Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (29 page)

“Taken away?” she asked.

“By the government. And now he’s dead.”

“What? Why?”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason, Chessie. Suspected of being a dissident, most likely. And with Alana having the quite unusual job of working as an administrative assistant for a US operation? Government made a move on him.” About a month after baby Solana was born, the bastards.

“And she just found the money?”

Mal shrugged. “My guess is she didn’t want to implicate her husband any further, since he was already a prisoner of the government. Anyway, she said she didn’t take it, but…”

“But you think she did.”

Did he? There was no other explanation, no matter how much he wanted to believe her innocent. “Probably at the urging of her husband, but he didn’t have access to those funds at Guantanamo, and she did. So it’s moot. They did it.”

She looked out into the darkness of the night, thinking. “Why did she go to you?”

“Like I said, we were friends.”

Chessie inched back and dropped her glasses so she could look over them, the question in her eyes obvious. “A married woman, Mal?” she asked.

He laughed softly at the implication, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “Alana is in her forties with three kids, Chess. When shit at Gitmo got ugly—and, man, it could get ugly there—you need an escape. Gabe had Isa, and they used to go off, but I didn’t have that many people who knew I wasn’t really a guard. Alana did, because she worked for our boss. So sometimes I went to her house for dinner, and I liked it there.”

“What did you like about it?”

He suspected she was still sniffing around to see if he’d had a romantic relationship with Alana, which he had not. “I liked her kids a lot. And there was a lot of good feels in that house, even with the father being gone. She kept it solid for those kids.” He shook his head, just thinking about what would have happened if she’d been arrested for embezzling US funds. A Cuban citizen who had all kinds of special clearance to work at Gitmo? “I hated to see that end for those kids.”

“So, what did you do?”

“She did it, actually. She created an account in my name that only I could access and put the money in there so the trail would lead to me.”

“But she didn’t put the money in there?” Chessie asked, confused. “I mean, you said they never found it.”

“It disappeared.”

She dropped back on the seat. “The answer is in the computer,” she said.

“There is no answer, Chessie. Who knows what her husband had arranged before he died? Someone got that money, maybe used it for other dissidents to fight the Cuban government, or who knows? Doesn’t matter. I took the blame for her.”

“It matters to clear your name,” she insisted.

“It might clear mine, but it would damage hers forever. So what good would my four years in prison have been? She’d be dragged off, and no one would ever see her again, and I couldn’t…” He struggled for the words, his throat thick, an old fear resurfacing, as it did any time he thought about going through this and trying to clear his name without implicating Alana. “I couldn’t do that to those kids.”

After a moment, he realized Chessie was staring at him, hard. He turned, ready to defend his decision. He’d certainly had this fight with her brother often enough.

But she’d pushed her glasses back, and he saw a tear slide down her face.

“Chessie, don’t cry,” he said, lifting his hand to wipe it away. But she grasped his hand and pressed it to her lips. “I can’t change this to save myself, and I won’t let those kids’ lives get lost just so I can find mine.”

She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. “So, do you think we can scare up Internet access out here?”

“Doubtful, why?”

“I want to find that money.”

He actually laughed at that wild level of optimism. “Sorry, but that’s not why we’re in Cuba. Gabriel Rafael Winter, remember?”

“How could I forget? But I still want to find that money.”

“Talk about hopeless.”

“I don’t believe in hopelessness,” she said. “I believe that somewhere in the deepest, darkest corner of cyberspace, there’s a way to clear your name, and if I can find it, then maybe you can do something good with that name.”

Like give it to you.
He closed his eyes and pulled her closer, the only way to keep himself from voicing that stupid, hopeless thought out loud.

Chapter Twenty-three

The Prefect bumped over the dirt as they followed the rocky road after the Poinciana tree, and Chessie kept expecting some kind of light at the end of the road.

But it couldn’t have been darker at the Ramos farm.

“It looks so deserted at night,” Chessie said.

“Come on, let’s walk the rest of the way.” Mal tucked the car behind a small grouping of trees, getting out and reaching his hand to help Chessie slide out the driver’s side. “Let’s try the barn,” Mal said, guiding her forward.

They walked slowly, getting their footing on rocks and dirt, using Mal’s small flashlight to reach the back barn used as a school. Mal put his hand on the massive door and jiggled, which opened instantly and easily.

Once inside, Chessie gasped softly at the sight of…nothing. Absolutely no sign that there had been a school—the books, tables, boards, and chairs were gone. Just some hay strewn around the dirt floor.

Mal kept walking, scanning the empty area, while Chessie mentally clicked through the options. Did Ramos break the school every night? Had the government come and shut it down? Were they all in hiding?

And what happened to Gabrielita? The very question made her heart ache.

“Let’s try the little house,” she said, and Mal agreed, heading back outside and around the barn to the small structure. “Where is everyone?”

The sound of a rifle being cocked echoed, and Mal instantly whipped Chessie around and pushed her to the ground to protect her.

“Everyone is right here.” Nestor Ramos’s thick accent was barely audible over Chessie’s thumping heart.

Slowly, Mal straightened, positioning himself in front of Chessie, keeping the light down so he didn’t blind Ramos. “
Señor
Ramos. It’s us. The teachers.”

He snorted. “I know you are not teachers.”

“Where is everything?” Mal asked. “The school? The books?”

“What school? There is no school here.” There was just enough sarcasm in his voice to make Chessie wonder if he was jerking them around, or really going to deny what they’d seen there. “There are no books. This is a farm.”

Chessie pushed to a stand. Screw sarcasm and denial. They knew the truth. “Where are the kids?”

