by Niki Turner
They sat at the table and Toulouse bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, bless our bread and water, and take sickness from our midst. I pray for my sister, Tansy, and ask You to keep Your hand upon her as she travels, to guide her every step, and to bring her into the fullness of Your perfect, divine plan for her life. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
Tansy murmured “amen,” as did David.
Toulouse’s bold faith reminded Tansy very much of Eva.
Toulouse picked up a spoon and plunged it into one of the containers of soup as if she hadn’t eaten in days. “Fast metabolism,” she muttered around a mouthful of fish. “So, tell us your tale.”
Tansy hesitated, looking from Toulouse to David, and back into her bowl of soup. How much could she divulge to them without defying Eva’s stern instructions to tell no one about the walking stick? Lord Jesus, help me. With her mouth gone dry as chalk, Tansy shared what she thought she safely could, beginning with the theft of her traveler’s checks, then her rescue by Sebastian MacKenna, the church service, then visiting the Parque Forestal and Los Dominicos, to the abduction and car accident with Diego Vargas and her narrow escape.
Toulouse and David put down their spoons.
“Did you say the man who abducted you was named Vargas?” David asked.
Tansy nodded. “Diego Vargas. Why?”
David dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “Would you ladies excuse me? I need to make a call.” He rose and went out the front door.
“And I thought my life was exciting,” Toulouse said.
Tansy groaned. “Mine’s too exciting. I really just want to find Sebastian. Do you think your uncle can help me?”
The door opened again, and David crossed the room at a brisk pace. He placed his hands on the back of his chair and looked at Tansy.
****
Tansy’s heart pounded. Had she made a terrible mistake?
“Well, my dear, it would appear you have stumbled into a messy situation,” David dipped his head in a diplomatic gesture even Tansy recognized.
She pressed her napkin to her lips, feeling as if she’d been sucked into an alternate universe. If David was correct, and she had no reason to doubt him, Diego and his family were under investigation for a multitude of crimes.
After a few phone calls, David had ascertained that Diego and Andreas were both in the hospital, in serious but stable condition, and the police were looking for the unknown female who had run away from the scene of the accident.
“That would be you?” David asked.
“I’m afraid so.” Tansy pulled her hands into her lap and drew her knees up against her chest. Whether Diego knew she had the walking stick or not, he made her nervous.
David drummed his neatly manicured fingers on the tabletop. “Why do you think Diego picked you out of the crowd at Los Dominicos?”
Tansy swallowed, hard. She was convinced Diego had been searching for the walking stick during his trip to Colorado. But if she told David and Toulouse about that, she would break her trust with Eva.
She looked from one earnest face to the other. Could she trust them? Did she have a choice? She could either trust them, or trust Sebastian, who was definitely linked to Diego—the man who had kidnapped her and nearly killed her.
Lord, it’s in Your hands.
“Diego is related to Sebastian MacKenna, the gentleman who helped me after I was robbed at the airport.”
“Related? Why would you think they’re related?” David’s fingers thrummed against the table in a nervous gesture that rattled the silverware.
Toulouse reached over and clapped her fingers over his, stilling his motion. “Would you relax? You're going to freak Tansy out.”
Tansy glanced at her new friend and flashed a grateful smile. “Well, they—Diego and Sebastian—look a lot alike, for one thing. And Diego called Sebastian ‘mi primo’ at the restaurant, and Sebastian said Diego was his cousin.”
Toulouse and David exchanged a glance.
“Seriously?” Toulouse murmured.
“I knew Diego had a cousin,” David replied. “A cousin named Sebastian.” He flicked a crumb from his tie.
“A gorgeous, wealthy cousin,” Toulouse sighed. Then she reached across the table and covered Tansy’s hand with her own in a warm squeeze. “But his last name isn’t MacKenna. It’s Sandoval.”
****
Sebastian was surprised to see Ben on the other side of his doorway.
