by Connie Mann
She looked up and stopped short, her eyes landing on the picture of Christ that Noah had hung there in the washroom years ago. It showed a smiling Christ surrounded by laughing children. “Jesus loves you, Regina,” Noah had said. “So much that He died for your past and every one of your hurts.” Noah had held up a bar of soap. “This won’t make you clean, but His blood and His forgiveness will. His love is a gift, not something we deserve and certainly not something we can earn. But the gift is meaningless if we don’t accept it.”
Regina stood there a long time, tears streaming down her cheeks as those words finally, finally made sense. By his actions, Brooks had shown her their meaning. She had done nothing to earn either Brooks’s acceptance or God’s, yet both had given it anyway. Despite her past.
Regina set down the bar of soap and looked at Christ’s picture again, stunned by the realization. “Will you make me clean? Forever? Because I can’t do it myself.”
There in that tiny washroom, a Bible verse Olga taught her years ago sprang to mind and answered her plea. Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as wool.
Regina wasn’t sure how long she stood there before Eduardo’s cry roused her. She murmured a quick, “Thank you,” before she hurried out and tucked Eduardo into his crib.
Then she called the airport. Both commercial and charter flights ran back and forth to the Falls all day long. She checked the clock on the wall. If she hurried, she could be back at the Falls by nightfall.
Slowly, she replaced the receiver. Who was she kidding? She had a baby to protect. She couldn’t lose sight of that. Eduardo’s safety was her number one priority. Besides, and it stung to admit this, what help could she provide two of Uncle Sam’s finest? She retrieved her knife and slipped it back into her pocket. She could fight if the situation warranted it, but she didn’t have the training or skills those two had.
She hated Brooks’s easy dismissal of her, but had to admit it was a practical decision. Whatever was—or wasn’t—between them, Brooks also had Eduardo’s best interests at heart. He would be safer somewhere else. Brooks trusted her to take care of that much, at least.
What if he needed her help, though? It was always good to have extra hands and eyes. She should be with him, by his side. Why wouldn’t he admit it?
When the doorbell rang, Regina’s eyes widened at seeing an impeccably dressed Jair standing on the threshold.
“You are back!” he exclaimed, kissing both her cheeks. “I’ve been coming by every day, hoping to find you here.”
Before she could politely turn him away, he’d maneuvered his way in and led them both into the office. He turned and pulled her down beside him on the couch, his gaze intense. “Tell me where you’ve been. I read about the fire. Was anyone hurt?”
“No. Just one of the sheds burned down.”
“But where did you go?” He looked around as though just now noticing the silence. “Where are all the children?”
The location of the farm hovered on the tip of her tongue when some inner warning held her back. “They’re having a little holiday away from the city. It’s good for them.”
“But why aren’t you with them?”
She thought fast. “Eduardo was overtired, so we came home.” Which was true.
He took her hand, and Regina forced herself not to flinch. This was Jair, a very nice, very attractive businessman she’d met at church. He was old enough to be her father, but had always been kind and attentive. A nice man, even if she hated the way he crowded her and proposed every other week.
Even Olga who, like most Brazilians, harbored deep pity for any woman still single at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, was thrilled with the attention Jair paid Regina. The sweet woman had taken to humming love songs on a regular basis.
“I brought you a present,” he announced, grinning like a schoolboy.
Regina refused to think about how differently she’d responded to Brooks’s touch. She folded her hands to keep them from fluttering nervously. Please, no jewelry. Nothing that bespoke commitment. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He laughed. “Of course I didn’t. I wanted to.” From his superbly tailored jacket, he produced a small bottle of red wine. “I visited a vineyard this week and thought you would enjoy this.”
As he stood and walked toward the kitchen, Regina stifled her annoyance at how comfortable he was making himself in her home. She stepped ahead of him and removed two glasses from the cupboard, allowing him to pour.
Jair raised his glass in a toast. “Welcome home, meu amor,” he said.
Regina opened her mouth to protest his use of the endearment, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, she touched her glass to his and took a sip.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“Well, drink up, my dear.” Twelve-thirty seemed a bit early in the day for wine, even in Brazil, but she didn’t want to offend him. Regina obediently drained her glass and then noticed he’d barely touched his.
“Let’s go back and sit down,” he said. “I want to hear all about this holiday you’ve taken the children on.” He steered her back down the hallway.
Regina hadn’t been sitting for more than a few minutes when the room took a slow spin. She gripped the arms of the sofa. That wine must have been more potent than she’d thought. Jair’s voice seemed to echo from far away.
“Are you feeling all right, Regina?” he asked.
She tried to respond, but her tongue filled her entire mouth. She couldn’t get any words around it.
The last thing she remembered was Jair whispering, “Sweet dreams.”
22
THE AFTERNOON SHADOWS WERE LONG AND BROOKS’S TEMPER SHORT BY the time Jax sauntered back into camp.
“Where have you been?” he barked.
Jax’ negligent shrug only added fuel to the fire. “Relax, man. The flight left late. Everything took a little longer than I thought, that’s all.” He walked toward the small fire and sprawled in one of the folding camp chairs.
