, I listen to the speaker in the little chapel every Sunday, but…”

“Yes, I like him. We’re fortunate he’s willing to come out here each week. And he’s definitely on target when he talks about the Bible. But what do you think? About God?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I believe there is a God. But at this point, I can’t remember if I ever…” He felt weird having this conversation, but good at the same time. She listened in a way that made him want to keep talking. “You know. Asked him for forgiveness. Did the whole salvation thing. Sometimes I talk to Him like He’s my best friend. Other times I wonder if I’m talking to air. Do you think He holds that against me?”

“I know what you mean. And, of course He doesn’t hold that against you. I finally came to not only understand, but accept, that He loves me, regardless of the things I’ve done. In spite of my family, and just simply because He created me, He loves me. I used to wonder if He was up there in His great big Heaven, looking down on me, ready to catch me doing something wrong so He could zap me.” A dimple peeked up at him as she gave a cheeky grin. “Thank goodness that’s not the case. I’d have been zapped a long time ago.” The grin faded, her eyes turned sad. “He just wants to love me—and just wants me to believe that, which I do, even though I don’t understand unconditional love. I just know I’m grateful for it.” She gave a sad little laugh that matched the look in her eyes, and Juan felt it seep into the cracks of his hurting soul.

Amy moved, stepping over the trunk of a small tree to use it as a seat. Juan settled himself beside her and looked up to see the sun sprinkling light between the huge canopy leaves above him. The forest was alive, never still, always moving. He’d come to love it…and hate it, for it was here that he’d lost himself. And sometimes it was extremely hard to hold on to the hope that he would one day remember.

Changing the subject, he asked, “So what do you think about the place? The kids, the staff?”

She took the hint. “I love it here. I can’t believe all the good going on here in what seems to be the middle of nowhere. I have peace knowing I made the right decision in coming. I wasn’t sure at first, but when Anna called to ask for my help—” she shrugged “—I couldn’t say no.”

He gazed off into the distance and murmured, “Well, I’m sure glad you’re here. I just wish I knew how I got here, what I was doing before the fire, who I’ve left…” He glanced back down at her. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you while I was so sick.” He swallowed hard; her beauty moved him. Not just the outward, but what she was on the inside. Compassionate, caring…all the things Lucas had mentioned. “Thank-you seems kind of inadequate after all you did for me, not just medically, but emotionally, too. Your being there helped tremendously.” Juan gave a small self-deprecating laugh. “It’s hard to admit, but I really felt alone. I’ve felt that way for a long time. I mean, Lucas has been great, but…” He shrugged, unable to fully find the words to share his thoughts.

Amy reached over and placed a compassionate hand on his forearm. “Keep talking to God. He’s there and He hears you. Come join me in the morning at the end of the dock. I go there to be alone with God, but wouldn’t mind your company.” She smiled. “And in the meantime, you’re doing some great stuff around here. I hear you got Salvador playing baseball and laughing. That’s an accomplishment. You’ve obviously made a huge impact on him. He came to your bedside just about every day to watch over you. He kept asking me if you were going to die.” She glanced up at him with a shy smile. “I’m very glad you didn’t.”

He gave in to the desire to wrap an arm around her shoulders for a quick squeeze. “Thanks.”

Letting his arm drop, he changed the topic. “I wish we could do something to help Carlita. She needs a special kind of help that’s not readily available here.”

They stood, brushed themselves off and started walking along the river’s edge, through the path worn from many trips for water. Amy mused, “In the States, there’s a child psychologist on every corner. But here…”

“We could offer to fly her to America for help.”

Amy shrugged. “True, but…”

The trees rustled more so than usual, distracting her from finishing her sentence. Juan stopped. He wasn’t terribly worried, but a stray jaguar had been known to attack the unwary tourist who wandered into its territory. And sometimes two-legged beasts often roamed looking for prey. It paid to be cautious. He scanned the area, senses on alert, wary, watchful.

“What is it?” Amy whispered, catching his suddenly intense mood.

“I don’t think it’s anything, but let’s get back to the orphanage. I’m starting to get hungry.” He wasn’t about to scare her with the jaguar theory—or take a chance that it was something even more dangerous. Better just to get away now. He took her hand and turned around to head back when a memory flashed.

“Catch the ball, dude.” He passed the basketball to the guy on his right and watched the man shoot a perfect, net-only basket. He whooped and thumped the guy on the back. “Now, that’s what I call shooting!”

