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The Searchers
Kay David
The truth is supposed to set you free…After the birth–and death–of her child, Maya fled her hometown and made a new life for herself. Many years later, her lover's brother reveals she was told a lie. Her son is still alive. And now Maya is prepared to do whatever it takes to find him.Shepard Reyes wants to find his brother's child as much as Maya does. Now that the truth about his nephew is known, the boy's life is once again in danger. There are too many people who don't want him to claim what is rightfully his….



“Tell me what you want, then get the hell out of my life.”
“Fine,” Shepard replied. “As I said earlier, I’ve been given some information that I need you to confirm. It involves my brother…and you.”
Maya shrugged. “There’s nothing to confirm or deny. What happened between the two of us took place too many years ago to matter now. What is it you really want?”
“I want the truth.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “When you were a teenager, you took a lover five years your senior. He was my brother, but he was also a criminal who justified his actions in the name of revolution. In the end, he paid for his foolishness with his life.”
“He made his own choices,” she said stubbornly.
“And so did you. But there’s more to the story than that, isn’t there?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “A woman recently came into my office and told me something. A secret, she said.”
Maya’s face slowly became the color of bones.
“You know what she told me, don’t you?”
“Of course not. How could I?” She licked her lips.
“You’re lying.” Shepard leaned across the table. “And this is the time for truth. Tell me, Maya, did you have my brother’s child?”
Dear Reader,
My husband opened a fortune cookie last week and the little paper inside read, “Stop your search. What you seek is already yours.”
I love this message because everyone I know seems to be searching for something—the right relationship, the perfect job, the flawless body…. We’re all constantly looking for more than we already have, and I’m as guilty as the next person. Why do we do this?
My mother would have said we’re cursed with ambition, and in a way, she would have been correct. Most of us are ambitious and we want the best.
There’s nothing wrong with this, of course, because these searches make us better people. Sometimes, though, the treasures we seek are in our grasp and we’re blind to that reality. We don’t recognize what we already have.
There’s a corollary to this. I call it the “unexpected treasure.” This is when we search for one thing and discover another.
In this story, Maya Vega is searching for legitimacy. She wants, once and for all, to be someone others look up to. What she doesn’t realize is that she already has this respect. And Shepard’s looking for a truth that he already knows. He’s been able to deny the reality for some time, but his eyes are about to be opened in a way he can no longer ignore.
Together, Maya and Shepard begin their search, their pasts interwoven as tightly as a braid. Both come to realize the answers they already knew and then they discover something better, something they weren’t even seeking in the first place. They encounter the unexpected treasure.
In all your searches I hope you find the same success. Just remember…be open to unexpected treasures and consider the idea that whatever you’re seeking might already be yours.
Sincerely,
Kay David

The Searchers
Kay David

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PROLOGUE
Punto Perdido, Colombia
“YOU GO IN THERE and tell her the child is dead or por Dios, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born yourself!”
An inch away from his wife’s face, Segundo Alvarez jerked his thumb toward the room at the rear of their shack, his voice as sharp as the axe he carried every day to the emerald mines. “Tell her it’s dead then get rid of her. ¿Comprendes?”
Renita darted a look past her husband to the bedroom. Her niece was lying in a bloody mess on the bed, the midwife, Amarilla Rodriguez, still working beside her. Bringing her terrified gaze back to Segundo, Renita knew pleading for mercy was useless but she had to try.
“Segundo, por favor… She’s weak, she’s sick, she just gave birth…” Renita shook her head, her eyes filling before she could stop them. “I can’t throw her out, she’s my only family. And I can’t tell her the baby died! It’s not right to—”
Without any warning, Segundo raised his hand and backhanded her. She fell to the dirt floor with an involuntary cry, biting her lip savagely, the sharp sting of blood and pain flooding her mouth. The taste enraged her, and she glared at her husband, her hand against her face.
“How can you do this?” she screamed. “She’s just a teenager! If they find out, they’ll kill us all!”
“They won’t find out,” he said ominously. “I’m going to take care of everything.” Stepping closer, he swung his hand up and she flinched, but instead of hitting her again, he jabbed a finger toward the bedroom. “Go in there and tell her. Then make her disappear. I won’t have a puta like her under my roof! I’m a God-fearing man.”
To punctuate his order, he kicked her hard, the edge of his cheap leather boot catching her squarely in the chest. Red stars exploded in her vision but Segundo gave her no time to think about her agony. Instead, he yanked her to her feet, his grip on her elbow the single thing holding her up. His words were hot against her face, his breath fetid. “I’m warning you, Renita. You get her out of here, or I will.” His jaw tightened. “¡Esto me molesta!”
“But the baby…” she whimpered.
“I will handle the bastard and his father, too.” He squeezed her arm until his thumb met his fingers, then he shook her as a dog would a rag. “When I get back, she’d better be gone. If she isn’t, I’ll take care of her myself and you’ll like that even less.”
He released her abruptly and she fell to the floor, tiny puffs of dirt rising from his angry footsteps as he stomped out of the house. Stunned with pain and guilt, Renita wrapped her arms around her waist and struggled to recover her breath. Then she lifted her eyes and met the midwife’s gaze. Amarilla’s blank expression reflected none of Renita’s anger and helplessness. She’d seen too much in her lifetime; she knew she couldn’t change what was about to happen.
Renita buried her face in her hands and began to sob. The blood-soaked midwife turned to the bed and gently took the young girl’s hand. Compared to the women whose children she delivered, Amarilla was old, but the week before, for the very first time, she’d given birth herself and had a new daughter. She didn’t have to imagine the pain her words were about to inflict. Her rough voice held sympathy as she leaned over the bed and spoke.
They heard the scream all the way to the square.

