Kay David - The Searchers

His voice sounded as if he were in the house next door. “Señorita Vega?”

She gripped the receiver with both hands. “I thought you weren’t going to bother me anymore.”

“I lied.”

“And why is that?”

“I wanted to…make sure everything was all right with you.”

His reply puzzled her until she looked down at her suitcase. Had he somehow found out she was going to Colombia? It didn’t seem possible, but he’d mentioned friends who had helped him. Did these friends include someone who might be watching her? Was she being paranoid or cautious?

“Everything’s just fine,” she said slowly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No particular reason,” he answered. “I merely wanted to make sure my visit had not troubled you too much. I appreciated your help. And I’ve come to think you might be right. Perhaps the woman I spoke to was lying. Who knows?”

His reversal was too smooth, too quick. Her suspicion took another leap when her doorbell rang. “There’s someone here—”

“I’ll wait,” he replied.

Torn between the fear she’d give herself away and the desire to see if he knew about her trip, she hesitated. “All right,” she finally agreed. “But first let me see who’s here.”

She hurried to her entry, still holding the phone as she looked through the sidelight to see a delivery man. She wasn’t expecting anything, but Darlene could have sent something over. Everything was urgent to her secretary. Nervously scribbling her signature, Maya accepted the flat envelope he held and took it straight to her desk where she found her letter opener. The French pocketknife had been a gift from Patricia one Christmas, the hand-honed edge incredibly sharp.

Maya didn’t even notice when the blade sliced into her palm.

Staring at the photograph she’d pulled from the envelope, she didn’t realize she’d cut herself until blood splattered over the glossy paper. Nausea rolled over her. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and stanched the bleeding, a sick emptiness suddenly filling her.

Shot from a distance with a telephoto lens, the edges of the picture were grainy and out of focus but the center was clear as could be.

It was a photograph of her. Taken nineteen years before, the picture showed her holding an automatic gun and surrounded by men equally armed. Renaldo was not in the frame because he’d been behind the camera. Thrusting his weapon into her hands, he’d pushed her into the group and told her to smile. She stared at the photograph and felt her heart careen out of control, sweat breaking out on her forehead as heavily as it had that day in the jungle.

She hadn’t realized she’d said anything until she heard Shepard’s voice, coming from the phone she’d set down on the desk. “Maya? Maya? Are you still there? Hello?”

His voice triggered something and suddenly she understood. She grabbed the receiver.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was ferocious. “I tried to help you and this is the thanks I get?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me. I’m holding a photograph and you damn well know what it is. That’s why you called, isn’t it? Your timing was perfect but you can take your little warning and shove it up your—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Explain yourself.”

His command was so forceful, Maya complied without thinking. “I just received a photograph of me,” she said tightly. “With Renaldo’s cadre.” Her voice went hoarse. “It won’t work, Shepard.”

She thought she heard a quick intake of breath, then knew she’d imagined it. “I have sent you nothing. This photograph must have come from someone else—”

“Say something I can believe.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

Anger washed over her. “If you think this will deter me, think again. You and your family can try all the dirty tricks you have at your disposal but they won’t work against me. Or my son, if he lives.”

She didn’t realize she was speaking Spanish until she stopped. And she didn’t realize how much she meant her words until then, either. Compared to the possibility her son might be alive, nothing else in her life mattered. Nothing.

She spoke again. “Are we clear on this? I am coming to Colombia and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“That is not a good idea.” He sounded alarmed but she knew he was faking it. “Please, Maya. Do not even consider coming here.”

Maya looked down at the photo in her hand. She’d smeared blood on it, darkening the edges and causing them to curl. “Your plan has backfired, Señor Reyes. Nothing could stop me now.”

“HOW LONG WILL you be gone?” Patricia’s voice held more than a hint of disappointment when Maya stopped by her office the following morning.

“I’m not sure,” Maya hedged. “But I have too much going on here to be away long.”

Patricia’s fingers tapped the top of her desk. “Next Saturday night is the dinner for Senator Hayes. I wanted to introduce you to some people there.”

“I know, Patricia.” Maya shook her head. “I’d planned on attending but this came up and I don’t have a choice now. I have to deal with the situation. They’re asking for me.”

“This is the Sanchez case?”

Maya had resorted once again to the lie she’d told when she’d introduced Shepard to Patricia. She’d researched the case last night just to make sure she had the facts straight. “Yes, it is. We did the probate in ’97. I think you might have been in Switzerland at the time.”

Patricia frowned as she tried to remember but Maya rushed into her explanation. She didn’t want Patricia thinking about the case too hard.

“Sr. Reyes has located the missing son who left right after the Sanchez funeral. Obviously they haven’t been able to close the estate without him so now that he’s been found, the family wants me to fly to Bogota and wrap things up.”

“Well, it can’t be avoided, I suppose, but make sure you don’t get in too deep.” Patricia nodded then reached for a folder on her desk, looking at Maya over her glasses. “You really need to be back by the end of next week. The governor might come into town and if he does, we’ll want you in front of him.”

Backing out of the office, Maya clutched the file and made a promise she didn’t know if she could keep. “Of course. I’ll be back by then.” She’d made it to the threshold when Patricia spoke again.

“Maya?”

She stopped and so did her heart. “Yes?”

“If this trip was personal, it’d be fine, you know. You’re an adult and you have a right to your private life.”

A flood of guilt hit Maya as she understood. Patricia thought she was going to meet Shepard for a romantic tryst. “I know that, Patricia. And I would tell you if that was the case.” She paused. “But it’s not what you think.”

She fled, leaving her lie behind her.

The Avianca flight left Bush International the following morning at 6:30 a.m. Maya settled into her first-class seat and tried to stay composed. The plane would arrive in Miami around ten. She’d have a lay-over until one at which point she’d then board another 757. By 3:30 that afternoon, she’d be in Bogota.

Turning down the flight attendant’s offerings, Maya retrieved a report she’d brought and tried to read it. The airplane hadn’t even gotten off the ground before she gave up. Her brain was spinning as fast as the jet’s engines—there was no way she could concentrate.

They banked sharply and her papers slid across her lap. Maya grabbed them, the task jarring her and forcing her once more to question her sanity.