Another flash.

The jungle, betrayal, fire. “Get out now!” The words ripped through his headphone. He looked back at the frightened eyes of the small child. “Come on, little one, we’ve got to go.” He gripped the small hand tight and pulled. The explosion rocked him, he lost his grip. “No!”

Another flash.

“Gabe, look out!” He pulled the trigger. The man stopped in shock, looked at the stain spreading across his chest, then staggered, fell forward and was still. Hard to breathe. Singed flesh stung his nose. Then…nothing.

Juan stumbled on with each clip of memory. He’d make sure Amy was safe, then examine what he’d just remembered. Excitement rippled through him. He was remembering. Oh, God, please let me remember.

Amy let Juan lead her back down the path; he hurried and she stumbled along behind him. The river rushed beside them. Juan kept looking over his shoulder.

“You think someone’s there?” she gasped between steps. “Why would someone be watching us?”

Juan glanced back again, “I’m not sure anyone is. But those darts didn’t come from nowhere, so I’m just going to be a little paranoid until we can figure that out.”

Amy, seeing his point, kept up the pace. Juan turned back one more time to look at her and before Amy could warn him, he ran into a low-hanging branch. It snagged his shirt and held on. Juan grunted, jerked away. The shirt ripped leaving a gaping hole and Amy gasped; her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“I’m all right,” he reassured her. “It didn’t get much of me, just ruined a perfectly good shirt.”

Amy stared at the gap left by the torn garment. She couldn’t take her eyes from the exposed skin.

Juan saw her staring and flushed. “I know. It’s not pretty, is it?”

His puckered, tortured skin looked angry, shouting its fury at the devastation the fire had left behind. Amy realized he thought she was horrified by the scars, and she was, but that was only secondary in her mind. It was the birthmark over the lower part of his abdomen twining its way around to his back that had her transfixed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her fingers. She dropped her hands from her mouth to reach out as though to touch him, pulling back at the last second. Shock still shuddered through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

He glanced around behind her, then reached out and cupped her chin with his good hand, free of scars or ugly reminders. “Hey, it’s all right. Every time I see them, I just tell myself it’s better than the alternative.” Again he looked around, studied the bushes, the trees, but nothing moved. And still, Amy stared at him.

Tears leaked down her cheeks to mingle with the sweat already there. He shifted and through her fog, she sensed he’d become uncomfortable with her stare. “Do they repulse you?”

Amy jerked. “No, no, of course not. I’ve actually seen worse.”

“Then, come on. Let’s get on back. I don’t think anyone is there, but…” He took her hand again and tugged.

Amy followed mindlessly, still in a state of utter disbelief, danger forgotten. How many times had she seen that birthmark as she swam in the pool at the McKnight estate? It looked like a belt, complete with the buckle right above his navel. Only it stopped short under his ribs on the left side of his torso. How often had she teased him about having to get a tattoo so that he could finish what nature had started? She remembered how he’d laughed when she’d bought him a pair of suspenders to go with his “belt” the Christmas she’d been seventeen and he’d been home on leave from the Navy.

Hysteria bubbled to the surface. Emotions ran rampant, her heart thudded in her ears. She had to find a phone, get in contact with his family. She had to tell them their prayers had been answered, that she’d found their missing son and brother. She’d found Micah McKnight.

Three days later, Amy finished up her lunch and tossed her napkin on the tray. Exhaustion swamped her and sleep eluded her. She’d called every number she had for every member of the McKnight family several times over, including her best friend, Cassidy, Micah’s sister. No answer. They were all on an extended cruise, apparently out of cell phone range.

And there was no way she was leaving that kind of information on voice mail. So, while she’d absorbed and processed the fact that Micah McKnight was alive and well—at least for the most part—she still wrestled with what to do now. Did she tell him she knew who he was? And that her mother had been the one to betray him, the one who’d caused all of his misery?

That Amy’s eagerness to help at the orphanage had been influenced, in part, by her devastation when she’d learned of her mother’s illegal activities? Activities which included murder, human trafficking and the kidnapping of Amy’s best friend, Cassidy McKnight, who had travelled to this very orphanage to take custody of a child left in her care.

Did she tell him her mother had been so blinded by greed, so desperate to find a way to stop Cassidy’s father, the ambassador to Brazil, from continuing his work against human trafficking that she’d planned Cassidy’s kidnapping, then hired her own brother, Amy’s uncle Rafael, to finish the job after Cassidy escaped the kidnappers?