CHAPTER ONE
Muzo, Colombia
Eighteen years later
THE EMERALD WEIGHED at least fifty carats, probably more.
Hefting the uncut stone in his hand, Shepard Reyes turned to the window as his helicopter rose into the air. A cloud of fine, black dust, stirred by the spinning rotors, enveloped them, then the chopper gained altitude and escaped the choking darkness. Shepard put his hand against the bulletproof glass and stared into the open pit a hundred feet below.
The Muzo mine was the oldest, largest and most productive emerald mine in the world. And the Reyes family had owned it since the conquistadores had come to Colombia.
He’d seen the cuts across the mountain’s top thousands of times but Shepard always had to look. He’d spent years learning the Muzo’s secrets and no one else in the family knew the mine as he did, including his brother, Javier, who was in charge of the family business.
The pilot set his headings for Bogota and seconds later the mine was gone, lost in the mountain mist. Dropping the stone into his briefcase, Shepard wished the problem he’d learned of this morning would be as easy to leave behind, but his gut told him it wasn’t going to go away. At least not until he made it do so.
The peasant woman had come to his office early, before the miners changed shifts. Her name had meant nothing to him, but he’d politely shaken her hand and directed her to sit. He was frequently approached by the wives or mothers of the men who worked in the mine to settle some kind of dispute or fix some problem they’d gotten into. They knew who the real jefe was; they expected Shepard to help and he did. That’s how things were done in Colombia.
She’d perched on the edge of the chair and refused his offer of coffee. Waiting for her to speak, he’d put her age somewhere between thirty and fifty—she wore the exhausted look of someone who worked hard…and never stopped. But her clothes were clean, and she had an appealing way about her even though she was clearly uncomfortable sitting before him.
“What can I do for you, señora?” he’d finally prompted.
She looked down at the floor and spoke softly. “You have already done more than I could ever ask for,” she answered. “I came here today to do something for you.”
“I’m sure you owe me nothing, but please tell me how I’ve helped you. I’d like to hear your story.”
“I have a son who is five,” she said. “He couldn’t run like the other children and he’d get tired very quickly.” With an expression of distress, she put her hand on her chest. “I took him to one of the clinics you opened, and the doctors in Bogota, they operated on his córazon…” Her smile transformed her face. “You saved my child’s life, so I wanted to thank you.”
“I’m glad the doctors could help.”
And he was. For years, the miners had suffered conditions no one should have to endure. Neither Javier nor their father, Eduard, had thought their workers needed anything more so Shepard had put up his own money to build and staff the small hospital.
“I want to pay you back, señor.”
“You owe me nothing.” Shepard looked at the files on his desk. Javier’s name was on the letterhead, but it was Shepard who did all the work, and it was piling up, even as they spoke. “The clinic is free. No one pays for anything.”
“I don’t have money to give you.”
“And that’s fine—”
“I have something else, though.”
“It isn’t necessary—”
“I have a secret.” She ignored his attempt to stop her. “You should have been told about this years ago, but…” She dropped her eyes to her lap and knit her fingers together then looked up at him again. “But I didn’t have the courage. Now I must tell you.”
Her words intrigued him, despite the work he had calling to him. “Go on.”
“Something happened in my village a long time ago and you need to know about it.”
With a sudden uneasiness, Shepard stood and came closer to where she sat, taking the other chair in front of his desk.
“My niece had a child.” She studied Shepard’s face. “He had your look about the eyes, but that’s it. He resembled his father more.”
“His father?” Shepard’s gut tightened. “And that would be…?”
“Your brother, of course.”
Shepard closed his expression and rose. He’d been fooled, but she’d seemed sincere, unlike the others who’d approached him in the past. “I don’t handle Señor Javier’s affairs,” he said coldly. “If you want help for the boy, go to him, not me.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly, señora.” Shepard returned to the other side of his desk. “You are not the first to come here and ask for money, believe me.”
She stood up, as well. “I’m not asking for money and I’m not talking about Señor Javier. The boy’s father was Señor Renaldo.”
His hand on the back of his leather chair, Shepard froze. “Renaldo is dead.”
“I know that. But he wasn’t dead eighteen years ago. He and my niece were lovers and they had a child. He was born the day his father died.”
“Your niece…?”
“Was Maya Vega.”
He sat down abruptly.
Maya Vega.
Shepard had never met her but Renaldo had been infatuated with the girl, describing her in detail, telling Shepard how she’d shared his ways. There would always be a place for women like her in the FARC, he’d bragged. The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known to everyone as FARC, believed in equality for all, be they women…or mining scions.
Shepard had come to hate the unknown Maya Vega. In his mind, she represented everything that had been wrong with Renaldo: the recklessness, the irresponsibility, the wild way he had chosen to live. At some point, Shepard had managed to force his animosity into indifference, but hearing her name now, he felt that earlier anger return.
He put his reaction aside and spoke carefully. “If Maya Vega is your niece, then your husband would be…”
The woman held his stare. There was neither apology nor blame in her eyes—only an empty acceptance that said she’d lived a life with few choices. “Segundo Alvarez was mi esposo.”
Nodding slowly, Shepard rejected his automatic response to this name, as well. He’d hated the uncle as much, if not more, than the girl. He calculated the boy’s age, realizing he’d be eighteen now. There had been rumors at one time of a child after Renaldo’s death but Shepard had had no luck tracking their source or the Vega woman down. The thought prompted a question.
“Did Maya Vega send you here?”
“No. Maya left many years ago, after being told that her baby was stillborn. That was a lie. I don’t know where she is now, but I wanted you to know about your nephew.”
If the woman’s story was true, Shepard’s parents would be beside themselves. Despite his rejection of his family Renaldo had been the favorite son, and his parents had forgiven all his misdeeds. They’d be overjoyed.
Javier would have a completely different reaction.
“Stay here,” Shepard had commanded, rising from his chair. “I’m going to open the safe and get some cash for you then I want to hear more about this.”
When he’d returned, the woman was gone.
Shepard stared out the helicopter’s window and cursed softly. What in the hell was he supposed to do now?
Houston, Texas
One month later
BY 7:00 A.M. Maya Velaquez had already done a full day’s work.
She’d had to in order to make up for yesterday. Wasting hours away from her desk, she’d endured breakfast with two county commissioners, a morning meeting with a law professor, lunch with the bar association, then dinner with a group of potential—spelled r-i-c-h—supporters. With no time for her regular duties, she’d had to come in early this morning and deal with a backlog of paperwork. Every attorney in the firm handled dozens of cases, but her load was much heavier. Well-known and well-respected in the legal community, she was in high demand, her time precious. Her life was about to become more complicated, too. A local judge, Marcus Chatham, was retiring early and Maya had been suggested as the person best suited to fill the resulting vacancy.
She wanted that black robe for more reasons than she could ever explain.
She took off her glasses and dropped them on her desk pad. A cold front had blown in last night and a morning rain scratched at the glass, a rising wind accompanying it. Maya hated winter. In Houston, the temperatures never dropped too low, but the dismal, gray days and even darker nights depressed her. With all the extra stress she’d been under, she’d let the weather bother her even more. Thoughts of home had slipped in before she could stop them and she’d gotten lost in the past, thinking of things best left alone. Of green cathedrals filled with iridescent parrots…of steep balconies shaded by wild hibiscus…of a man who had lived in the shadows and died there, as well.
With dogged determination, she reined in her thoughts. Now was not the time to allow her history to haunt her. If anything, it was more important than ever that she stay firmly in the present.
As if on cue, a knock sounded on her door. She looked up to see her colleague and mentor, Patricia Livingston-Wallis leaning against the frame.
“You were perfect last night, Maya.” One of the founding partners in the firm, Patricia’s aura of power fit her as precisely as her tailored red suit and lustrous pearls. She was Maya’s staunchest supporter and the reason Maya had become a lawyer. Years before, Patricia and her husband, Franklin, had literally saved Maya’s life.
Arriving in the States with nothing but the clothes she wore, she’d slipped in the back door of the first restaurant she’d come to and begged for a job. Franklin, the owner, had taken one look at her and brought her home to Patricia. They’d proceeded to open their hearts—and their wallets—and had done everything they could for Maya, not the least of which had been having her declared a ward of the state so they could then be her sponsors. Using their influence and power, they’d helped her obtain her green card and finally her citizenship.
Their generosity had overwhelmed her and she’d insisted on paying them back by working for Franklin. By the time they’d offered to “loan” her money for college a few years later, she’d come to love them both, appreciating their work ethic and the determination each of them had to succeed. She’d never be able to repay them for everything they’d done for her, but as she’d gotten older she’d begun to understand that she’d given them something valuable in return. Patricia and Franklin had been unable to have children and helping Maya had fulfilled their own needs as well as hers.
And they were still helping her. Patricia’s endorsement was the driving force behind Maya’s pending judgeship. Without the backing of someone as important as Patricia, Maya doubted she’d be in the running, despite her sterling reputation.
“The appointment’s almost in your pocket, young lady.” The older woman beamed at her.
Maya returned her friend’s smile. “I hope you’re right, Patricia. Time will tell. I have to get the nod from the governor first.”
“You will.” She tapped the door frame with her nails. “You aren’t getting discouraged, are you?”
Maya had learned a long time ago that wanting and getting were two very different things. As much as she desired to sit behind the bench, sometimes late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she’d wondered if she was making a terrible mistake or a very smart move. The balance was delicate; it could go either way.
But Patricia knew nothing of that.
“I’m not discouraged,” Maya replied firmly, substituting a simple concern for her real one. “But the process does seem to be taking a long time.”
“That has nothing to do with you, my dear. These things simply require a lot of finesse. When Marcus retires next month—and he will—that vacancy has to be filled. And whoever is behind the bench will be elected to return next November. Stay fast and hold steady. You’ll get that gavel, I promise you.”
With that, the other woman strode down the corridor, the sound of her heels fading as she crossed the silk rug in the entry and made her way to her own office.
She should have started on her paperwork, but instead, Maya turned back to the gloomy window. Patricia may have made the promise, but until Maya’s name was approved, nothing was for sure. There were no guarantees.
That was another lesson she’d learned early in life.
A telephone rang down the hall and someone laughed loudly. The sounds pulled Maya away from her thoughts and made her realize she needed to get back to work, otherwise she’d be at the office until midnight. Again. Swiveling her chair to the credenza behind her, Maya opened the drawer that held her files, thumbing through them until she found the one she needed. As she pulled it out, a voice sounded at her door.
“May I come in?”
Holding the manila folder, Maya turned.
A man stood on the threshold of her office, his hands at his side, a leather bag in one, a dripping umbrella in the other.
Without conscious thought, she stood, the file slipping from her fingers to the floor, papers fluttering in every direction as her pulse suddenly roared in her ears. The man said something else and she heard him, but she had no idea what the words even meant. Her brain had ceased to work and all she could do was stare.