“I thought you were in Osorno.”
“I said I was headed home.” Ben stepped inside, removing his cap. “Sebastian? You remember me saying that deception never ends well?”
“Where is she, Ben? I’ll straighten it all out, I will, but first I have to find her.”
“Diego and that vile friend of his were in an accident. They’re both in hospital. Witnesses said they saw a woman escape from the crash and run away, but no one has seen her since.”
Sebastian groaned. Could it get worse?
His cell phone rang, and he scanned the screen. Abuelo. Again.
“You should take that.” Ben’s expression answered Sebastian’s unspoken question. Yes, it could get worse.
He answered the call.
11
Tansy huddled under a quilt in a white wicker chair in Toulouse’s bedroom, rattled by the outcome of her meeting with Toulouse’s uncle.
He’d stepped out to make a phone call, and when he returned, he murmured something to Toulouse and left without another word for Tansy.
A sense of unreality muddled Tansy's thoughts. Sebastian, the man who’d come to her rescue, was the very man she’d been sent to Chile to find. She shook her head, unable to process it all.
Toulouse came to her, dark eyes wide. Taking her hands, Toulouse pulled her over to her computer. “You need to see something,” she said, and opened a video taken at a charity event hosted by Sandoval Industries.
Sebastian MacKenna stood behind the microphone extolling the virtues of the foundation his company was donating funds to, only he wasn’t Sebastian MacKenna. He was Sebastian Sandoval.
Tansy watched him, looking handsome and urbane as he introduced his grandfather, Eduardo Sandoval. She gasped. Eduardo was none other than the kindly old man from the leather goods shop at Los Dominicos. The man who was supposed to be the recipient of the walking stick.
Toulouse held her while she sobbed.
The realization that Sebastian had lied to her about everything, and that his grandfather had been complicit in that deception, battered Tansy’s self-confidence. She’d been so gullible, so trusting. Meanwhile, he’d been toying with her, probably playing a well-practiced pattern of deception for his own entertainment: one, find an unsuspecting tourista; two, don’t tell her your real name; and three, charm her and tease her and tempt her into falling in love...
She wasn’t falling in love with him. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Hadn't.
Toulouse sighed and sat back, legs crossed at the ankles. “So what’s next for you? Now that you’ve given your statement, I expect you’ll want to head out on the next flight to the States.”
Tansy flinched. No, she couldn’t leave right away. She still had to satisfy her commitment to Eva and turn over the wretched walking stick to its rightful owner as promised. Only then would she be free of the Sandovals.
“Toulouse? I need to meet with Sebastian’s grandfather. Can you help me?”
****
Sebastian accelerated. Tansy was safe. That was all that mattered. He could explain everything else, if she gave him a chance. She had to give him a chance. He could no longer imagine his future without Tansy in it. At least not a future he wanted.
He checked the map on his phone, and then had to slam on the brakes to avoid one of Santiago’s thousands of street dogs. Abuelo had called to tell him the U.S. ambassador’s office had found Tansy, thanks to a random meeting with a staff member’s niece. Random, ha! Sebastian didn’t think he’d ever attribute any event to random coincidence again. Not only had Tansy
managed to run into someone with the right connections to protect her from Diego, Sebastian knew the young woman.
He’d met Toulouse at a party at the ambassador’s residence. She’d fallen into a fountain trying to capture her recalcitrant puppy.
Sebastian pulled her out, then corralled her dog. Both soggy and smelling of wet canine, they’d shared dinner in the ambassador’s kitchen that night. Sebastian had enjoyed her light-hearted company and her bold faith. When he heard her name mentioned in connection to Tansy tonight, he cajoled Toulouse’s address out of a mutual friend.
He parked outside an apartment building in one of Santiago’s older, dignified neighborhoods. When he got out of his car, the doors of a black limousine parked in front of him swung open and three black-suited men got out and flashed badges. Sebastian stopped, held out his hands, and the ambassador’s familiar head appeared.
