by R. D. Brady
The idea of her family sharing in this research would make it all perfect. “I would love it. I’ll be home in two weeks. I was hoping to return here within two months. Do you think you could make that work?”
“I’ll juggle a few things. It doesn’t feel right for us all to be so far apart.”
Laney knew what he meant. Although she’d been away before, being on a different continent made the gulf seem even wider.
“I’m going check in with Henry when we get back from the mountain camp,” Laney said. “I’ll ask him about the trip then.”
“The mountain camp?” The worry lines Laney knew so well appeared above her uncle’s eyes. “I really don’t like you staying out there.”
"It’ll be fine. And heck, Jen’s spent so much time in these woods, she’s practically a native. Besides, we’re having dinner with Nana. I think she may be ready to take us into her confidence.”
“Just be careful. The mountains are no place for a girl like you.”
Laney snorted. “Right. You raised me to be such a delicate flower.”
Patrick’s parenting skills had included the normal focuses: kindness, independence, working hard. That upbringing, however, had also included martial arts and weapons training. Which might be surprising for a priest, but not for a priest who was also a retired Marine.
And after Montana and being shot, Laney had doubled her training efforts, even here in Ecuador. Learning there were beings sharing the world who were stronger, faster, and damn near indestructible had been an incredible motivator. Strength training, endurance runs, and even more martial arts were now a core part of her everyday life.
“I won’t be able to speak with you for a few days, though. Reception isn't great where we’ll be.”
The worry lines reappeared. “A few days?”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I already had my brush with violence back in Montana. Statistically, the likelihood of me experiencing any more is right up there with me winning the lottery.”
CHAPTER 3
Baltimore, Maryland
Jake Rogan blinked as he stepped onto the landing at the top of the stairs outside the Gulfstream 550. The twelve-hour flight from Israel had been uneventful and he’d managed to sleep for most of it. And yet somehow he still felt like road kill.
"Good to be home." Jordan Witt stopped behind Jake, slapping him on the shoulder.
"It would be better if there wasn't a little man in my head trying to pound his way out."
Jordan stepped around Jake, his blonde hair shining in the bright sunlight. "Hey, we spent a month in the Middle East. Neither of us got shot and neither did any of our crew. I think we deserved one night of heavy drinking. And it's not like we can visit hookah bars on the beach here. Come on, you have to admit, it was a good time."
"Okay. It was good. But I'm getting too old for those nights."
Jordan headed down the stairs. "Nah, you're just out of practice."
Wincing as the bright sun hit him full in the face, Jake shook his head. He didn't care what Jordan said, he really was getting too old for this.
Walking down the short steps, he watched the rest of his group meet the important people in their lives. Sean from tech was being greeted by his partner, Todd. Sheila’s big brood, which seemed to grow by one every time he saw them, wrapped her in hugs.
Even Jordan Witt’s twin brother, Michael, had swung by to pick him up. They were identical from their pale blue eyes to their sun-bleached hair. Jake had been glad to have Jordan on this trip for some of the hairier moments. Jordan been under his command in the SEALs and when he decided to leave the military a few years after Jake had, Jake had snatched him up.
As Security Director for the Chandler Group's off-site projects, Jake had handpicked his entire security force, which was almost exclusively former military. He'd tried to recruit Mike too when he'd left the SEALs four years ago, but Mike had elected to go with the FBI instead. So he'd had to settle for Jordan – or at least that's how Jake always presented it to Jordan.
Mike gave him a sharp salute and quick smile, leaning against the Jeep's open door.
Jordan had the exact same posture on the passenger side of the car. Jake grinned. Unconscious mirror images.
Jordan yelled across the space. “Hey, you sure you don’t want to join us?”
Jordan had invited him to join his family for dinner. Their parents had flown into town to see their sons. The only one missing was their sister Jen, who was off on some remote dig site.
Jake shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Tell your parents I said hi.”
“Tomorrow, then. No excuses. You don’t want to get on my Mom’s bad side.” Mike gave a dramatic shudder.
Jake laughed. The twins’ mom was the personification of nurturing sweetness. He was pretty sure she didn’t have a bad side. He nodded. “Tomorrow.”
The brothers waved good-bye as they piled into Mike's black Cherokee.
His head pounding with each step, Jake headed for the waiting dark tinted Town Car, trying not to focus on the fact that he was the only one without a welcoming committee. He opened the door, sinking into the deep leather with a sigh.
“Hi, Jake.”
He glanced over in surprise at the tall blonde with cornflower blue eyes beside him in the backseat. Her knockout body was straining against her low-cut, siren-red dress. A smile played on her perfectly made-up lips.
“Chelsea. Hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Crap.
The smile turned into a playful pout, although Jake could read the annoyance in her eyes. “Well, you haven’t been returning my phone calls.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. The project kept me busy.”
Which was partly true. As the Chandler Groups’ off-site security director, he was responsible for the safety of every Chandler project group. In more contentious areas, that generally required incredible attention to detail and occasionally gunfire. And as this last project took them to the West Bank, Israel, and even Syria, “busy” was an understatement.
