Kay David: Not Without The Truth

She attempted to speak but all that came out was a croak.

“Save your energy.” He brushed a curl of her hair off her forehead in a soothing gesture, misinterpreting her effort. “We don’t need to be polite. The niceties can wait.”

She had to try again. “Do you…”

He put his fingers over hers, his kind manner and authoritative air instantly winning her trust. “Do I what?” he asked, his eyes puzzled.

Her gaze fastened on his as if she could pull the answer from him. “Do you know who I am?”

ARMANDO STARED DOWN at Lauren Stanley in shock. When the men who’d retrieved him had said she wasn’t alive, he hadn’t understood. Defensive and angry, Manco had explained the situation with more arrogance than usual and left out the details as well. The Quechuan believed in more than a single state of being, he’d said haughtily, and Lauren’s ailment reflected one that was highly mystical. Armando had accepted the lecture, but he’d had no idea Manco had been referring to amnesia.

“You don’t know your name?” he asked in surprise.

She shook her head then winced at the movement. She was so pale beneath her tan, Armando thought he could see through her skin.

“I can remember a few things,” she said haltingly. “But I don’t know why I’m here or what I do.”

She waited for him to fill her in but Armando didn’t answer right away. Beneath the pallor and grime, she certainly looked like the photo Meredith had sent him, but Armando didn’t like to make assumptions and he wasn’t about to start now. “Did you have things with you?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know.” A look of frustration crossed her delicate features. “I tried to ask, but my sign language skills aren’t too good.”

Armando walked to the doorway. Tiachita, Manco’s housekeeper, lounged on the porch, her need for activity apparently less developed than Zue’s. She looked up as he spoke.

“Did the blonde have anything with her? A bag? Papers? Anything?”

Tiachita stood with a languid grace and walked to the kitchen of the hut, which was housed in a separate building off to one side. She returned a second later and handed him a small ripped windbreaker.

“This is it?”

She gave him the exact reply he’d expected. A slow nod of her head. He cursed beneath his breath and retraced his steps, flipping open the coat as he walked. If Lauren Stanley had fallen in the river with an entire suite of Vuitton luggage, the answer would have been the same. Unattended items didn’t last long in this part of the world. He was surprised even to have this.

He paused on the front porch and looked at the inside tag. Someone had written Lauren Stanley, Dallas, Texas, in small block letters at the top in indelible ink. Luxury had been printed underneath her name.

“There’s nothing left,” he declared when he came back to her side, “except this.”

She raised her head. “A ratty jacket? That’s it?”

He nodded as she fought to focus, her small source of energy obviously depleted.

“There’s a name on the tag,” he said.

In the dim light, her blue eyes seemed to glow. “What is it?”

“Lauren Stanley,” he said. “‘Dallas, Texas’ is written just below it.”

She repeated what he’d said then her eyes filled. “I’ve never heard that name before,” she whispered. “If that’s who I am, it’s news to me.”

LAUREN STANLEY DROPPED BACK into a fitful sleep and Armando began to organize the trip back to the clinic. It would have taken less than an hour in an ambulance, but patient transportation here had as much in common with its international counterparts as he did with Manco.

Lining the wooden floor of a cart with pillows and blankets, the men made a bed for Lauren, then attached the rig to the back of Armando’s battered motorcycle. When they finished, he stared at it and shook his head. She was going to feel every bump and rut in the path between Qunico and the clinic but he couldn’t give her anything to knock her out. Until he had a better handle on her injuries, he couldn’t risk the complications that might arise.

He went back inside and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. Tiachita stood beside her. “Very dizzy,” the housekeeper said. “Very bad. No can walk.”

Tiachita seemed to support her boss’s bid to keep Lauren. Ignoring her try, Armando took a bottle of water from his backpack and handed it to Lauren. “You’re probably dehydrated,” he said. “It comes up on you fast out here.”

She accepted the water without comment, her dazed state and slowed movements disturbing to him. Had she hit her head while she’d been in the water? He hadn’t been able to see any signs of contusions but reactions to injuries like that could be delayed. A whole host of other possibilities raced through his mind, some of them with outcomes that could be very serious.

He capped the water bottle and dropped it into his pack. “You ready?”

Instead of answering, she tried to stand, but she swayed instead, her legs going out from beneath her. Grabbing her arms, Armando caught her just before she went down completely.

“Oh, God,” she murmured. “I think the woman is right. No can walk.”

Armando chuckled. “You don’t have to walk. I’m going to carry you. Just put your arms around my neck.”

She did as he instructed and he lifted her easily. Too easily. She’d probably carried ten pounds more before her accident. She’d lost none of her beauty, though. The luminous skin, the clear blue eyes, the heart-shaped face, they were all there now, the promise he’d seen in her features as a child now fulfilled.

When he laid her in the cart she groaned and curled on her side. Rearranging the pillows to better cushion her, Armando said a quick prayer then straddled the cycle and aimed it down the path.

THEIR RETURN WASN’T as bad as Armando had thought it would be. Maybe the Quechuan gods were impressed with Lauren Stanley’s altered state. Whatever it was, Armando didn’t care. He was grateful they got back to the clinic before nightfall. He’d been stranded before in the night in the surrounding jungle and it hadn’t been fun. The experience wouldn’t have been any better with an injured woman to care for.

The muffled hum of his motorcycle shattered the quiet as he pulled into the clinic’s compound. Zue hurried out to meet him, her tongue clicking before he could say anything. With a flick of her wrist, she had three men out to help. They gently lifted the blonde and carried her inside while Zue berated them the entire distance, cautioning them not to bump the patient while at the same time hurrying them toward the clinic’s four-bed hospital. Armando shook the dust from his clothing and went to clean himself up. Zue would bathe Lauren, then he’d examine her. They never had too many patients at one time but there was generally a steady stream. He and his nurse had their routine down.

He was stepping out of the shower when his cell phone rang. Seeing the caller ID number, he picked up the phone and, without thinking, fell into the coded speech he and Meredith used when discussing a job.

He greeted her, then said, “I have the package you were looking for—it was found late yesterday afternoon. Apparently it’d been around for a while but I hadn’t heard.”

She followed his lead, her voice relieved. “Armando, that’s great! It wasn’t…damaged, was it?”

“There’s some dents and scratches on the outside but I believe everything is okay on the inside. I haven’t had a chance to open it yet and see.”

“Where was it all this time?”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “I’ll call you later when the rates go down and explain.” This meant he’d e-mail her, but as he expected, Meredith didn’t have the patience for that.