“Sebastian, I thought you’d show up here eventually. If you would give me a moment of your time.” It wasn’t a request. He motioned toward the car. “I don’t think your presence will be welcome upstairs right now anyway.”
Sebastian suppressed a groan and climbed into the limo. “I’m a bit surprised to see you here, Ambassador.”
“I’ve taken a personal interest in this matter for quite some time.” The ambassador drummed his fingertips across the armrest. “Do you believe your uncle and your cousin should be implicated in the wrongful arrest and subsequent deaths of your maternal grandfather and your own father?”
Sebastian ignored the shiver that ran down his spine and wished, for the umpteenth time, that he’d given heed to the words in his mother’s diary. Why had he allowed himself to believe that her suspicions were just the bitter, angry ramblings of an unhappy woman? “Yes, sir. If I’d been paying more attention, I would have investigated the matter further myself.”
“It’s probably a good thing you didn’t. According to our records”—the ambassador leaned forward, his voice low—“your father’s arrest, imprisonment, and death occurred not long after he started asking questions, based on his wife’s suspicions.”
That was news to Sebastian. No wonder Darcy had been so frantic to leave the country. With her father and husband missing and presumed dead, she would have been well aware of the danger to herself—and to her son. Trying to take him with her would have seemed impossible, whereas a single woman traveling alone would have an easier time disappearing into the United States.
“You’ll have full access to my mother’s journal, sir. I’m just not sure anything in it will be admissible in court.”
“Whatever information we find will be frosting on the cake, so to speak. I’ve been looking into this case for some time.”
“How long?”
“Since your grandfather asked me to check into it, several years ago. It is my sincere desire that we’ll be able to bring about justice for Eva St. John before the end of her life.”
Sebastian thought of Eva, who had forgiven those who had wronged her family.
In her memoir, Pinochet’s lackeys were little more than an afterthought. With more right to carry a grudge than anyone, his grandmother chose to release her trespassers.
His gut clenched. He wanted to meet her. And he wanted Tansy by his side when he did. If she ever condescended to speak to him again. “How long until this is taken care of?” he asked.
“I have men headed to the hospital and to your uncle’s home now. We should have them both in custody before the night is out.”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Sebastian replied.
“And just so you know. I checked into Miss Chastain’s story personally. There is no record of her, or Eva St. John, ever collaborating in any way with the Vargas family. I thought that knowledge might ease your mind.”
Sebastian sat very still. Somewhere in his heart he’d known that was true all along, but hearing the ambassador confirm it was still a relief. He shook the man’s hand and got out of the limo.
The windows of the apartment where Tansy was had gone dark. He scrubbed his face with his hands. Lord, please let her give me another chance.
When his phone rang, he jerked it from his pocket, desperately hoping Tansy was calling him, and answered on the second ring.
“This is Toulouse. I saw you pull up. Listen, Tansy knows who you are, and she doesn’t want to talk to you. I don’t blame her. But, she wants to meet your grandfather before she heads home. Can you fix something up?”
“Hello again, Toulouse. And how is your dog?”
He heard a resigned sigh. “Only slightly better behaved, I’m afraid. I did get my own apartment after that party.”
“Probably for the best.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Why does Tansy want to meet my grandfather?”
“I don’t know. She won’t tell me. In my opinion, you’re all crazy.”
“Is she still there with you?”
He heard the hesitation before she answered and wondered if she were communicating silently with Tansy. “Yes, but she doesn’t want to talk to you. You messed up, big time.”
Sebastian sighed. “Don’t I know it.” He tugged his fingers through his tangled hair. “Fine. I’ll arrange a meeting, but it will be on my terms. My abuelo is not well. He goes to the shop every day, does his work, and goes home, but the arthritis in his legs and hips is getting to him.”
“Tansy told me about the artesanal.”
