River of Secrets

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.

FOUR

Where was she? Juan wondered. He’d planned to ask Amy to eat with him, but she was nowhere to be found. So he’d found a table with Jonathas and Salvador, yet couldn’t help wondering what Amy was doing.

When she didn’t return in time for lunch, he finished up and decided to lie down for a while. He hated to admit that he needed to rest, but his body had flashed neon warnings in the form of a throbbing headache and aching muscles. When he woke up two hours later, his headache was gone and Amy still hadn’t returned. He questioned Anna, who said she’d gone into town to run a few errands. He stayed busy on the wing, waiting for her to get back.

Lucas declared it was good therapy for building his stamina back up. Now, as he worked, his eyes kept straying to the plastic-covered opening, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dark blond head or slender profile. Juan shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to fall for her. He had no idea who he was. He didn’t even have a real name.

Shrugging those thoughts off, he watched Salvador and Jonathas work together, building the opposite wall. The two had hit it off pretty well despite their age difference. The wall was coming together and the wing should be finished before too long.

He slammed the hammer onto the nail. Bam.

And the memory was there. He jerked, sat with a thump on the wooden floor. The jungle smell—wet, fresh, teeming with life. He hefted the machete and chopped another vine out of his path. Men followed. The mansion sat just ahead. The other SEALs were in the water. His job was to disarm the alarm system. Someone else listened in on everything as he monitored the mission.

“You almost done with that part of the wall?”

Juan whirled to find Romero, the orphanage’s resident handyman, standing behind him. A large dark man in a sweat-drenched white tank top, the tattoo on his left upper bicep rippled on top of bulging muscles. His tool belt hung low on his lean hips, and his white teeth flashed in the blazing sun, competing with the gleam of matching gold in his nose and ear.

The memory still spun through Juan’s mind like a movie out of control. He cleared his throat and said, “Uh, yeah. Just taking a little break.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel he kept stuffed in the back pocket of his green cargo shorts.

Why was he tramping through the jungle with a team of SEALs? Where was the mansion that he could now picture in detail? Had he been a SEAL?

“Miss Anna sent this out to you.” Romero handed Juan a plastic cup full of ice-cold lemonade. He downed it in one swallow, his mind still rippling from the memory. “Obrigado.”

“Welcome.”

Thunder rumbled, and Romero looked at the sky. “Storm’s coming.”

Juan peered up through a break in the canopy above him and eyed the restless sky that only moment ago had been cloudy but sunny. Now the clouds rolled and swirled, obliterating the sun. Thunder boomed and a flash of lightning encouraged him to hurry and put away his tools.

He called to the teens who were packing up, “Come on guys, we’re done here. Let’s get inside before we get soaked—or electrocuted.”

The young men wasted no time gathering their things, and the four of them headed for the plastic door that led to the newly renovated main building. Salvador walked beside him down the brightly lit hallway. “How’re you doing, Sal?”

Salvador’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “All right, I guess.”

“How’s Carlita? Has she spoken yet?”

Salvador took a deep breath. “She will be fine. She will speak when she is ready. Everyone just needs to stop trying to force her. She is my family. I will take care of her.”

The intensity of the young man’s words hit Juan. He studied Salvador and saw the fierce love for his sister reflected there. “Maybe you’re right, Sal. We just want to see her get better, that’s all.”

Salvador swallowed hard, visibly forcing himself to relax. “I know, Senhor Juan, I just want to help her and don’t know how, sometimes it makes me…” He broke off and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Juan’s heart ached for this brother of the young girl. So much responsibility at such a young age. He should be getting ready to graduate college, be enjoying his youth, discovering his place in the world. Instead, his family was dead and he had a little girl to raise. “I know. You’re doing a great job. Still, I wish she could see a child psychologist or some kind of counselor.”

Salvador threw his shoulders back and said, “Thank you for your concern, senhor. I think I will go see if she is ready to go to supper.”

Juan watched the young man branch off to the right to head down to the room he shared with his sister. That was one thing Juan really liked about this orphanage. They didn’t separate siblings. They kept them together as much as possible. Salvador and Carlita shared a suite with another brother and sister pair. It was a dorm-room design. Twin beds sat on opposite walls, with a bathroom in between the two rooms. There was a short wall that allowed privacy when changing clothes in the room. Each child had a chest of drawers and shared a small closet for hanging clothes. Some of the older teens even had televisions in their rooms that got certain approved channels from the satellite dish. Of course, if one wished to have living quarters separate from his or her sibling that could be arranged, too. Most orphanages had a boys’ living area and a girls’ living area.