Brooks was too keyed up to sit. Anxiety prickled his skin as though ants marched just below the surface. He punched in the numbers again and then listened to the phone ring and ring on the other end before he snapped it shut. Regina still wasn’t answering the orphanage phone. Every time he called, the churning in his gut increased. He couldn’t get through to the guard or Jorge, either.
The sense of impending doom, of being part of his nightmare, increased. He leveled a sharp glance at his friend. “You took her all the way to the orphanage?”
Jax had been known to cut a few corners in favor of his own comfort. It wasn’t impossible to think he dropped Regina off at the airport and then spent the day at a bar.
“Isn’t that what you asked me to do?” Jax shot back.
“Everything looked okay there?”
Jax crossed his arms defensively. “Far as I know.”
“Then where is she?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe she went to buy diapers. Quit worrying. She can take care of herself.”
“I won’t stop worrying until they’re both safe. For good.”
Jax looked up then and grinned, the same foolish grin he had worn the day they met at boot camp. It reminded Brooks of a mischievous little boy who’d just performed some dastardly deed and had the spoils of war in his pocket. “You should get your wish before long.”
“I found out who our friend is,” Brooks tossed out.
Jax sat up straight. “Oh?”
“Name of Raul Carvalho. Old friend of the Anderson family, according to my mother.”
“Motive?”
“Revenge, apparently.”
Jax’s eyes widened. “Against your parents? Why?”
Brooks looked away for a moment, then back to his friend. “Raul blames Noah for his sister’s death.”
Jax shook his head. “You lost me, buddy. What does your fath—I mean, Noah—have to do with this guy’
s sister?”
“His sister was my mother, and she killed herself,” Brooks said bluntly. He recited the facts without embellishment, with no hint of the turmoil they caused. Emotions could wait. They had a job to do. No distractions.
Regina’s big brown eyes and stubborn chin came to mind, and he shoved the image aside. No distractions, he reminded himself sternly—of any kind.
Brooks studied his friend a moment, then tossed him Raul’s map. “I’m supposed to meet him in little over an hour.”
Jax picked up the map, studied it, and then nodded before he fed it to the smokeless fire. “Let’s do it.”
Brooks retrieved a simmering pan of beans. “Have some chow first. You bring everything we need?”
“Got it. No problem.”
Five minutes later they doused the cook fire and went over their plans, outlining all possible scenarios. Casually, Brooks flexed his gun hand, gratified he could do it without flinching. He checked the clip on the Berretta Jax had brought him and double-checked his ammo before changing into black jeans, shirt, and jacket. Mentally, he went over everything one more time, firmly blocking everything else from his mind. He hefted his backpack and headed out. Time to catch his prey.
At his signal, he and Jax split up, each approaching the meeting place from opposite directions.
Near his destination deep within the national park, Brooks stepped off the path and melted into the trees. At least their quarry hadn’t chosen one of the open pathways that hugged the sides of the gorge and hung out over the river. They were too public, too crowded with tourists. This spot wasn’t far from the falls, though, because the sound of thundering water increased with every step.
The falls themselves were beyond description. Two hundred seventy-five separate waterfalls spread across just under two miles. While most of the falls were on the Argentine side, the Brazilian side had the more spectacular view. At this time of year, runoff swelled the river, forcing park rangers to close some of the catwalks. He knew some of them had washed away several years earlier.
Just before one of the more impressive lookouts, an enterprising young man had set up a booth where he rented towels, ponchos, and umbrellas. At this time of year, he did a brisk business since nobody could get near the falls without getting soaked.
Brooks had reconnoitered earlier and knew the small clearing in the rainforest Raul had chosen was just ahead. He stopped and listened. They weren’t too far from the borders of the bird park. Myriad screaming birds competed with the deafening roar of the falls.
Brooks checked his watch, though he didn’t need to. Since childhood he’d had an instinctive sense of time and could generally pinpoint it within five minutes. Their meeting was scheduled for thirty minutes from now, which meant he was right on time. Always know the lay of the land and what you’re getting into. Before you get there.
If only he’d followed the rules, listened to his training, that other morning.
“Time to go. Roll out.” Brooks had nudged his men awake with the toe of his boot.
“Aw, c’mon, man,” Woody groaned. “I just got to bed. We’ve got time.”
In one smooth motion, Brooks hauled the man up by his shirtfront. “Up. Now.” Then he abruptly let go, and Woody sprawled in the dirt. Behind him, the other men scrambled up, lacing their boots with comical haste.
Jax eyed him quizzically and Brooks met his look with an implacable one of his own. Something about this whole rescue mission bothered him. Some might call it instinct, but he didn’t believe in that. He believed in facts. He was missing something. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was important. The sooner he got the two hostages safely out of there, the better he’d feel.
Brooks went over the plans with his men one last time, then their team of seven sanitized the camp until no one would ever know they’d been there. Brooks grabbed his gear and called, “Move out.” Instantly they melted soundlessly into the predawn darkness, mere shadows floating past.
And walked right into hell.
Brooks gave his head a violent shake. He cocked an ear and listened, blocking everything from his mind but the here and now. With the approach of darkness, the forest floor started coming to life, daytime animals bedding down for the night and nocturnal ones stirring.
