The Searchers

CHAPTER THREE

THE SOUND OF a crying child woke her.

Maya sat straight up in the bed and pushed the hair from her eyes, her hands trembling, her heart beating crazily. A second passed—and then another—before she realized she’d been dreaming. There was no child.

She swallowed with effort, her throat dry and scratchy. Rising from the bed, she walked into her bathroom and turned on the faucet, sticking her cupped hands beneath the flow then bringing them to her mouth. She drank deeply, but the icy water made her feel worse. Lifting her gaze to the mirror, she saw a lost woman with empty eyes and tangled hair staring back. Maya moaned and dropped her head again, her hands resting on either side of the sink.

Shepard Reyes’s presence had bullied its way inside her defenses and was holding her hostage. Four days had passed since he’d been there but not an hour had gone by without her thinking of what he’d said. The implication was almost too much to consider yet she’d done nothing but obsess over his supposed news.

Maya headed back toward her bed but as she sat down on the edge of the mattress, she wondered what she was doing. Why bother? She wouldn’t go to sleep, no matter how hard she tried—she knew because she’d woken up every night since he’d left and the results had been the same.

She was so exhausted, she’d actually called in early that morning and told Darlene she’d be working from home. Most of the attorneys put in at least half a day on Saturday; Maya usually stayed the whole day. After lying to her secretary, Maya had fallen into bed, a restless imitation of slumber overtaking her until she’d had the dream.

The phone rang suddenly and interrupted her gloomy thoughts. She wasn’t surprised it was Patricia.

“Maya? Darlene told me you weren’t coming in today. Is everything okay?”

Maya cursed the secretary and then herself. She should have just bucked up and gone to the office regardless.

“Absolutely,” Maya said, standing up. “I’ll probably come in this afternoon, but I wanted to be able to concentrate on my latest case. The phones and everything, you know…”

“Say no more,” Patricia answered. “I understand completely. They drive me to distraction sometimes, too.” She chuckled. “I should have known it was work but I was hoping something else might be keeping you at home.”

Maya stopped at the edge of the bed, her foot halfway in her slipper, her heart rocketing. She immediately imagined the worst. Shepard had told her who he was. Shepard had told her about Maya’s past. Shepard had… Maya forced her voice into calmness. “What kind of something else?”

Patricia’s answer shocked Maya, but not as she’d anticipated.

“Well, let’s just say that if I had a man in my office as good-looking as your co-counsel the other day, I’d hope to be going without some sleep. He was quite…striking.”

Maya was glad Patricia couldn’t see her expression. “Patricia, please… It’s not what you think…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Maya. You’re a grown woman. It’s perfectly all right for you to have a suitor. In fact, someone like Shepard Reyes standing beside you on the podium would be a definite plus. He’d pull in more of the minority vote, plus he’d get every female with eyes in her head to the polls, hoping for a glimpse of him.”

“I—I don’t know what to say,” she replied faintly.

“Don’t say anything,” Patricia answered. “Simply take care of yourself and have a good weekend.” Her tone went playful. “Just don’t work too hard with Mr. Reyes… I need you here on Monday with your focus intact. We’ve got to start on the Barfield case.”

Chuckling once more, Patricia hung up.

Maya stood in shock for a second, then her feet moved of their own accord toward the kitchen. But her mind didn’t. It stayed with the image Patricia’s words had generated. Shepard Reyes was a handsome man, she supposed, if you went for that dark and dangerous kind of look. She’d made a studied effort to avoid men like that since she’d come to the States. Blond, blue eyes, clean-cut…those were the characteristics of the men she dated. When she dated.

No, Shepard Reyes didn’t appeal at all to her. She’d be thrilled if she never laid eyes on him again.

Pushing any other possibility out of her mind, Maya started water boiling for tea. Maybe she should clean out some closets and take some things to Goodwill. There were boxes in her storage unit she needed to go through, too. And the rosebushes needed trimming. If she were going to stay home, she might as well be productive.

But by her third cup, she knew she wasn’t going to do any of those things. Instead, she was going to do what she’d been doing ever since Shepard Reyes had walked into her office. She was going to think about him and her past. And about Renaldo. And about the baby…

She could still smell the smoke that had been in the air that morning. Drifting in through the open window, the scent had been so strong she’d gagged. No one but the richest in Punto Perdido had had propane to cook their meals. Everyone else, including her aunt and uncle, gathered firewood to fuel their stoves and heat their homes. The midwife who’d attended her, Amarilla, had been burning eucalyptus leaves, too. She’d said the pungent blue-gray smoke would purify the air so Maya could rest easier.

Torn apart by a pain she’d thought would never end, Maya had sunk into delirium, accompanied by the screaming voices of her aunt and uncle and all those stinging scents. Even now she couldn’t stand to smell a fireplace.