Juan stepped inside the temporary tool storage room and set his tool belt on the shelf. The construction crew from Manaus had been hired to do most of the work with funds from donations, but Anna was very careful with the expenditures. By allowing some of the orphanage workers to help, it provided jobs for those who otherwise wouldn’t be working. And besides, construction out here in the jungle moved slowly. The intermittent storms often sent the main workers home early. But those laborers from the orphanage could wait out the storm and then go back to work.

Juan headed to his private staff room to shower and get ready for supper himself.

“Senhor?”

Juan stopped and turned. Jonathas approached him and asked, “Senhor, did you find out about the darts from the gym?”

Juan studied the young man. “No, we haven’t heard anything yet. Why?”

Jonathas shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

Was he really just wondering or was there more to it than that? After all, the darts were gone when he and Lucas arrived on the scene—and Jonathas was there. But he had a legitimate reason for being there. Juan himself had told the boy to come find him when he was ready to work on the orphanage wing. And yet…

Juan clapped Jonathas on the back and said, “I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

“Okay. See you at supper.” The boy turned back. “Oh, hey, don’t forget the picnic tomorrow.”

“What picnic?”

“The one I hear they have every year. They even have a dunking booth. Get ready to get soaked.” He disappeared around the corner.

Juan grumbled, “Oh, yeah, that picnic. Who says I’m gonna volunteer?”

The next morning, right before sunrise, Amy continued her daily tradition of her dockside quiet time. Her stomach was still in knots, and she needed some guidance. After calling the McKnight family again—and again getting no answer, she gathered her Bible and notebook and headed out, only to come across Jonathas in the jeep driving toward her. She called, “Good morning. You’re up early.”

The seventeen-year-old pulled up to a stop next to her and said, “Bom dia, senhorita. My morning routine. I am driving down to check on the cows.” The cattle meant a lot to the orphanage as they provided milk and meat. Often they were sold to raise money for other necessities that the orphanage needed in order to keep running efficiently.

Amy smiled. “You’re doing a great job, Jonathas.”

Bright white teeth flashed in the morning light. “Thank you.” He disappeared in a trail of dust, and Amy continued on to the dock. Walking to the end of the fifty-foot pier, she sat and looked out over the muddy brown water, catching glimpses of the wildlife that never ceased to amaze her. A caiman floated past. Then another. And another. Nocturnal creatures, it was still early enough for them to be out and about. They looked like alligators, their snouts skimming the top of the water.

The first time she’d had her quiet time out here, she’d had her legs hanging over the edge of the dock. Then she’d seen her early-morning companions and nearly had a coronary. Today, she didn’t even flinch. This was her favorite time of the day. The sun rose with a blend of orange, yellows and reds, first peeking above the horizon, then coming forth in its full glory to proudly display God’s handiwork. It never failed to take her breath away.

When the sun finished its climb, she pulled out her Bible and just sat without opening it. Instead, she went straight to the point. What do I do, Lord? What do I say? Should I talk to Lucas and ask him what to do? Would it do more damage to Micah—er, Juan—no, Micah, if I bring up the past and… She groaned and dropped her head in her hands.

“Problems?”

She jumped. It was Micah’s voice—but it wasn’t. It was deeper, with a rasp he didn’t used to have. Due to the damage from smoke inhalation, no doubt.

Amy turned and looked up at him, seeing the resemblance all over again. She’d noticed it in the beginning, but had never entertained the possibility that he might actually be Micah. Because Micah was dead. Only now he stood looking at her with a frown creasing his forehead.

She frowned back. “Problems? A few. God and I were just having a conversation about them. Well, actually, I was talking and He was listening.” Then she smiled. “What are you doing here so early?”

Micah sighed and dropped his head. “Looking for you. I was wondering if I could join you.”

“Sure.” Amy could see he had something on his mind. “What’s up?” She did her best to sound cheery and carefree. No need to let him see her turmoil until she could talk to Lucas and get in touch with his family. Surely one of them would see she’d tried to call and call her back. She’d gotten a satellite phone, and both Cassidy and the ambassador had the number. Hopefully, he’d check in with his office and they’d give him the message that she wanted to talk to him.

Micah sat down beside her, crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped loosely in front of him. Silent, he stared down in the muddy water.