Lois Richer - Silent Enemy

“Three are all we need. Complete anonymity for the client. Nothing illegal and every job completed. Why change what works?”

“Maybe they need updating.” Maybe someone should be grading him on his ability to judge character, he felt like saying. “After all, we’re changing. Tim’s on board now. Maybe we need to rethink things.”

Daniel stayed at Finders because Shelby had asked him to. He never wanted her to know that sometimes, when everyone went home to their families, he sat in the dark, waiting for news of another success, feeling trapped by the office and its never-ending demands.

He could never tell her he yearned to don one of his disguises and take off, because he knew the temptation to get back to working in the field hid a deeper longing, one that had a lot to do with a certain frustrating brunette who had cast him as the bad guy in her world.

“Don’t second-guess yourself, Daniel. You sent Sam because she knows what she’s doing.”

“I hope so. We’ve lost communication with her.”

“She’ll call back.” She headed for the door. “It’s just a statue, Daniel.”

“That was supposed to stay in Brazil,” he reminded, but Shelby had already left. Ignoring the sheaves of files loading down his desk, Daniel moved to the glass wall of his office and looked down onto the semicircular floors stacked below, each one housing an integral part of the finely tuned mechanism called Finders, Inc. All this technology and yet…

Sam was fine. Maybe she had needed to go undercover or had a change in plans. Sam knew her job. She was one of the best recovery specialists Finders had ever employed. It was the job she’d applied for that Daniel had been worried about. He’d turned down her request for promotion the same day the Brazil job came up. Samantha’s departure from his office had been abrupt, bitter. Daniel regretted what he’d said, but there was no way now to take it back.

“Can I bother you again?”

Daniel blinked at the blurry figure in the doorway, fumbled for his glasses. Shelby. “You’re still here?” He squinted at his watch. “Shouldn’t you be home with Aimee? Tim checked out a while ago.” He glanced at the security monitor on his desk, registered the notation.

“As soon as he comes back, home is where I’m headed. In the meantime, Aimee sent you a gift. I forgot to give it to you this morning.” Shelby dropped a picture drawn by her young daughter onto the desk. “She said you’d know what it is.”

He moved back to the desk, sat down behind it and picked up the colorful piece of paper. He wanted to groan. Two figures with black capes stood opposite each other holding what Daniel guessed were swords.

“Do you know what it means?”

“Enemies,” he explained sheepishly. “When she stopped by last week, Aimee overheard me arguing with someone. That engendered a long discussion about enemies. I guess she’s reminding me to forgive and forget.”

As if Daniel could ever forget Samantha’s words.

You cheated me, Daniel. I can do that job with my hands tied and you know it. He could still see the hurt at the back of her eyes. Hurting people—you, your father. Is that a McCullough trait?

“Daniel?”

He blinked, saw Shelby’s frown.

“Sorry. Daydreaming.” He hid his embarrassment by grabbing Aimee’s picture and fixing it to his filing cabinet with a magnet.

“Samantha told me you turned down her application to supervise.”

He glanced sideways at her, wondering if he should have run that one past her, but Shelby anticipated his thoughts and shook her head.

“I’m not second-guessing you, Daniel.”

“Thanks.”

“I know you have to make tough decisions for Finders, but I also know that you’re fair. If you think Sam isn’t ready for additional responsibility, then I agree.”

He should have been relieved by her confidence—instead he wondered if she was mistaken to put so much trust in him.

Shelby’s beeper paged. “That’s Tim. He’s waiting for me. I’d better go.” She stepped around the desk, leaned over and hugged him, the touch of her lips brief against his cheek. “Maybe I forget to tell you sometimes but you’re doing a great job here, Daniel. Know that Tim and I both appreciate all you’ve sacrificed to give us the time and space we need in this new marriage.”

“I only want to see you happy, Shel. Tim makes you happy. Aimee, too. I’m glad.”

“Me, too.” She didn’t need to say more. Her face glowed. “Good night.”

“’Night, Shel.” A flicker of envy went through him. His whole life he’d wanted to know how that kind of love felt. It had never happened. Probably never would now. Daniel pushed away the longing, turned back to the computer. He pulled up a map of Brazil, traced Sam’s progress from the moment she’d landed in Rio, traveled to Horizonte, then São Paulo. It made no sense to go to Peru. He’d seen no Intel that connected the statue to anyone there.

You don’t trust me, Daniel. You never have. Is that because you don’t trust yourself?

It wasn’t trust that tortured him—it was guilt. His choices had wreaked havoc on his world ever since a day long ago when he’d still been a boy.

Peru. In his mind he heard the thunder of breakers in the surf, smelled the briny salt water, saw pristine white sails unfurl in a freshening wind. His skin grew warm from the tropical sun and he longed to cool off by diving into that gorgeous azure water and play with the porpoises. That was the tourist view.

But there was a darker, more sinister side to the land. Drugs, poverty, abuse, crime syndicates—each as dangerous as the piranha that infested the waters. People could disappear without a trace in Peru.

“Be careful, Samantha. Be very careful.”

Forcing her eyelids apart, Samantha peeked out from under them and winced at the bright sunlight splashing on her face. She slipped her tongue over her dry, cracked lips, felt a hand slide under her neck.

“You are safe,” a gentle voice murmured. “Sleep now.”

When she woke up the second time, Sam was lying on a woven mat in some kind of hut made of huge leaves and poles. Her sandals sat against the wall. A girl appeared, touched her forehead and then smiled.

“Nonee,” she said, pointing at herself.

“Hello, Nonee.” Sam introduced herself. She followed the girl’s bidding, sat up and chewed on the bit of breadlike food she was given while Nonee combed her hair, tenderly washed her face, then left. She returned with a big, burly man—like a teddy bear with a smile. He wore a crudely carved wooden cross on a leather cord around his neck.

“Hello.”

She recognized the voice from earlier. “You’re the padre Ramon told me about,” Sam blurted out.

“Yes, I am the padre. Are you all right?” His concerned gaze took in her tattered clothes, her hair tumbling about her shoulders. “Nothing broken?”

Sam wiggled a bit, winced when her body protested. “Fine, I think. Just a little sore. I hit my head.” She was drawn in by his eyes—kind, gentle eyes that promised understanding. “I’m sorry if I gate-crashed your compound. I—I was running away.”

“There has been unrest in the jungle today. Things are not as they seem.”

“Then I should go.” She tried to get up and felt his big hand under her elbow, supporting her until she could stand on her own. “Thank you for helping me.”

“My dear, we are all God’s children. It is our duty to help one another.” Again he smiled and Sam could not look away from the peace she glimpsed in his face. She found herself longing to experience it personally.

A few moments later a gunshot broke the silence of the place. Birds squawked, children cried, a woman thrust her head into the hut and, in a frightened whisper, muttered, “El Señor.” The padre’s face tightened, but otherwise he gave nothing away, merely touched her hand to calm her and murmured a few indistinguishable words. Then he handed Sam her sandals.