“My children are sleeping. My boys are placed around this farm to kill you if they have to.”

Chessie put her hand over her mouth, stunned at this turn and his…authority. He didn’t speak like a rural farmer. His accent couldn’t hide intelligence and…training.

Mal took a non-threatening step closer. “I came to warn you that someone might know we were here today. We wanted you to be prepared, but I see you already are.”

Ramos just stared, his rifle still leveled at Mal’s chest. For each achingly long second that passed, Chessie’s breath got tighter and her heart pounded harder.

And no one said a word.

The older man let out a long, slow sigh. “A man came here today,” he said in halting English. “American. That’s twice in two days. That smells very bad to us.”

“What did he want?” Mal asked.

Ramos let out a dry laugh. “He wanted you.”

Chessie felt the world sway a little under her.

Ramos’s eyes shifted to her, and even in the ambient light she could see them soften just a little. “Both of you. He didn’t see the school. He didn’t get beyond the tree. I made sure of that. But he was like you…CIA.”

She just blinked at that, and Mal stepped closer. “Did you get his name?”

Ramos laughed softly. “He didn’t leave his card. But I know. I know you. I…know about you.”

Why? How? She actually took a breath to ask the questions, but Mal gave the slightest signal, and she closed her mouth.

“
Señor
Ramos, please. We’re seeking a boy who was here on this farm,” Mal said. “We don’t want to hurt you. Or report you. Or bring any attention to your school. We are looking for Gabriel Rafael Winter, who was born on June 29 in 2011. You gave us the rosary with his name and that date engraved on it.”

Even in the dark, Chessie could sense the information hit the man hard. “I gave it to her,” he said, nodding toward Chessie. “As a gift. I know of no such child.”

He was lying. She clenched her fists as Mal leaned closer. “He was adopted,” he said. “Did you aid in that adoption?”

He shook his head very slowly.

“But you do that, don’t you?” Chessie asked. “You take in orphans, and you find them homes?” It sure explained how the baby could be here last, and then be listed as adopted. And how Ramos could have so many of “his own” kids the same age.

His attention shifted back to her, his night vision obviously good enough to allow him to take a long, hard scrutiny of her face, and once again, his expression changed from threatening to curious and, maybe, a little trusting.

“Otherwise…” He leaned closer to lower his voice. “They would be owned by the government and lost forever.”

His honesty gave her the nerve to move on instinct rather than rules. “
Señor
Ramos,” she said softly. “This child is my nephew, my brother’s son. Please.” Damn it, her voice cracked. “Do you have any record of where he might have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he said. But it wasn’t a cold refusal to answer. It was a genuine admission that he didn’t have all the facts. Then he angled his head toward the little cottage. “Come.”

He opened the door, and they followed him into a dark room. After a moment, he switched on a small lamp that cast a golden glow over the room, which looked the same as yesterday except for the addition of a tiny cot in the corner, where a little body stirred when the light came on.

A young girl sat up and blinked sleepily. And Chessie had to fight the urge not to scoop Gabrielita up in her arms.

The little girl wiped her eyes and yawned, her attention landing on Chessie, a smile brightening her little face.

“Hello, Gabrielita,” Chessie said, taking a few steps and kneeling down next to the cot. “Sorry to wake you.”

The child obviously didn’t understand, but held out both arms, and Chessie lost the battle, scooping the tiny body into her arms and settling on the dirty floor to hold her. Gabrielita looked up at Ramos as if she expected to be reprimanded for the move, but Ramos smiled.

“Is it okay for you?” he asked Chessie.

She nodded and stroked the girl’s hair, holding her closer. “It’s fine. It’s perfect.” Her gaze shifted to Mal, who looked exactly as he had when he’d warned her earlier…
you can’t save them all
.

Well, she could hold this one and love her for a few minutes.

Ramos sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair. Chessie held her breath, praying and hoping and trying not to squeeze the little girl too tight.

“His mother hid here, and we helped her.”

Chessie almost fainted with relief. “Hid? From who?” she asked.

Ramos shrugged. “I do not ask questions when that much money is offered,” he said, his expression unapologetic. “She gave us enough money to buy many books and desks. Everything came from her.”

“What was her name?” Mal asked.

The man’s eyes narrowed as he peered at his visitors. “I am not ever supposed to say.”

“But the boy”—Chessie leaned closer—“is family.”

Ramos gave the shakiest smile. “I can see that.”

She sucked in a soft breath, the words stirring her. Her nephew looked like her? The baby had blue eyes like hers? Of course, she and Gabe were the only blue-eyed Rossis. She couldn’t stop the smile pulling at her lips.

“We called him Rafael.”

“Oh.” Chessie couldn’t help the little sound that escaped and the tears that welled up. “Rafael.”

Mal leaned forward and put a hand on the man’s arm. “Do you know where he is?”

He looked from one to the other. “I know who took him when his mother…”

“She died,” Chessie said. “We know that.”

“Can you tell us how?” Mal asked. “It would be a great comfort to the child’s father to know.”

Ramos turned, his eyes growing cold. “She died in a car accident, hit by a truck. It was very tragic, and the baby was less than a few months old.”

“Oh my God,” Chessie whispered. “How sad.”

He nodded in agreement. “During her pregnancy, she’d been teaching the children, and we were all devastated.”

Emotions swamped Chessie at the news, along with some relief. She could give Gabe closure. He needed that.

“Why was she here?” Mal asked, apparently not satisfied with that closure. “Why would she choose this place to hide?”

Even in the dim light, Chessie saw the flash of something in the man’s dark eyes that disappeared just as fast. “A friend sent her here. And that friend”—he puffed out a breath—“adopted the baby.”