She closed her eyes. After this many years, she would have thought her sorrow would have left her, but it’d been her steady companion through all her well-fought battles and her triumphs, too. Even in her brightest moments—her college graduation, passing the bar, the partnership at the firm—Maya hadn’t been able to escape the memories. Over the past few years, she’d managed to contain them, but Shepard’s appearance had given them new life.

Despite the pain, one fact remained the same. The child had died. The midwife had brought the body to the bed and held it close so Maya, too weak to even lift her arms, could see. Behind her shuttered eyes, she saw the baby again. The image of the tiny body, so still and colorless, had pressed itself into her brain. She’d never forget it.

Just like the trip that had followed. More than half sick and completely destitute, she’d slept in the jungle until she was strong enough to walk, stealing fruit from the market when no one was watching. A week later, she’d left the village on foot, faint and light-headed but determined. Two days after that, she’d joined a band of illegals. They’d made their way to the coast and then to Cartagena where they’d left by boat, sailing to a barren stretch of Mexico’s eastern shore and landing at night somewhere between Tampico and Brownsville. The man who’d led them—their coyote—had been brutal; whatever his demands, everyone had complied, including Maya who’d nothing to pay for her passage except her youth and beauty.

Buried in the deepest, darkest shadows of her shame, she knew she’d done what she had to in order to survive, but the cost had been high. On some level, she really believed it was just as well the baby had died. A child couldn’t have survived the nightmare trip.

Then she remembered. She’d barely been more than a child herself.

Maya stood up and went to the kitchen sink to dump her cold tea, her thoughts as black as the February storm clouds outside the window, her feelings as empty as her heart. Shepard’s words echoed in the void.

Are you absolutely certain?

SHEPARD’S SUV SPED through the traffic of Bogota as he honked at the other cars and ignored the stop signs. A cacophony of noise assaulted his ears through the bulletproof glass, but that was all that could make it past the windows. His father had had the vehicle built ten years ago when trips to the mine had become too dangerous.

The roads were even more perilous now. Everyone knew that vehicles going to the mine held money while those returning carried emeralds. The chances of gaining something valuable were almost one hundred percent. For the most part, las terroristas left Shepard alone, the car simply an extra precaution. They knew they’d lose any fight with him—either on the spot or later, when they least expected it.

He pulled the armored vehicle into the driveway of the Reyes family home and the security gate opened automatically, the guard stationed in the shack outside the brick fence watching for him. He parked quickly then crossed the tiled courtyard and strode through the front door into the entry. The cool, dim interior of the villa spoke of money and power but Shepard didn’t notice.

He was still thinking about Maya Vega. He couldn’t get over the fact that she was so different from the person he’d expected. Renaldo had drawn a mental picture for Shepard of a young girl, poor and hungry, who’d been swept away by Renaldo’s brash bravado and promises of riches and escape. His cadre knew his true identity and of the fortune his family controlled. Maya had to have known, as well. To anyone in her situation, Renaldo would have been quite a prize.

Shepard had always assumed, as well, that she knew of her uncle’s part in Renaldo’s death.

But now he wasn’t so sure. After talking to Maya, the situation—and the woman—seemed even more complicated than he’d thought.

Not only was she not the person he’d expected, she wasn’t even the person she pretended to be. The protective wall he’d seen the day they’d met was a diversion. Maya was a total enigma, her real self hidden as deeply as the emeralds at Muzo. To make sure things stayed that way, she was working hard at fortifying that respectability: The black robe she wanted was more than a symbol of just how far she’d come—it would be a formidable shield against her past.

Unfortunately, however, her greatest weakness was that very past. And if he had breached it, others might, as well. The thought was ominous for one simple reason.

Eduard Reyes had never changed his will. The document read now as it had almost two decades before. The majority of the Muzo and all it represented was to go to his favorite son, Renaldo, and if not him, then to his heirs. Javier, Shepard and Luisa followed, in that order.

To Shepard, it had never mattered and he believed Luisa shared that sentiment. But Javier was a different story.

Shepard went up a floor, taking the steps two at a time, walking quickly to the door to his father’s room. He knocked softly then entered.

His father looked as if he were already dead. Pale and thin, he lay beneath the sheets, his chest barely moving as he breathed. But his eyes fluttered open as Shepard came close and the illusion evaporated. The fire in their depths burned as brightly as always, if not more so.

“Did you talk to El Idiota?” he rasped.

Putting aside his worries about his brother, Shepard sighed. “That’s no way to refer to Colombia’s Minister of Mines, Papá. The man is—”

“The man is an idiot,” his father reiterated. “Anyone who wants to do the things he does has no understanding of los piedreros. We’ve worked with them for years.” He feebly pounded his chest with a gnarled fist. “The Reyes family knows the miners better than they know themselves.”

