Revealing Eden (19 page)

He took it and thanked his nieces.
“Gracias, sobrinas.”

The girls skipped off and threw the bag to the macaw. Playing catch with salvation, Eden thought. After several tries, the bird nipped it in his beak and tossed it onto a branch where it lodged.

Now what?

“A Huaorani custom,” her father explained. “A gift is always returned with a gift.”

“But who gave them the carving?” Eden said, looking towards the gated hut. “Is someone there? Is it Rebecca?”

“Forget it,” Bramford said, the threat clear.

Now Eden was sure someone or something hid there. If she discovered the truth, she might gain leverage over him. Her legs worked like pistons as she hurried towards it.

“Stop!” Bramford said.

She began to run, calling out. “Hello! Rebecca?”

Behind her, she heard Bramford’s pounding feet. His furious growl ripped into her. She screamed as he grabbed hold of her. The blood seemed to drain out of her, and she fell limp.

“Eden!”

But why did Bramford sound anguished? He didn’t care.

Then a dark curtain dropped over her world.

E
DEN’S EYES flickered open. She wondered why Bramford cradled her in his arms. A wave of relief seemed to pass through him. She must have fainted, she realized. She drew her arms round his neck and cuddled close. His tender purr lit a flame in her. How could such an ornery animal sound so tame?

Maria approached, insisting he bring Eden inside the main hut. There, she pointed.
“Ahí.”

“No,” Bramford said, carrying Eden towards the jungle.

Maria blocked his path and said that Eden was sick.
“Ella está enferma.”

His confused gaze fell on Eden, then cut over to the hut. To her surprise, she glimpsed something in his expression that she knew all too well—suffering. What ghosts lay hidden in that place, she wondered.

She thought Maria said, “It’s time.”

A hard edge returned to Bramford’s face.

“You’ve done everything in your power to destroy our mission,” he told Eden. “If it weren’t for your father, I would have farmed you out long ago. You’re a blind and selfish girl who cannot see the greater good.”

“And you do?” she said, jerking her arms away. “With your power-hungry plans for domination?”

“I’m warning you.”

He began to shake with a deep, angry rumbling. His chest heaved against her. Eden felt torn by rage and desire. What strange phenomenon held her in its grip and obliterated all reason?

“Please, stop,” her father called, hobbling near.

Bramford put her on the ground. “This is your last chance. I’ve got better things to do than look after you.”

“Then let me go,” Eden said.

“No one’s stopping you. Leave if you want.”

His offer cut her deep. She silently watched him slip like a shadow through the trees.
Moody bastard
.

She laid her hand on her chest, aware of an awful ache. Had she caught The Heat? Did that explain this madness?

Maria took Eden’s arm and helped her across the clearing to the main hut. Behind her, Eden heard the slow thump of her father’s crutch on the porch steps. Inside, the one-room hut had the lonely air of a long vacancy. Thick dusk layered the wooden floor, though there were recent tracks. Cobwebs hung from the rafters like lace curtains. A protective mesh of woven reeds, unlike any in the other huts, covered a window in the back wall. Overgrown brush nearly blocked a view of the watering hole.

Eden took in a family-like grouping of hammocks—two adult sizes, one much smaller. There were even three small stools around a low table that had fallen on its side. Clearly, this once had belonged to a family. So it couldn’t be Bramford’s residence.

Her father came up beside her and pointed the tip of his crutch at a hammock. “They’re made from hemp,” he said. “Quite comfortable, I discovered last night.”

Even in the grip of pain his inquisitive nature couldn’t be dampened. If only he were as curious about her as he was about everything else.

Eden started towards one of the hammocks, but Maria directed them to the far end of the room. Come, this way.
“Vengan por aquí.”

Eden gasped, as they rounded the narrow corner. A frightening figure appeared out of the shadows. It was a large wooden carving, she realized, part jaguar and part man. Even the fierce expression resembled Bramford’s.

“El Tigre,”
Maria said proudly.

“Just as I thought,” Eden said, her worst fears confirmed. “Bramford planned it all along.”

“Point of fact,” her father said. “Using the jaguar as a donor was my idea. Of course, I told him about the legend. But how could we have predicted things would turn out so well?”

“Yeah, just great.”

Maria held up a hand, as her eyes cut nervously to the doorway. Then she slipped past the carved figure and pushed aside a wooden screen. Behind it, Eden spied a small room.

“Vengan,”
Maria repeated, ushering them inside.

A cold shadow fell over Eden’s heart, as if she’d seen a ghost. Even the wavering light that streamed through a mesh-covered window seemed anxious not to disturb the room’s unseen occupant.

Against one wall stood a simple but modern bed. In fact, everything in the room reminded Eden of home, from a bedside
stand to standard pillows. There was even a silver hand mirror on the stand. Not your usual jungle décor. It might have satisfied someone who felt as alien here as Eden did.

“Whose room is this?” she whispered.

Maria told her not to be afraid.
“No tengas miedo.”

Eden looked round, surprised to see two paintings tacked to the thatched wall. The larger one depicted a sleek, black jaguar prowling through a lush landscape. The silhouette of a girl hovered in the brush. Eden couldn’t tell if the jaguar stalked the girl or if they were companions. In the corner of the painted board the artist had signed two initials.