SHEPARD REYES HAD always wondered what his brother’s whore looked like.
Now he knew.
They stared at each other, the luxurious office shrinking until there was barely enough air to breathe. Dark eyes. Black hair. Full lips. A straight nose that belied her ancestry. Her expression was so fierce and commanding that he could easily imagine her choosing the same lifestyle as his brother. With equal detachment, however, Shepard could see why Renaldo had been attracted to her. She was more than simply attractive; her eyes pulled a person closer and wouldn’t let go.
His voice was low and contained and gave away nothing of what he was thinking. “Are you Maya Vega?”
She swallowed and her throat moved. His eyes went to the motion, then she spoke, pulling his gaze back up. She’d recovered her composure so quickly someone other than Shepard would not have even noticed it’d fled.
“Who are you? How’d you get in here—”
Uncovering the whereabouts of Maya Vega—now Velaquez—had taken more money and more time than he had anticipated but Shepard had been forced by his conscience to hunt her down. She was the one person who could confirm or deny the peasant’s story, and if it turned out to be true, then he would be spending even more time and money. He had no patience left for the niceties.
“I told your secretary we were old friends. And you know who I am.” He paused. “My name is Shepard Reyes. Renaldo Reyes was my younger brother.”
Sweeping up the papers she’d dropped, then dumping them on her desk, Maya Vega stared at him. Her demeanor was steady but her expression held fear, and her ivory skin was pale.
Shepard felt a twinge of sympathy that he immediately squelched. If everything he knew about her—and half of what he suspected—was the truth, then she deserved nothing but his scorn.
“What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Something has come to my attention that no one but you can confirm. If I could have some of your time, I’d appreciate—”
“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.” She interrupted him and tilted her head toward the hallway. “You can talk to my secretary on the way out. Perhaps next week sometime…”
Their gazes locked, the knowledge flowing between them that she would be “booked” until the end of time…at least as far as he was concerned.
He ignored her obvious brush-off. “You do remember my brother, don’t you?”
“Of course, I remember him.” If she was this cool in front of a jury, he could see why she was in the corner office. “But what happened back then took place in another lifetime. What could you possibly want with me now?”
“That’s what I’d like to discuss. If you’d accompany me to breakfast, I’ll explain.”
“I don’t have time for that. You’ll tell me why you’re here right now and then you’ll leave.” The words came out hard and flat. “Talk or walk.”
He understood exactly what she was doing; in her office, she held the power. If they went somewhere neutral, they’d be on even ground.
“The issue is too involved to be explained in five minutes.”
She glared at him stonily. “Then I guess it won’t be discussed at all. I’m not leaving. I have appointments I can’t break.”
Anger flooded him. He didn’t want to do this the hard way, but he could if necessary. “I’m sure that would be best—for you. But that’s not going to happen.”
“And if I refuse to cooperate?”
“I don’t think you want to do that.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not at all,” he said. “It’s simply the way things are. If I were you, I’d accept that. Otherwise I might be forced into looking elsewhere for help.”
She didn’t blink and she didn’t speak.
He nodded toward the rolled-up newspaper lying on the edge of her desk. “I’m sure the press would be delighted to assist me. It’s not every day a former leftist guerrilla aspires to become a judge.”