She shuddered at that thought. Oh no, no way was she taking on that responsibility. Uh-uh. You wouldn’t ask me to do that, would You, God? Please don’t ask me to do that.

Amy choked back a sob and decided she needed a distraction. Not only had she been thinking about Micah nonstop ever since their dash through the jungle, she’d been thinking about the fact that she had family somewhere in this country. Could she find them? And if she were to go on a search for relatives, where did she start?

Thinking it through, she decided she could start with the names she had. As far as where, she knew that her mother’s picture had been on the wall of the police station as recently as two years ago. It could still be there. If so, she could ask questions. Juanita Morales, Amy’s mother, had been born in the slums of Brazil and sold into prostitution by her older brother. She’d finally managed to escape to the United States, where she’d studied how the rich lived and learned well. She’d changed her name, married a senator and life was good.

Unfortunately, it had been when she’d found out her husband was broke that she’d turned to a life of crime, a life she was intimately familiar with—human trafficking. Only a few months ago, Amy had learned the truth of her mother’s background after she’d discovered incriminating information on her mother’s computer, implicating her in Micah McKnight’s disappearance. Through a fluke, while on a mission here in Tefe, Brazil, Micah had discovered the woman’s true identity and e-mailed a copy of the wanted poster to Amy’s father. Before the man had a chance to open the e-mail, her mother had confiscated it and set her evil plan in motion. She’d set Micah up to die, betraying two teams of SEALs, one of them Micah’s team.

Amy shuddered at the memories. Oh, Lord, help me. I have to tell him I know him. But first I need to talk to Lucas. I need to make sure it’s okay medically to tell him. So until Lucas comes back to the orphanage, help me get in touch with his family members—and continue to help me find mine.

Thinking about what she had to go on, Amy considered her options. She had two names—well, three, really, if she counted her mother. Rafael Morales, her uncle, Juanita Morales, her mother, and a woman named Maria. The latter was the woman who’d looked after Cassidy while Cassidy had been held hostage in the camp. Cassidy said that the woman had faced down Rafael, so obviously she had some kind of power, Amy just wasn’t sure what kind or why.

Amy decided her best course of action would be to start with the local police. She notified Anna that she had some errands to run, and Anna had offered her the jeep and given her a list of supplies to pick up while she was in town. Thirty teeth-rattling minutes later, she parked in front of the police station. She’d not bothered to ask for directions since the town was small, and she figured she could find the building on her own.

Sure enough, a short tour up and down the streets had familiarized her with the layout of the town, and she’d had no trouble locating the police station. Although the town was small, it had a good number of officers on the force to fight the drug-smuggling trade that was popular along the one thousand miles of coastland where Tefe and other cities connected to the Amazon.

Amy climbed out of the jeep and slammed the door. She walked up the three wooden steps that led to the front door of the police station and pushed her way inside. Standing in the entrance, she scanned the place, taking in the details. She could see several metal desks, telephones, an open door leading to the cells in the back. Then she spotted the Missing posters on the wall next to the Wanted Persons. And there was her mother—thirty years ago, listed as a missing person. Amy felt her heart clench, nausea swirled and she fought it down. The black-and-white picture was grainy and faded, but Amy had no doubt who the young girl was. Sold into prostitution at the age of fifteen. By Amy’s uncle, Raphael Morales. Anger bubbled unexpectedly inside Amy.

“What a legacy you two left,” she spat.

“Excuse me?” a voice asked in heavily accented English.

Amy whirled around and found herself staring at a uniform. She let her eyes travel up…and up. The man before her stood at least six feet five inches tall. Stepping back, she swallowed hard and somehow managed a smile.

She held out a hand. “Hello, I’m Amy Graham. I’m new to Tefe and just thought I would familiarize myself with the city.”

Black eyes narrowed, suspicion glinted, but he held out his hand and engulfed hers. In a lilting Portuguese accent, he asked, “What may I do to help you, Ms. Graham?”

Taking her hand back, Amy cleared her throat, “Please, call me Amy. I…was just looking over your posters.”

“I am David Ruibero, the chief of police for the town of Tefe. Now what kind of interest would you have in my posters?” Not a lot of people outside of the orphanage spoke English. Or Spanish. Portuguese was definitely the language to know around here. She’d had Cassidy tutor her before leaving the States and she’d listened to her language CDs on the plane, but if she had to carry on a full-fledged adult conversation, she’d be in trouble.