But even with all the time in the world, he wouldn’t have called Chelsea. They’d met through work. She was the lawyer for one of the outside design firms the Chandler Group sometimes used. She'd made her attraction known since their first meeting. Shy, she was not.
He hadn’t paid her any attention at the time, too wrapped up in Laney. Then one drunken night after Laney and he’d had one incredibly polite phone call in which they decided to take a break, he’d given in. It had been stupid.
And the month afterwards had been even stupider. He’d thought he could forget Laney by losing himself in someone else. It had only made him miss her more. He finally realized he wasn’t being fair to Chelsea. He’d broken it off before he left for Israel. But she hadn’t seemed to understand what he’d been saying, and the month of silence hadn’t clued her in either.
“Well?" Chelsea said.
He glanced over at her, tamping down his annoyance. “Look, Chelsea, we’ve had this conversation. We had fun, but now it’s over. I don’t know what it is you want from me."
She reached over and ran a hand up his arm. “You know we’re good together. It doesn’t have to be over.”
Jake reached over and removed her hand. Her well-made up face now seemed garish to him, her clothes too tight. “Stop it, Chelsea. It’s over. I’d like if we could stay civil, but this has to stop.”
She tugged her hand away and flounced back in the seat, another pout on her red lips, this one real. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Jake.”
Laney’s face flashed across his mind. “Yeah. Actually, I do.”
CHAPTER 4
Fifteen Miles West of Cuenca, Ecuador
Laney leaned back from the long table in the community house, patting her stomach. "Thank you for dinner, Nana. It was wonderful."
The community house was a large pavilion with a roof covering a wood floor that was filled with long tables in the center of the village. The Shuar tribe met there for al
l meals. It was always loud and rambunctious. Laney loved every minute of it.
Lucia Nunink, known as Nana to all, sat at the head of the table. Laney wasn't sure of her age. Her hair was long and streaked with white but her face was unlined. Laney guessed maybe her mid to late forties, as women in the tribe tended to have children young.
Nana bowed her head, her brown eyes shining. "We’re always happy to feed our friends." Her eyes drifted to the one uninvited member of their group. "And others."
Although Nana preferred to speak in her native language of Shuar, she always spoke Spanish with Laney and Jen. Laney was thankful for the consideration. Both she and Jen understood enough of the Shuar language to get by, but the hard consonants and nasal vowels had proven very difficult to pronounce.
Most of the tribe had drifted off to finish their nightly activities, so now it was just Nana, Jen, Laney, and Warren Steadglow, their intern.
"Yeah, thanks," Warren pushed his food around and grimaced before finally shoving the plate away with his short, pudgy arms. Blond with pale blue eyes, his doughy body screamed spoiled and soft.
Laney struggled to keep from whacking him on the back of the head. He was the personification of the overindulged American: a twenty-six year old graduate student who’d had everything in his life handed to him, including this internship. He'd been added to their research as part of the funding agreement.
Neither Jen nor Laney could stand him. They hadn't told him about their trip to the village, but he’d shown up, uninvited and unwanted.
Jen stood, gathering the coffee mugs on the table. "Nana, let me help clean up."
Nana nodded and turned towards the kitchen, a small building at the back of the dining hall.
Jen fixed her eyes on Laney, nodding her head towards Warren. Laney understood the message loud and clear. Handle him.
Laney stifled a sigh. Warren was the one part of this experience that was less than ideal. Or, put another way, a complete pain in the ass. She turned towards him. "Warren, why are you here?"
"What? I heard you say you were heading to the village. I'm part of this project, so I came."
"We're not here about the project. We're here for dinner. You weren’t invited."
Warren didn't have the common sense to be embarrassed. He waved her words away. "I don't know why you're treating them with kid gloves. We should just demand they tell us where the source of the collection is."
She stared at him in disbelief. "Demand? And then what? Break out the thumb screws? These are good people. We – and sadly that includes you – will treat them with respect. Do you understand me?"
He looked away from her gaze. "Whatever."
Laney swallowed the scream in her throat. "Well, the 'project’ is done for the night. Why don't you head down to the camp and get a good night's sleep?"
He shook his head. "I think we should ask Nana about the source. We're losing time-"
She cut him off. "Let me rephrase my last statement: Go to the camp and go to sleep."
He spluttered. "You can't order me around that way."
"Actually, she can," Jen said as she walked up behind them with silent footfalls. Warren jumped about a foot. "It's in your contract. So get lost, Warren."
He stood up, glaring at Jen. "You're going to regret this."
Laney watched him stomp out of the pavilion before turning back to Jen. "Not the most diplomatic way you could have put it."
Jen shrugged. "He gets under my skin. The boy’s useless."
"True. But he must have some powerful connections to have wheedled his way into this grant. Maybe we could show a little restraint."
Jen arched an eyebrow. "That was restraint. I wanted to kick his ass."
Laney laughed. "Oh, well, my mistake then. Where's Nana?"
"She went to check on Elena. She asked if we’d wait. She wants to talk to us.”
“Any idea why?”
“She wouldn’t say. But did you notice how distracted she was at dinner? It must be something big.”
Laney nodded. “The latest oil company lawsuit?”
“Probably.”