CHAPTER TWO
MAYA WENT COMPLETELY STILL and stared at the man before her.
He smiled, his calculating expression as cold as the fear that suddenly possessed her. “All I want is a small portion of your time…and the truth,” he added. “Then I’ll leave you alone and you’ll never see me again.”
“Is that a promise?”
He actually seemed to consider his answer before he nodded. “You have my word.”
She felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass. Since the day she’d left Colombia, she’d worried that this might happen. She’d done everything she could to prevent it…in fact, her life had been designed to keep her past in the past, but if Shepard Reyes had found her, then she’d clearly failed.
Before she could say anything more, Patricia suddenly appeared in the doorway. Maya felt the blood drain from her heart and pool in her stomach.
He turned and spoke pleasantly. “Hello there.”
Maya crossed the room and came toward them, praying her legs would hold her up a little longer, her mind shuffling through the possible lies she could concoct, rejecting them until she came to one that sounded halfway plausible. “Patricia, this is an…associate, Shepard Reyes. Mr. Reyes…” she swallowed, then spoke quickly to cover her hesitation “…is co-counsel on a case I’m handling for some clients in Mexico.” She sent a warning gaze in Shepard’s direction. “This is one of my partners,” she said. “Patricia Livingston-Wallis.”
In her standard intimidating way, Patricia eyed Shepard up and down—then she smiled and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Reyes. Did you fly in this morning?”
“Yes,” he replied in English. “I did. It’s always a pleasure to come to Houston, so I take any opportunity that I can. I visit frequently.”
He had no accent, Maya realized suddenly, and then she remembered. He’d been educated in the United States at the University of Miami, the long forgotten detail popping into her head. Renaldo had derided his older brother’s capitalist choice of a business degree.
Patricia responded to Shepard’s charm like a young girl. “Who are your clients, Mr. Reyes?”
Maya wanted to let him dangle, but she couldn’t. Who knew what the man might do? “It’s Sanchez vs. Sanchez,” Maya supplied. “It was a probate case we handled a few years back.”
Patricia frowned for a second. “I don’t remember that particular case.”
Maya started to answer but Shepard turned to Patricia, his expression so sincere and polite, Maya found herself gritting her teeth. “Señorita Velaquez and I were about to go out for coffee,” he interjected. “Why don’t you come with us and I’ll explain the situation in detail. I’m sure you’d like to hear all about it.” His eyes came back to Maya’s. “It’s a fascinating story, don’t you agree Ms. Velaquez?”
The threat was obvious.
Maya held her breath until Patricia shook her head, a regretful frown on her face. “Nothing I’d like better, but at the moment, I can’t. I have to deal with a fieri facias. We represent a CEO who’s on the hot seat right now, and I need to return to his problems.” She looked back at Maya. “That’s why I’m here, bothering you in the first place. You wouldn’t have the Andrews file, would you?”
“It’s on my secretary’s desk, waiting to be filed.” Seeing a way out, Maya took a step forward. “I’ll go get it for you—”
“No, no…” Patricia held up her hand and cut off Maya’s escape. “I can find it. You two go get your coffee, but keep me updated, Maya. Your case sounds much more interesting.” Shaking Shepard’s hand once more, she nodded to Maya and left.
Shepard inclined his head toward the hallway, his dark eyes steady and unperturbed as he held out his hand, the one still holding the umbrella. It dripped silently on the rug.
“Shall we go?” he asked. “I have a rental car out front.”
Maya felt her stomach clench at the way he’d manipulated her, but considering the choices—and his less than subtle threat—leaving the office was probably safer, at least for her reputation.
“I’ll take my car and you take yours,” she said tightly. “I drive a white Volvo. When you see me pull out of the parking lot, you can follow.”
Brushing past him, she headed down the hall without waiting to hear his reply.