“That one,” she blurted. Cassidy had described Maria to perfection. The woman was wanted for harboring fugitives, rebels, murderers, slave traffickers. Amy looked for a name at the bottom of the poster, but it had faded and she couldn’t make it out. The picture, though, was pretty clear. Maria’s thick, brown face looked black in the picture; her eyes were cold stones in a face that looked as if it had been made to be wreathed in dimpled smiles. But no smiles showed here. Her lips stretched tight and flat across her face and her nose looked as if it had been broken once. But she’d protected Cassidy from her kidnappers. That told Amy that there was the possibility of goodness somewhere under all that hardness and hate. She hoped. “Who is she?”

Suspicion remained in the dark eyes, and he hesitated before answering, “Maria Morales. Why?”

Amy gasped, and the room spun. “Morales?” she squeaked.

“Here, sit down. Now, why does that name shock you?”

She slumped into the offered seat and buried her face in her hands. Would the nightmare never end? Would every member of her family that she found turn out to be evil?

David Ruibero had the appearance of a gentle giant, yet Amy wouldn’t want to cross him in a back alley. She had a feeling his softness was all a cover, that he could strike as quick as a snake. Intelligence gleamed in his black eyes. No way was she telling this man that the woman on the wall was her maternal grandmother. “Um, no reason. I think my blood sugar’s a bit low.” She brushed aside his interest in her shock and asked, “Do you know where she is? Have you found her?”

David Ruibero sat back and studied her. “You have your reasons for asking?”

Amy sighed. The man was too shrewd, and she knew her face was an open book. “Yes, I have my reasons. Do you mind if I don’t share them at the moment? I’m still trying to figure out…” she trailed off.

He clasped his hands in front of him. “All right. No. We haven’t found her. Don’t really expect to, to be honest. She’s part of a rebel group that is so deep in the jungle, so well armed and protected that even if we knew her exact location, we’d probably lose too many lives trying to infiltrate. An undercover operation would be the way to go, but we don’t have anyone with the skills to do that on the force…right now, anyway. If we had help from some of your Rangers or SEALs—” he shrugged “—or if one of the rebels could be bought off, that might work, but they are all extremely loyal to their cause—and each other.”

“How do I get the word out that I’m looking for her?”

For the first time since she’d met him, his eyes reflected something other than suspicion. This time, surprise mixed with wariness flashed at her. “You don’t want to do that. That, my dear American, would be very hazardous to your health.”

“Not to mention stupid.”

Amy swiveled her head to see another uniformed officer enter the room.

David said, “Ah, Roberto, how nice of you to join us. May I introduce one of the relief workers from the Amazon orphanage? This is Ms. Amy Graham. She is busy making herself familiar with our little town.”

“Busy setting herself up for trouble, if you ask me. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, lady.”

Amy flinched at the hostility in his heavily accented tone. What was his problem? Probably in his midforties, he was a short, round little man with a bald head and beady black eyes. A salt-and-pepper mustache sat neatly upon his upper lip. He spoke excellent English, too. Most natives didn’t understand American idioms. The one he’d used had rolled smoothly from his tongue.

“Trouble?” Amy arched a brow, refusing to let his attitude intimidate her.

“Yes. Why do you want to go looking for that one?”

Amy swallowed hard. How much did she dare reveal? “I…might have some information about a family member of hers.”

Roberto laughed. “Family? And how would you know about any family she might have? Her family is either dead or soon will be.”

Amy shivered and stood. He gave her the creeps, and the chief wasn’t jumping in to help, although the look he gave Roberto told her the man didn’t normally talk like this in the chief’s presence. She stood, looking back and forth between the men. “Listen, if you know how to contact her, I want to talk to her. Otherwise, never mind.” She focused on David. “Thank you for the information. I appreciate the help.” What little it had been.

Amy stepped toward the door, and Roberto slid in front of her, blocking her exit. Nervousness clenched her midsection, but she met his eyes and raised her chin, keeping silent, waiting on him.

Finally, he stepped aside. “Watch your back, senhorita. This is not a good place to make enemies. Not if you want to live very long.”

Amy sucked in a breath, acknowledged his warning—or threat—with a nod, waved goodbye to David and hurried out the door.