The Searchers

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.

Shot from a distance with a telephoto lens, the edges of the picture were grainy and out of focus but the center was clear as could be.

It was a photograph of her. Taken nineteen years before, the picture showed her holding an automatic gun and surrounded by men equally armed. Renaldo was not in the frame because he’d been behind the camera. Thrusting his weapon into her hands, he’d pushed her into the group and told her to smile. She stared at the photograph and felt her heart careen out of control, sweat breaking out on her forehead as heavily as it had that day in the jungle.

She hadn’t realized she’d said anything until she heard Shepard’s voice, coming from the phone she’d set down on the desk. “Maya? Maya? Are you still there? Hello?”

His voice triggered something and suddenly she understood. She grabbed the receiver.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was ferocious. “I tried to help you and this is the thanks I get?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me. I’m holding a photograph and you damn well know what it is. That’s why you called, isn’t it? Your timing was perfect but you can take your little warning and shove it up your—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Explain yourself.”

His command was so forceful, Maya complied without thinking. “I just received a photograph of me,” she said tightly. “With Renaldo’s cadre.” Her voice went hoarse. “It won’t work, Shepard.”

She thought she heard a quick intake of breath, then knew she’d imagined it. “I have sent you nothing. This photograph must have come from someone else—”

“Say something I can believe.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

Anger washed over her. “If you think this will deter me, think again. You and your family can try all the dirty tricks you have at your disposal but they won’t work against me. Or my son, if he lives.”

She didn’t realize she was speaking Spanish until she stopped. And she didn’t realize how much she meant her words until then, either. Compared to the possibility her son might be alive, nothing else in her life mattered. Nothing.

She spoke again. “Are we clear on this? I am coming to Colombia and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“That is not a good idea.” He sounded alarmed but she knew he was faking it. “Please, Maya. Do not even consider coming here.”