SHE’D KNOWN he wasn’t Renaldo.
Renaldo was dead.
But it’d taken her heart a moment longer than her brain to remember that fact. When she’d looked up and seen Shepard Reyes in the doorway, the past had rushed in with him. He had the same smoldering look, the same glittering eyes, the same arrogant air of the man who’d become her lover when she’d been fifteen.
Her life before she came to the States seemed to have happened to another person. In fact, it came to her almost as a movie, the scenes something she felt she’d witnessed, instead of experienced.
Driving toward Montrose with Shepard Reyes behind her, Maya let the memories flood her, the difference between the two brothers coming into sharp relief.
Renaldo had been twenty-two when he died so Shepard had to be forty-five. Renaldo had been sleek and quick, a shadow who had lived in the darkness. Shepard seemed just the opposite—his presence couldn’t be ignored. He was taller and heavier than Renaldo would have ever been, his shoulders broad beneath his expensive suit, his black eyes more focused.
And he was, Maya suspected all at once, much, much more dangerous.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could handle this man and his threats, she told herself. Shepard Reyes and all he represented meant nothing to her and she’d be silly to let him rattle her. His demands had frightened her but they were meaningless—as long as he wanted something from her, which he clearly did.
Which brought her to the next question.
Just what in the hell did he want?
She exited the freeway and turned right, going beneath the underpass. In any other section of Houston, the streets would have been full of commuters heading to work but not here. The off-beat haven of the artistic and gay communities, Montrose never shut down. Slowing as she reached the main commercial area, Maya passed a tattoo place with three people already in the chairs, a group of twenty-somethings spilling out of the latest trendy diner and a beautifully decorated pocket park, maintained, a sign on the sidewalk said, by the Houston Gay Men’s Choir. After a moment, she spotted her destination, directly across from the park.
She’d been to the outre coffee shop a few months before to meet a blind date. The guy had been a disaster, but she’d liked the place, probably because it wasn’t the kind of restaurant she normally visited…which was exactly why she’d come here now. Most of the lawyers she knew would abandon their Beemers in the middle of Interstate 10 before they’d be caught in the Jumped-Up Java Bar. She parked then climbed from her car and locked it. Her eyes went to the townhouses under construction across the street. Despite its eccentricity, the area was growing. To buy a home in Montrose, you needed a fortune.
But a very small one…compared to that of the Reyes clan.
They owned half of Colombia, the half that held the emerald mines, and their power was unquestionable. Renaldo had turned away from a future filled with ease and luxury when he’d taken up la causa. He’d been foolish, of course. If he’d wanted a better life for those less fortunate, he should have worked with the wealth of his family to bring that about. But he’d been too young and foolish to see that.
And she’d been too young and in love to see beyond him.
Shepard Reyes pulled his rental car into the empty spot where she waited, their eyes meeting through the windshield. A sinking sensation assaulted her; the past was about to catch up with her.