The back of his neck prickled, recalling the kiss he and Tansy had shared and the electric connection he'd felt. Then he suppressed a groan. Taking her to the artesanal was yet another layer of deception he had to explain to Tansy. “Tansy already met my abuelo at Los Dominicos. It’s an old game we play, my abuelo and me. When I meet a woman I think I might be serious about, I take her to meet my grandfather and get his opinion.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m not kidding. He gave her one of his handmade journals. To the best of my knowledge, my mother was the last woman he gave one to.”
Toulouse snickered. "Well, if that isn't a sign of his approval, I don't know what is."
Sebastian ignored her, irritated that she was reading more into his grandfather’s actions than Sebastian was willing to acknowledge. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to her explain how God worked in mysterious ways. “Can I call you at this number?”
She mumbled her assent, and he ended the call. One by one he unclenched his cramped fingers from around the phone, and then added the number to his contact list.
He would come up with a way to explain everything to Tansy. And, he prayed, she would be willing to hear him out.
****
Tansy stared at Toulouse, frowning at her friend’s spurts of laughter.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing. It isn’t funny,” Tansy finally said. The speaker had been on during Toulouse’s conversation with Sebastian.
“Maybe not,” Toulouse said. “But I can laugh, or I can cry. Since I still believe in God’s mercy, and His sense of humor, I choose to laugh.”
“There’s nothing funny about this. There’s lying, and possibly murder, at least attempted murder...” Tansy balled her fists and pressed them into the bedclothes, torn between hot humiliation and violent rage. The revelation that the kindly gentleman from the artesanal was Eduardo Sandoval, the rightful owner of the walking stick, had stunned her. That Sebastian was in the habit of taking women he was “serious” about to meet his grandfather for approval—and had taken her there, presumably for the same purpose—sent a hot, tingling flush of pleasure over her face and neck. But it wasn’t as if Sebastian was genuinely interested in her. He’d just been playing a game.
“And lying!” she repeated. She snatched up a throw pillow and flung it across the room, where it bounced harmlessly off a dresser. Then, embarrassed by her outburst, she scrambled off the bed, picked up the pillow, and clutched it to her chest.
Toulouse didn’t react to Tansy’s behavior, continuing on with her theories as if Tansy had said not
hing. “And there’s the fact you and Sebastian were seated next to each other on the plane, totally by accident. And there’s the elusive pickpocket, and the fact Sebastian came back to rescue you, like he doesn’t have an international business to run, and then the two of you wind up ‘coincidentally’ in the very church his grandparents helped to plant...” Toulouse unfolded her slender limbs and stood. “There’s so much God-stuff going on in this little story. I can’t believe you don’t see it.”
“So you’re saying everything that happens is for a reason?”
Toulouse looked at her. “There’s always a reason, Tansy. Some things are God’s will; others are the result of bad decisions made by human beings; some are a crazy combination of both...I believe God is at work in and through His children for good, even when their choices and the decisions of the people around them thwart His will.” Toulouse set the phone on the bedside table.
Tansy cleared her throat. “I guess—”
“The point is, you can’t always be looking backward. Your future is ahead of you, not in your past. Eva figured that out.”
12
Sebastian jerked awake, his hand on his mother’s diary. He’d lost both his parents. His own foolishness had driven a wedge, possibly a permanent one, between him and the first woman he’d ever lost his heart to. He’d failed to find the walking stick to satisfy his grandfather, and he not only wasn’t married, he had no intention of getting married unless his bride was Tansy Chastain, and that wasn’t likely to happen.
He thought of his mother’s barren, lonely grave. She’d yielded to the grief and despair that tugged at him even now. But he wouldn’t yield. Wouldn’t give up. Not as long as life still coursed through his veins. He glanced at the creamy invitation to his own birthday party.
His birthday. Birthdays were a perfect opportunity to start over, to make things right. And his grandfather would be there to hear it all. And, if Sebastian had his way, so would Tansy.