They both sat sipping their coffee, enjoying the sounds of the village winding down. The scent of lavender drifted through the air and Laney inhaled deeply. She smiled as a group of children ran past.
After a few minutes, Jen let out a big sigh.
Laney glanced over at her. “What?”
Jen blew out a breath. “If we’re ever going to learn more about the source of the Crespi collection, we're going to have to lose Warren. Any goodwill we've created, he's shredding."
Laney knew how true Jen’s words were. It was a testament to the Shuar’s generosity that they put up with him at all. "I know. Maybe we can bury him in paperwork back at the bank while we stay here."
"Good idea. Or maybe we could just bury him.”
Laney laughed. “If only. Tomorrow, though, we'll send him packing."
Nana stepped into the hut from the doorway across from Laney. “Good. You’re both still here.”
“Elena asleep?” Jen asked.
“Almost. But she’s fighting it. She’s afraid she’ll miss something.” Nana took her seat back at the head of the table. “I have a problem that I believe only you two can solve.”
Laney and Jen waited for Nana to explain, but Nana just glanced out of the hut, watching a family sitting together outside their home. Finally, she spoke. “The Shuar have been part of this land for thousands of years. Some argue we have been here for tens of thousands years. But recent years have seen oil companies doing what no other group has been able to. They’re coming close to getting our land.”
“Have they started a new lawsuit?” Jen asked.
Nana nodded. “Yes. And the judge is favoring them. I think he may be in their pocket. And if that’s true, I’m not sure if anything can save our land.”
Laney reached out and took Nana’s hand. “How can we help, Nana?”
Nana squeezed Laney’s hand. “The judge has given us one chance to protect our land. We must demonstrate why it’s sacred to the Shuar.”
Jen nodded. “Do you need us to write up a history?”
Nana shook her head. “I don’t think that will be enough.” She fell silent.
Laney glanced at Jen, who shrugged back at her.
“Nana?” Jen prodded.
Nana shook herself out of her reverie, taking a deep breath. “The tribe’s still debating what to do. I am pushing them to allow you two to be taken into our confidence. But some are holding out, arguing there must be another way. I had hoped to have a decision from the tribe tonight, but some are still dragging their feet. I’ll question them all again in the morning. Will you two come after breakfast?”
Jen nodded. “Of course. But can you give us a hint?”
Nana paused. “It’s the reason the Shuar’s guard this land so fiercely. It’s the reason the oil companies can never be allowed in.”
Nana wouldn’t expand her cryptic statement. A few minutes later Laney and Jen said good night and walked down the steep path back to their camp. Whenever they visited, they always set up camp away from the Shuar. It seemed important to not intrude.
When Laney was settled into her tent, she wondered what Nana had been referring to. It had to be the source of the Crespi collection. That was the only thing that made sense.
Laney pulled off her sweatshirt, taking her Glock out of the holster. Checking the magazine, she placed it on the ground next to her bed. Ever since Montana, she’d never felt safe unless she had a weapon nearby. She figured she had two options, go talk to a therapist or carry a concealed weapon. Right now, the latter was working.
Laying down, she closed her eyes, focusing on counting to a hundred. Another little habit she’d developed since Montana. If she focused on the numbers, no other thoughts were able to sift their way in.
Around seventy, she could tell it was working. But Nana’s worried face slipped in. She pushed the image aside. There was no
thing she could do about Nana’s problem tonight. It would keep until morning.
CHAPTER 5
A few hours before dawn, an ear-piercing scream yanked Laney from her sleep. She sat straight up on her cot, her heart pounding. More screams and automatic gunfire joined a cacophony of cries.
Laney grabbed her Glock and launched herself from the tent.
People streamed down the path from the village. Behind them, an orange glow lit the night sky.
“Someone’s burning the village,” Jen said as she appeared out of her tent.
Laney stared up at the flames, trying to think of a reason someone would attack the village. She knew the Shuar had difficult relationships with some other indigenous tribes in the area, especially the Achura. But this kind of attack, with women and children sleeping, was cowardly. It wasn’t the Achura.
Jen's ebony eyes caught Laney's, and didn't waver. She tipped her chin towards the path the villagers were streaming down. “You in?”
Gripping the gun with a nod, Laney took a step forward. A hand latched onto her arm. She glanced down at its owner in disgust. Warren.
“Where are you going?” he shrieked, his receding hairline more obvious in the fire’s glow.
“To help.” You asshole. She yanked her arm free.
He switched his grip to Jen’s left arm. “You can’t. We need to get out of here. You’re both responsible for my safety.”
Laney watched Jen’s face. Her expression didn’t change, except for the small tick in her cheek. Oh, you stupid, stupid boy.
Jen reached over with her right hand and twisted Warren’s wrist until it was bent at a ninety-degree angle. With a screech, he dropped to his knees, his arm contorted in the air. She leaned down. “Help. Or. Get. Out. Of. The. Way.”
Warren nodded his head so ferociously, Laney worried it would snap off his neck. “Okay, okay.”
Jen released him. He stumbled to his feet and with a glare, followed after the retreating villagers.
Dismissing him, Laney turned to Jen. “Let’s go.”