SHEPARD REYES WAS a bastard, but he didn’t care.
He’d come to Houston for answers and he was prepared to do whatever it took to get them.
Following Maya to a small café, he held open the door and they went in, Maya leading him to a table in the very back. They gave their orders to a young girl who sported three eyebrow rings and a snake tattoo on her neck.
Just as she stepped away from their table, the bell above the front door rang loudly. Maya’s gaze shot over Shepard’s shoulder and he took the moment to study her without her knowledge. She wore a business suit the color of café au lait and a dark silk blouse beneath it. The fabric shimmered in the harsh overhead lights but not as much as her hair. The thick, shining mass was pulled into a severe bun, and he suspected she wanted to disguise its beauty for some reason.
The thought was ridiculous, he told himself, but the fact that he had it in the first place was even more outrageous. Why did he care? Shifting in his seat, he followed Maya’s stare, taking in the two people who’d entered. They were dressed in the same nondescript clothing their server wore and seemed to favor the same body jewelry. One had pink hair and the other had blue.
Shepard turned back to the woman across the table from him. “Is this where all the important attorneys in Houston come for coffee?”
Unamused, she stared at him with a sudden and heated directness, her answer as obvious as his question. “I brought you here so no one I care about would see us. I don’t know what you want, Mr. Reyes, but I’d just as soon we do this fast—”
“Por favor, call me Shepard.”
She put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. Anyone seeing them might think they were lovers reluctant to part, sharing one last intimate moment before leaving reluctantly.
But that image only worked if their conversation was not overheard.
“I don’t want to call you anything,” she answered, her voice tight with undisguised anger. “I don’t want to be here and I don’t want to talk to you. The only reason I agreed to this—” she waved her hand to the tables around them “—was to get you out of my office.”
Shepard looked into her eyes as she spoke and all at once, he was struck by a realization; Maya Vega was a very complex—and contradictory—woman. Beneath the cool exterior, there was heat. Beneath the sophistication, there was doubt. Beneath the beauty, there was pain. The wall she’d built around her true emotions was thick and sturdy, and it’d obviously been in place for years. No one, especially him, could ever get around it.
Shepard wasn’t a man who had insights and the unexpected revelation surprised him. But he knew it was right. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But—”
“No, you don’t,” she interrupted. “You don’t understand and you don’t care or you wouldn’t be here.” Her lips compressed into a narrow line, as if she were trying to hold in her words but couldn’t. “Just tell me what you want, then get the hell out of my life.”
His coffee arrived before Shepard could answer. He pulled his steaming mug toward him but Maya ignored the tea she’d ordered.
“I will do exactly that,” he replied. “As soon as you answer my questions.”
“All right.” Her voice was not as steady as it had been in her office. “But tell me first, how did you find me?”
“The Reyes family has many friends here in the States.” He added sugar to his coffee and stirred slowly, lifting his gaze to hers. “They were happy to help me when I told them I was trying to locate you.”
She took a second to absorb the implication, then filed it away for further study. Truth be told, she probably used the same investigators he’d hired. They were the best in town and even the fact that she’d changed her last name would have meant nothing to them.
“And why did you need to locate me?”
“As I said earlier, I’ve been given some information that I need to confirm. No one but you can do that for me. It involves my brother…and you.”
“There’s nothing there to confirm or deny. What happened between the two of us took place too many years ago to matter now. You’ve come a long way on a fool’s errand.”
“You don’t want to revisit your past?”
“Not the one you know,” she said.
“You have another one? One I don’t know about?”
Her eyes were so dark he had the sudden thought that he wouldn’t be able to read them if the lights were dim and they were in bed.
Her answer stopped him from taking the image any further. “You’re clearly aware that no one here knows anything about…my younger years. For obvious reasons, I want to keep it that way.”
“Because of your career?”
“Partially,” she admitted.
“But also because…”
“But also because it’s painful for me.” Her fingers rested lightly on the tabletop. They were tipped in pale polish and perfectly manicured. “I prefer to focus on the present and my work. Nothing else is relevant. My friends have accepted the facts for what they are. They know that I came to the U.S. from South America following the death of my parents. That I was young. That I made it on my own with the help of some good people. That’s it.” She paused. “And while we’re being so frank, I’ll take the opportunity to correct you, as well. I was not a leftist guerrilla. I did not share your brother’s politics.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She shrugged. “That’s your problem, not mine.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She threaded her fingers together but she gave no other sign of nervousness, answering his question with one of her own. “Why are you here, Mr. Reyes? What is it you really want from me?”
“I want the truth.”
“Why?”
“It serves itself. That’s the reward.”
“You’re too smart to believe platitudes.” Her voice was blunt, her expression cynical. “You grew up in Colombia. There is no one truth, especially there. Surely you know that.”
“Perhaps…” He moved to the edge of his chair and leaned closer to her, his words so softly spoken no one else could possibly hear them. “All I care about is the truth that concerns mi familia. And you understand that truth, as well. You were part of it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “When you were a teenager, you took a lover five years your senior. He was my brother but he was also a criminal who killed and stole then justified his actions in the name of a revolution. And you were right there with him, every step of the way. In the end, he paid for his foolishness with his life.”
“He made his own choices,” she said stubbornly.
“And so did you. But there’s more to the story than just that, isn’t there?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “A woman recently came into my office. For reasons that are not important, she told me something. It was a secret, she said. I think now she gave this information to me as much to relieve her own guilt as for anything else.”
Maya Vega’s face slowly became the color of bones.
“You know what she told me, don’t you?”
“Of course not. How could I?” She licked her lips. “Who was this woman?”
“She claimed to be your tía.” He stared at her closely. “Did you have an aunt?”
“Yes, I did,” she admitted. “But she’s probably dead by now. She lived a very hard life and I doubt it was a long one. I can’t imagine why she would come to you with any kind of secret.”
“You have no idea?”
“None whatsoever.” She looked him straight in the eye.
“You’re lying.”
Her hand went to her throat and the gold cross that lay in the hollow of her neck. The chain that held it glistened in the light from the windows behind Shepard.
“Now is the time for the truth to come out.” He leaned closer still. “Tell me, Maya Vega. Did you have my brother’s child?”

MAYA STIFFENED at Shepard’s question, ice-cold fear suddenly barring an escape. She wasn’t sure, but she thought her heart might have stopped, as well. There seemed to be no blood flowing in her veins, no oxygen going to her brain.
Then he softly spoke. “Maya?”
Hearing her name broke her paralysis. She stood abruptly, her leg hitting the edge of the table so hard it rocked violently and threatened to tip over. As Shepard’s mug did just that and his coffee spilled, he grabbed the table.
Maya was across the street and heading for the park before Shepard caught up with her.