Eduard was right, but he was also wrong. For years, the family had had free rein over how they treated the workers, but times were changing. They wanted a fair wage and good doctors and schools for their children. Unlike everyone else in their family, Shepard agreed with the Minister of Mines who thought the men deserved more.

“Have you picked out my casket?”

Eduard’s question pulled Shepard from his thoughts. He sat down in the chair next to the bed. “No, I haven’t,” he answered. “Should I?”

“If you listen to that man and do what he says, you’ll kill me,” Eduard replied. “You might as well attend to the details.”

Shepard’s jaw tightened at Eduard’s drama. His father was a sick man—a sick seventy-year-old man—but he’d attempted, without much success, to manipulate Shepard for years. Thankfully, the door to the bedroom opened before Shepard could answer.

Shepard’s mother and sister entered the room, the women moving toward the bed as if pulled by a string. An apt analogy, Shepard thought grimly. They were Eduard’s puppets, controlled by love, hate or greed. That’s why Eduard was always so frustrated with Shepard. He didn’t play along.

Luisa, Shepard’s sister, kissed her father’s forehead then turned to Shepard. When she’d married twelve years ago, Eduard had purchased the home behind his own for her and she resided there with her son, Vincente, who was eleven, and her husband, Esteban.

“How was your trip?” she asked. “I’m sorry I haven’t been over to see you but I’ve been busy.”

As she spoke, she raised her hand and a brilliant flash of green pulled Shepard’s gaze. He reached out and stilled her fingers. She had on a new ring—a marquise-shaped emerald surrounded by yellow diamonds. It was gaudy and unattractive but very flashy. Just Luisa’s style.

“Do you like it?” Her fingers in his, she turned her hand to catch the sun beside Eduard’s bed. “Esteban bought it for me last week.”

Luisa’s husband had worked in the mines almost as long as Shepard but in direct contrast to Shepard, Esteban did as little as possible while grabbing as much as he could. Shepard looked up at his sister, his expression frozen above the ring. “Did he pay for it or steal it?”

She snatched her hand from Shepard’s grip. “He bought it,” she said tightly. “You can check the manifests, if you doubt me.”

“Don’t be so mean to your hermana.” In the soft, nonthreatening voice she always used, his mother, Marisol, scolded Shepard lightly. “She loves you.”

“And I, her.” Shepard gave his sister an apologetic smile. She caught the sharp end of Marisol’s tongue as much as Shepard caught Eduard’s. Shepard pitied her more than anything. “But Papá pays me to watch the mines. I’m merely being a good businessman.”

With a frown, his sister moved past him to the other side of the bed, his mother returning her attention to her husband.

“How do you feel today?” she asked. “Did you drink your tea?”

Shepard glanced into the cup beside his father’s bed. “Good God, Mother, what is that?”

“All Heal,” she answered. “I’ve sprinkled it about the room, as well. It will help your father—”

“The only person that stinking mess helps is Teresa.” Shepard grabbed the mug, then went to the window where he pitched out the pungent-smelling drink. Opening the bedroom door he placed the mug on a table in the corridor. “How much did you pay the witch for that disgusting stuff?”

His mother crossed herself. “She’s not a witch. She’s a santera. Don’t speak of her like that.”

Shepard hated the so-called “high priestess” his mother consulted. In his opinion all she did was relieve Marisol of cash and give nothing in return. Like many South Americans, however, Marisol liked to hedge her bets, keeping one foot in the traditional church, and the other with Santeria. Brought to the Americas with the slave trade, the religion was a complicated mixture of Catholic saints and African traditions, led by priests called santeros. All of them were well-versed in herbal remedies, which they claimed had power over everything from evil to insomnia.

Javier hadn’t shared Shepard’s feelings. In fact, he and the woman had been lovers at one time. As far as Shepard knew, they’d broken up years before but he had no idea why. In his mind, they deserved one another. An unholy alliance.

Shepard started to argue, but his father waved a weak hand, silencing them all. From the bed, his eyes drilled Shepard. “Let your mother have her silly herbs and your sister, her baubles. If you really want to do something to help me, then forget this ridiculous idea of opening a store and listen to your brother. He has a plan to get rid of that idiot minister. I want you to hear what he has to say.”

Shepard could feel a muscle in his jaw twitch. Javier’s strategies frequently lay outside the law, which was quite an accomplishment considering almost anything could—and did—happen in Colombia with no one caring one way or the other.

“That’s right.” A deep voice sounded behind them. “You should listen to your big brother, hermanito. He knows of what he speaks.”