“R.B.?” her father said, stepping beside her. “Ronson Bramford?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eden said, admiring the sensuous images. “Bramford is no artist.”

She took in the second painting, stunned by what she saw. It was a portrait of a young woman, her white skin visible. Eden couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing a Pearl so well represented, a girl just like her. More like her than she could have imagined. The girl’s youthful skin shone with the luster of a sea pearl. Soulful, blue eyes stared back at Eden with familiar longing.

The slender figure and graceful neck also resembled Eden’s, though it shocked her to think of herself in such flattering terms. A rare, velvety red
Cattleya
orchid adorned the girl’s long, blond hair. She wore an old-fashioned white dress. In fact, except for the flower and clothing, the resemblance to Eden was uncanny.

Eden’s father echoed her thoughts with astonishment. “She could be your clone.”

A shiver traveled up her spine, as she recalled the children’s reactions to her. She pointed at the painting, turning to Maria.

“Rebecca?” she said.

“Sí
, Rebecca.” A weary sigh escaped the woman, and Eden considered how their arrival must have upended her peaceful existence.

Eden’s father cleaned his glasses, then peered closer. “If I didn’t know it wasn’t my own daughter, I might be convinced.”

“It must be a self-portrait,” Eden said, noting the same artist’s signature. Again, she looked to Maria for confirmation. “R.B. for Rebecca Bramford?”

This time Maria met her question with a blank stare.

Eden pushed harder, pointing outside for added emphasis. “But where is she?
”

Stone-faced, Maria turned to leave.

Eden’s father sank down on the bed, sending a puff of dust into the air. “I assume Bramford doesn’t want us to know,” he said.

“I wonder what he’s hiding?” Eden mused.

“I’m not suggesting he’s hiding anything.”

“Then tell me, Father, why is there a prison here?”

“It’s none of our business.”

“What if Rebecca is in trouble?”

“Now who is being ridiculous, Daught?”

“He locked me up.”

“You were excitable.”

Deserved it, that’s what he meant. Well, Eden was sick of his and Bramford’s grandiose schemes and lack of feeling for
anyone’s aching heart. She crossed to the window, staring at the gated hut on the other side of the compound.

“I bet he’s holding her prisoner over there,” she said. “That’s why it’s off limits.”

Her father sputtered. “What? He’s not a kidnapper.”

“He brought us here against our will, didn’t he?”

“That is not my recollection of events.”

Eden spun around. “Against
my
will, then.”

“This is pure conjecture, not facts. How can you be prone to such illogic?”

He started to rise but Eden pressed a hand on the crutch.

“Okay, here are the facts, Father: There’s a portrait of a girl named Rebecca. It’s signed by R.B. Rebecca is a Pearl, so obviously, she’s not Bramford’s sister. It’s also clear she wasn’t his mate because arch Coals don’t option Pearls.”

“A false absolute. Such mating has been known to happen.”

“Maybe.” Still, Eden doubted that anyone as status-conscious as Bramford could see past a woman’s color. “But you can’t deny that he’s never been mated—it clearly says so on his profile.”

“Also not a fail-proof test. Those with the means may bribe the authorities. For now, I concede the point, however, as I see no reason for Bramford to have lied about it.”

“So who’s Rebecca? Since her portrait is here, let’s assume this was her room. And yet, it was sealed off. We don’t know where she is. Clearly, Maria is afraid to tell us.”

Eden let her questions settle in the air. She picked up the hand mirror, noting the antique patina and engraved letter “B.” The thought of looking in the mirror tugged at her, but
she couldn’t confront her white face. Instead, she showed her father the engraving.

“See this? It’s how Bramford marks his territory. Maybe he mated Rebecca and then regretted it. He had to eliminate his mistake so he killed her.”

The rapid blinking began. “What? Impossible.”

“Perhaps she’s buried in that hut.”

“I insist you stop this line of reasoning, Daught!”

“No, Father. For once, you’re not being objective. We have to get away from Bramford. Why can’t you see that he’s a monster?”

Her father drew in a deep breath, regaining his cool detachment. “Bramford is a predator. Precisely for that reason, your attempts to excite him are dangerous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eden said, turning abruptly.

“It’s evident that you have a talent for aggravating him. A common female tactic to attract the male’s attention.”

“Are you insane?”

“Perhaps. However, that does not assume a diminished capacity to observe your growing attraction to him.”

“Bramford and I aren’t even the same species.”
Thanks to you
.

“Quite true. As a matter of fact, his affection might kill you. Therefore, since you are willing to risk life and limb, I can only assume you are desperate to win his favor.”

“In this case, you’re dead wrong, Dr. Newman. I loathe Ronson Bramford.”

“Hmmm.” He pushed to his feet. “Wait and see.”

“There’s nothing to see. You’re investigating a dead end.”

“I’m afraid I’m not the one who lacks objectivity here, Daught.” He took one last look at the mysterious portrait, muttering as he left. “Extraordinary.”

Eden heard him sink into the squeaky hammock in the next room. Weary, she fell onto the feathery mattress and stared up at Rebecca’s image. Sweet Earth, they could have been sisters.

If only she could grasp the mystery of Rebecca, she might also understand the strange yearnings that tugged at her heart. She wondered what her imagined twin would think of Bramford’s transformation. Would she also experience a whirl of sensations at his touch?