HE REACHED HER SIDE and put his hand on her arm, pulling her around to face him. In another time and place she would have protested the touch, but it hardly seemed important at this juncture. His grip was strong and unequivocal. She looked down at his fingers, and then up, into his eyes. “Go away,” she said. “Leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that. Not until you tell me the truth.”
“I could call the police, Mr. Reyes. In case you don’t know, things work differently in the States. Your name means nothing here. The authorities would be happy to help me.”
“I’m sure they would,” he said quietly. “As happy as the press would be to hear the reason I came to you in the first place.”
“No doubt you’re right, but there are other avenues I could take. I have friends, too. And I don’t think they would appreciate your harassment of me.”
“Are they the ones who will help you become a judge? If they are, you’d best watch them yourself. Friends like that flee when they find out they’ve been lied to.”
“I’ve lied to no one.”
“Your lies are lies of omission. You’ve built your reputation on strong ethics and a solid stance. You are known for being a woman who always does the right thing, the proper thing. If your supporters knew you’d been hiding a violent past, how do you think they’d feel?”
“What do you want from me, Mr. Reyes?”
His black eyes pinned her. “I want the truth.” He paused. “Did you have my brother’s child or not?”
His gaze held her fast, forcing her to realize she had no way out. She had to comply…or lose everything she’d worked for—which was probably going to happen regardless, she realized with a sinking heart. “Yes,” she said finally. “I did.”
Something flickered across his face—surprise or disbelief, she couldn’t tell which—then he dropped her arm and went to a nearby bench to stand motionless, his hand gripping the back of it as if he needed the support. Ironically, the sun had come out and chased away the clouds. It was cool and quiet as she came to where he stood.
They stayed that way, still and silent, until he turned to her. She immediately lifted a hand to stave off his questions. “I’ll tell you everything,” she said, “but I want something in return.”
“What?”
“I want you to leave me alone. I never want to see you or anyone in your family near me ever again.”
He inclined his head slightly. “If that is what you want, you have my promise.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she believed him. She sat down abruptly and her heart tightened, preparing her for the fresh pain she knew her words would bring.
“The child died.” She looked across the park at a bed of antique roses. Strangely enough, one held a single bloom. “At birth. I almost followed.”
Shepard’s features shifted into an expression Maya couldn’t read. “When did this happen?”
“The day he was born—the same day Renaldo was captured.”
“You lived with your aunt…and uncle, right?”
“Until they threw me out of their house the day I gave birth.” Remembering Renita’s fierce fight with Segundo, Maya felt ill, the angry words and sounds as penetrating now as they had been then, piercing her consciousness with fresh pain. She closed her eyes, unable to imagine what circumstance could have forced Renita to come to the Reyes family with her secrets. Praying her aunt was all right, Maya opened her eyes when she felt movement beside her. Shepard had sat down.
“They were unhappy with you for being pregnant?”
“My uncle was, but in reality I had to leave. It would have been dangerous for them if I had stayed. As long as Renaldo was there, the regular Colombian Army left the family alone. The soldiers were scared of him and the rebel cadre he commanded. But he’d already gone into hiding when my labor started. Rumors of his pending capture had been circulating and he’d been worried.”
Shepard frowned as she spoke, but he didn’t interrupt her and she continued.
“With Renaldo gone, Segundo and I both knew the whole family might be killed, either by FARC or the Army, the first because I knew too much and the latter because they could… My uncle was a cruel and stupid man, but at the same time he understood how things worked.”
“You didn’t care for him?”
She hesitated. “He wasn’t a good person.”
Falling silent, Shepard seemed to consider her answer. After a bit, he spoke again, his unexpected words a bombshell in the stillness of the park. “Your aunt told me that your child survived.”
Maya jerked her head up, her breath catching in her throat. “What?”
“She said the child didn’t die.”
“No, that’s not true.” Maya shook her head. “I— I don’t know why she would lie about that.”
“Are you sure it’s me she is lying to? You were young, you were scared, you had to have been in pain. You could have been confused…”
“The baby died.”
“You are positive?”
Her throat ached but she’d choke before she’d let him see her cry. She waited until she could control herself, then she answered. “You came for the truth and that’s what I’m giving you. I have nothing to hide because you know it all.” She drew a breath then let it out slowly. “The child died, Mr. Reyes. Believe me… I saw the body and there was no life left in it. That baby did not survive.”

THE BREAK IN HER COMPOSURE affected Shepard unexpectedly. He raised a finger to her face and drew a line down her cheek with the back of one knuckle. Her skin was the color of marble but it felt like velvet, warm and soft. She didn’t move and he dropped his hand, the whole incident over so quickly, he wondered for a second if he’d lost his mind and actually touched her or just thought about it.
“Are you absolutely certain?” he asked once more. “It’s very important.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“All right then,” he said quietly. “I will leave.” He stood up and started down the sidewalk. But two steps away from Maya, he stopped and turned. She hadn’t moved and for some reason, Shepard knew he would never forget the sight of her sitting there in the pale winter sun.
“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
She lifted her gaze, the rest of her as still as a statue. “It was for the best.” Her words had the hollow ring of something she’d told herself many times but had yet to believe.
“I’m not talking about your loss.”
She waited.
“I’m sorry you loved my brother,” he said. “He wasn’t worth what it cost you…but I guess you know that by now.”

WITH NO REASON TO STAY longer, Shepard went straight to the airport. He’d gotten what he’d come for. He wasn’t shocked or even surprised by Maya Vega’s admission of having the child, but he felt she had told him the truth.
If she’d lied, however, then it was just a matter of time. Others would learn what Shepard had and Maya’s son would be discovered. Then killed. If that happened, Shepard would have the blood of his nephew on his hands unless he did something to protect him.
His cell phone rang as he entered the airport terminal.
“Sí.”
Eduard Reyes’s voice wasn’t the stern one of Shepard’s youth, but his father’s haughty demeanor belied his age. He wasted no chitchat on his son. “When are you returning?” he demanded. “Javier has a problem and we need you here.”
Shepard paused by one of the huge windows that looked out toward the runways. They stretched for miles, it seemed, their expansion restricted by a ring of industrial hangars. His father’s bed faced the Andes, and Shepard wished he were staring at those mountains instead.
“I’m at the airport now. I’ll be on the next flight out. What’s the problem?”
His father ignored his question. “Did you attend to your foolishness?”
He’d told his family he was thinking of opening a second retail outlet in Houston. The excuse had seemed reasonable to him because they had a small shop in Bogota already. Its profits were huge, but so were the hassles. No one had been pleased by his idea but they would have been even more upset had he told them the truth of his mission. Especially Javier.
“Yes, I did.” Shepard lied, but followed it with the truth. “I’m not sure what my next step will be.”
“I suggest you come home and tend to your real business before the mines fall in and I must rescue everyone myself. I’m not too old, you know. I could go back to work tomorrow.”
“That’s not necessary, Papá. And besides, you know the doctors—”
“Los doctores pueden ir al infierno.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure they need doctors in Hell, but you need them more.” Shepard shook his head. “Tell Javier I’ll be home as soon as I can.” He started to say more, then he realized he was talking to an empty line. His father had hung up.
Shepard muttered a curse, then continued down the hallway toward his gate, the added worry of what Javier’s problem might be now accompanying him. Every time Shepard left, Javier would call their father and inform him of some catastrophe. Before Shepard could return, however, Javier always “handled” the mysterious problem, earning for himself, as always, more credit than was ever due.
It’d been his technique for years.
Renaldo had been the baby of the family, and he’d always been indulged. Luisa, the boys’ sister, did nothing right. Shepard, the middle son, cleaned up after everyone.
After Renaldo’s death, however, Javier had claimed the spot of favorite and how he’d chosen to do so was simple.
He’d killed his way to the top.

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.
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.”
Maya looked down at the photo in her hand. She’d smeared blood on it, darkening the edges and causing them to curl. “Your plan has backfired, Señor Reyes. Nothing could stop me now.”