Marisol and Luisa greeted Javier with kisses but Shepard kept his seat.

Javier came to Shepard and slapped him on the back. They shared a faint family resemblance but little else. Where Shepard’s weight was muscular and his face sharp, Javier’s features had been blurred by the life he’d led, his body made soft by his indulgences.

“Was your trip to the States a good one?” His gaze was as steady as a hawk’s watching prey. “Did you find what you sought?”

“I investigated the market,” Shepard answered casually, “but I’m not sure retail is the way we want to go. You know how complicated it can be.”

Javier nodded. A countless number of jewelry stores in Bogota sold emeralds but the small shop they had in the upscale area of Bogota was special, mainly because of who they were. Frequented by tourists, the tiny bodega made an incredible amount of money yet the hassles were equally huge. To open a long-distance endeavor would be daunting. Shepard had needed an excuse to go to Houston, though.

“I’m sure you will have something interesting to tell me, regardless of the outcome,” Javier replied.

Shepard felt a flicker of unease then told himself he was being ridiculous. Javier couldn’t possibly know anything about Maya Vega. Not at this point, anyway. On the other hand, Javier’s doublespeak often covered up the truth. Shepard tilted his head slightly to indicate his agreement then made a mental note. He’d better check on Maya Vega…just to be sure.

He didn’t need her blood on his hands, too.

MAYA HAD SWORN she’d never return to Colombia, but the words of Shepard Reyes continued to disturb her the following week. They burned their way through all logic and common sense and the longer she considered the possibility that her son might be alive, the more urgent it seemed that she investigate the situation personally. The idea in and of itself—that her one offspring could possibly be alive—was almost overwhelming but stepping past that impossible point, was another issue, this one almost as upsetting. She didn’t trust any of the Reyeses. It was a huge leap to go from “Was he alive?” to the next question, but she’d made it quickly. If she was wrong and the boy had survived, what did Shepard want with him? Would he turn him into a Reyes? Teach him all their tricks?

She’d investigated the family after she’d left Colombia and become successful, and the report had confirmed all she’d witnessed in her earlier years. The family was ruthless when it came to dealing with their workers and even more so with their rivals. Power and profits meant more to them than anything else. Much, much more.

Renaldo had not been exempt from that attitude but she’d been too young and too innocent to realize it. Longing to impress him and ready to do anything for him, she’d listened as he’d complained constantly about a family who didn’t understand him, who manipulated and controlled him…but he had done the very same thing to her. Through it all, though, she’d done the things she’d done because she’d loved him. Not his politics.

With Shepard’s presence still vivid in her mind, she revisited that file, reading deep into the night.

Then she booked her flight.

Packing two nights before she was to leave, Maya continued to think long and hard about the choice she was making but her resolution stayed firm. The pending judgeship was of paramount importance, but there was no comparison between it and her son. If there was any possibility—no matter how remote—that he might be alive, she had to know. Any woman alive would feel the same.

Maya didn’t believe in ESP but when her phone rang as she closed her suitcase, she knew exactly who was on the other end. She picked up the receiver with shaking fingers.

His voice sounded as if he were in the house next door. “Señorita Vega?”

She gripped the receiver with both hands. “I thought you weren’t going to bother me anymore.”

“I lied.”

“And why is that?”

“I wanted to…make sure everything was all right with you.”

His reply puzzled her until she looked down at her suitcase. Had he somehow found out she was going to Colombia? It didn’t seem possible, but he’d mentioned friends who had helped him. Did these friends include someone who might be watching her? Was she being paranoid or cautious?

“Everything’s just fine,” she said slowly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No particular reason,” he answered. “I merely wanted to make sure my visit had not troubled you too much. I appreciated your help. And I’ve come to think you might be right. Perhaps the woman I spoke to was lying. Who knows?”

His reversal was too smooth, too quick. Her suspicion took another leap when her doorbell rang. “There’s someone here—”

“I’ll wait,” he replied.

Torn between the fear she’d give herself away and the desire to see if he knew about her trip, she hesitated. “All right,” she finally agreed. “But first let me see who’s here.”

She hurried to her entry, still holding the phone as she looked through the sidelight to see a delivery man. She wasn’t expecting anything, but Darlene could have sent something over. Everything was urgent to her secretary. Nervously scribbling her signature, Maya accepted the flat envelope he held and took it straight to her desk where she found her letter opener. The French pocketknife had been a gift from Patricia one Christmas, the hand-honed edge incredibly sharp.

Maya didn’t even notice when the blade sliced into her palm.

Staring at the photograph she’d pulled from the envelope, she didn’t realize she’d cut herself until blood splattered over the glossy paper. Nausea rolled over her. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and stanched the bleeding, a sick emptiness suddenly filling her.