A slight rustling to his left put every sense on high alert. He whipped in that direction, gun ready. A haughty raccoon glared at him and continued on its way. Brooks relaxed his grip on his weapon, adjusted his pack, and inched closer to the meeting place. He moved in a crouch, slowly zigzagging from tree to tree. For one brief moment he wondered what he thought he was doing here. How had a simple transport mission turned into this? And why did he think he could handle the job?
He knew there would be bloodshed before the night ended. His only comfort was that Regina and Eduardo were far, far away. They were safe. His grip tightened on his gun. Even if she wouldn’t answer the phone. Everything in him wanted to call one more time, just to make sure she was okay, but he wouldn’t risk it. Sounds, especially voices, carried too well out here. No distractions, he reminded himself.
The night sounds increased around him and Brooks fought a nauseating wave of déjà vu. The predawn night his team was ambushed had been eerily like this one. Deep in the jungle, with only the wildlife for company. A chill rippled over his skin, though the night was not cold. Four-footed creatures hadn’t been the only ones about that night. The bullets had come from the weapons of the two-legged variety.
Again, he thrust the images aside. Nothing but the job at hand. Everything else could wait.
Roughly ten yards from the small clearing, he stopped. The low murmur of voices made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He couldn’t see what was going on because of the thick foliage. He had to give Raul credit. If he’d been choosing the location, he’d have picked this little glade, too. Or one just like it.
“Senhor Brooks, show yourself,” a male voice called. “I know you are there. I know you would not want to be late for our little appointment.”
Brooks didn’t answer. Responding would give away his location. He waited, wondering why that voice sounded so very familiar. Where had he heard it before?
“I have a small surprise for you, Senhor Brooks.” The singsong intonation sounded childlike, cajoling. “Two surprises, actually.” The man paused. “A big one and a small one.” He laughed at his own joke.
When Brooks still didn’t respond, his voice turned sullen. “You Americanos are very rude. You won’t even acknowledge my gift.” He made a tsk-tsking sound with his tongue. “Perhaps you just need a bit more encouragement.”
Brooks heard a brief shuffling and then the voice continued.
“Have I told you that I asked Regina to join us tonight? Underneath all those drab layers, she’s really quite a lovely woman. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
Violence leaped behind Brooks’s eyeballs and terror momentarily blinded him. His muscles strained with the effort of holding still as every instinct urged him to charge the clearing.
Regina. She was safely home. Raul was bluffing, as lunatics often did. Wait him out. Don’t give yourself away.
The silence dragged on and sweat ran off his body. He refused to let the man play mind games with him. Regina and the baby were safe. All Brooks had to do was wait for his chance, and he and Jax could take this guy down. His opportunity would come. He just had to be ready to leap into action when it did.
When the man’s voice came again, all pretense of civility had disappeared. “I’m tired of this game, Senhor. So I’m going to make your choices very easy. Either you show yourself in the next five seconds, or your lovely girlfriend gets a bullet between the eyes. One.”
Brooks didn’t hesitate. He charged for a gap in the foliage, years of practice making his approach swift and soundless. He was done with games, too.
“Two.”
In a crouch, Brooks parted a thick curtain of leaves with the barrel of his gun.
&n
bsp; “Three.”
For an instant, he wished for his night vision goggles, but he didn’t have time to get them out of his pack. He saw a shadowy form separate itself from the shadows and take careful aim.
“Four.”
Brooks put his finger on the trigger, gun pointed, arm rock steady. But he waited one heartbeat longer. Never take a shot in the dark when a hostage could be in the line of fire. He knew Regina was safe, but what if he was wrong? What if this lunatic had taken some innocent tourist hostage? He strained to see, determined to hit the right target.
“Come on, man, show yourself,” he muttered. Shooting Regina—or someone else—by mistake was not a risk he was prepared to take.
Suddenly, the figure’s arm shot up, gun pointed. Brooks heart leaped, and the familiar jolt of adrenaline slammed him like a fist. He aimed. Fired. Everything around him slowed, each second stretched out and hacked off into separate chunks of time.
Just as his bullet cleared his gun, he heard another shot. A muffled groan. The telltale thud of a body hitting the ground. Knowledge knocked him like an unexpected blow.
He hadn’t been quick enough.
Brooks clamped his jaw to keep the scream of outrage locked inside. “No!” his mind screamed. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. He couldn’t be too late. Not Regina, please God, not Regina.
With one lunge, Brooks rolled and burst through the brush, gun pointed with deadly accuracy at the man standing in the center of the glade. The man clasped his bloody shoulder in one hand, the gun in his other pointed squarely at a body lying on the ground. Brooks swept the scene, and his heart came to an abrupt stop. His gun wavered as he fought to stay upright.
His nightmare, the one no amount of alcohol could help him escape, had come to life. And he was living it. Only this time, it was worse, much worse.
The woman lying dead on the ground wasn’t a stranger; it was Regina. The way she was lying, thrown down and discarded like a child’s rag doll, was so much like that other time, he blinked. The two scenes were so eerily similar a Hollywood director could have staged them.