CHAPTER FOUR
“HOW LONG WILL you be gone?” Patricia’s voice held more than a hint of disappointment when Maya stopped by her office the following morning.
“I’m not sure,” Maya hedged. “But I have too much going on here to be away long.”
Patricia’s fingers tapped the top of her desk. “Next Saturday night is the dinner for Senator Hayes. I wanted to introduce you to some people there.”
“I know, Patricia.” Maya shook her head. “I’d planned on attending but this came up and I don’t have a choice now. I have to deal with the situation. They’re asking for me.”
“This is the Sanchez case?”
Maya had resorted once again to the lie she’d told when she’d introduced Shepard to Patricia. She’d researched the case last night just to make sure she had the facts straight. “Yes, it is. We did the probate in ’97. I think you might have been in Switzerland at the time.”
Patricia frowned as she tried to remember but Maya rushed into her explanation. She didn’t want Patricia thinking about the case too hard.
“Sr. Reyes has located the missing son who left right after the Sanchez funeral. Obviously they haven’t been able to close the estate without him so now that he’s been found, the family wants me to fly to Bogota and wrap things up.”
“Well, it can’t be avoided, I suppose, but make sure you don’t get in too deep.” Patricia nodded then reached for a folder on her desk, looking at Maya over her glasses. “You really need to be back by the end of next week. The governor might come into town and if he does, we’ll want you in front of him.”
Backing out of the office, Maya clutched the file and made a promise she didn’t know if she could keep. “Of course. I’ll be back by then.” She’d made it to the threshold when Patricia spoke again.
“Maya?”
She stopped and so did her heart. “Yes?”
“If this trip was personal, it’d be fine, you know. You’re an adult and you have a right to your private life.”
A flood of guilt hit Maya as she understood. Patricia thought she was going to meet Shepard for a romantic tryst. “I know that, Patricia. And I would tell you if that was the case.” She paused. “But it’s not what you think.”
She fled, leaving her lie behind her.
The Avianca flight left Bush International the following morning at 6:30 a.m. Maya settled into her first-class seat and tried to stay composed. The plane would arrive in Miami around ten. She’d have a lay-over until one at which point she’d then board another 757. By 3:30 that afternoon, she’d be in Bogota.
Turning down the flight attendant’s offerings, Maya retrieved a report she’d brought and tried to read it. The airplane hadn’t even gotten off the ground before she gave up. Her brain was spinning as fast as the jet’s engines—there was no way she could concentrate.
They banked sharply and her papers slid across her lap. Maya grabbed them, the task jarring her and forcing her once more to question her sanity.
If her son had survived, she wanted to know—had to know—but something told her she might come to regret this trip…a thousand times over.

SHEPARD WAS SITTING on the patio having his morning coffee when his mother walked outside. Normally she wasn’t up this early and he should have been surprised to see her but he was too busy worrying about Maya to notice anything else. She had no idea what she was doing, no idea of the peril that faced her here. If Colombia had been dangerous to her before, it might be deadly this time. He wasn’t sure he could protect her and he didn’t know why he even cared.
But he did.
“May I join you?”
His mother’s soft request brought Shepard’s gaze up. He rose to his feet and pulled out her chair. “Of course. Please…” She sat down and one of the maids appeared, a tray in hand with Marisol’s herbal tea and two pieces of pan dulce. Shepard reclaimed his chair as Marisol reached for one of the sweet rolls. Instead of eating the bread, however, she crumbled it absentmindedly, her thoughts clearly troubled.
“Your sister is very upset,” she said after a while. “She thinks you are making a grave mistake with this idea of another store, especially one so far away.”
“Luisa doesn’t approve of anything I do.” Shepard shrugged. “I’m not surprised she’s unhappy.”
“She’s protecting her husband. She thinks Esteban should have more responsibility and authority with the company and she knows you would run the new shop.”
Shepard took a sip of his coffee and considered his mother’s comment. The information itself wasn’t important; what mattered was the fact she’d brought it up at all. Marisol, more than any of them, did Eduard’s bidding without exception. If she were using her daughter to deliver a message from Eduard it wouldn’t be the first time. But then Shepard reconsidered. He’d already heard his father’s opinion on this topic. Perhaps it was Marisol herself who was upset with the turn of events.
“Esteban’s doing as much as he wants to—and he couldn’t handle more authority.” Shepard put down his coffee, the cup hitting the saucer with a clink that mixed with the call of the macaws in the aviary behind the garden.
Marisol made no comment. They sat in silence then she tore off another piece of bread and spoke. By the tone of her voice, Shepard immediately knew her remarks about the store were not what had brought her to him.
“Do you ever think of Renaldo?”
Her question caught him off guard. His mother hadn’t mentioned her youngest son’s name in years. Why did she bring him up now of all times?
“Why do you ask me that, Mama?”
“¿Por qué?” She pursed her lips and touched the crucifix she wore. “He has been on my mind lately. Teresa says…”
Shepard almost interrupted her but for some unaccountable reason, he urged his mother on. “Teresa says?”
“Teresa says his spirit has been trying to contact her. She says he’s disturbed about some things that are going on right now.”
Despite his interest, Shepard’s distrust of the santera was too ingrained to consider the timing anything but coincidental. He teased his mother gently, trying to make her see how ridiculous the idea was. “Mama, please…do you really believe Renaldo is speaking from his grave? If he had something important to say, why would he use Teresa? He’d go straight to you.”
His mother’s expression immediately shifted, a sternness he’d rarely seen coming over her features. “You mock me.”
“It’s not you I mock, Mama. I simply don’t believe Teresa can take messages from the dead.”
Her eyes held his a moment longer, then she stood, her back as straight as iron, her gaze just as flinty.
“If you choose not to believe, that is your decision. But it wasn’t me she said Renaldo wanted to contact.” Her jaw went tight. “It was you.”

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