Sounds of Silence (6 page)

She’d left Eli out in the backyard with the children, demonstrating proper batting stance. The miniature bat looked like a matchstick in Eli’s big hands, and powerful muscles bulged all over the place as he swung it. Feeling oddly out of breath, Isabel had scurried for the carport.

Life right now was just very…weird. She felt caught between a desire to rewind time back to the way it had been before Rico died, and an even more desperate urge to move on to whatever the Lord had next for her. The patches of grief had become fewer and farther between, but there was certainly no peace in her life.

That had to be wrong.

She picked up a bottle of rose-scented shower gel, opened it and sniffed. What was Eli’s favorite scent?

The thought was so shocking that she capped the bottle, tossed it into the cart and hustled down the aisle.

What is the matter with you, Isabel Valenzuela? Have you lost your mind?
She most definitely needed to get out more often.

At the end of the aisle she nearly bowled over an elegant, silver-haired lady in white slacks and a fuchsia silk top.

“Pamela!” Isabel gasped. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Pamela Hatcher laughed and pushed her cart side-by-side with Isabel’s. “No harm done. In fact, I was hoping I would
run into
you somewhere.”

Isabel giggled. “Ow. Bad, Pam. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to get together to pray lately.” She hesitated. “I’ve had a lot of sewing deadlines.” That was certainly the truth.
Lord, please don’t let me have to lie to my friend
.

“I know.” Pamela sighed and fiddled with the clasp of her handbag. “I didn’t want to bother you. But I’ve really needed some prayer support.”

“I’m sorry,” Isabel could only repeat. She touched Pamela’s hand briefly. “I know you miss Bryan. I can’t imagine.”

Pamela’s bright green eyes watered. “I have a feeling you can, just a bit. But we always think our children are going to outlive us.”

“And our husbands,” Isabel added uncomfortably. How many times over the past year had she railed at God for taking Rico long before his time? “I wouldn’t have survived this year without my church family. If anything were to happen to Danilo I think I’d go over the edge.”

“I know. It’s so hard when your children grow up, and you lose all control of their lifestyles. Rand keeps wondering if he’d spent more time with Bryan…” Pamela took a shaky breath and seemed to push away her melancholy. “So where is your little guy this afternoon? Did he spend the weekend with your parents?” She glanced at Isabel’s cart.

Isabel couldn’t control a small, guilty start. “He’s home with a babysitter.”

Pamela lowered her voice. “How is he handling your relationship with Eli Carmichael?”

The breath left Isabel’s lungs. “What are you talking about?” Her voice came out in a strangled whisper.

“It’s not any big secret, is it?” Pamela leaned in. “I started to come over last week, but I saw him leaving your house and changed my mind.”

Blood rushed to Isabel’s cheeks. “Eli has been—he
is
my friend, that’s all.” Maybe a hit-and-run with the shopping carts would have circumvented this situation. She looked at her watch. “Oh, my, look at the time, I’ve got to get back—”

Pamela’s eyes lit. “Eli’s the sitter, isn’t he? Oh, Isabel, I think this is wonderful. You shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“Pam, I promise you—”

“Okay, I won’t tell anybody. But he’s the cutest thing, he’ll be perfect for you. He’s never been married, but of course you know that. Rand and I both noticed the way his eyes follow you at church.” Pamela reached out and impulsively hugged Isabel, who stood stiff as a store mannequin, wishing some wild woman would come by and run over
her
with a shopping cart.

Before she could protest further, Pamela let her go, promising to call so they could set up a lunch date, and moved off toward electronics.

“Oh, no!” Isabel put her hand to her mouth. “What if she says something to Eli?”

Eli hated himself for not telling Isabel his true reason for keeping the kids tonight, but he needed to talk to Mercedes alone. He should have known Isabel would be too tenderhearted to press the little girl for information. So it was up to him to pry it out of her.

Leaving Danilo wrestling with the dog, he walked over to push Mercedes in the swing. She gave him that gap-toothed grin over her shoulder, and leaned back to pump the swing higher. In many ways she seemed utterly fearless.

Eli wondered what went on in her imaginative little brain when she was alone in the dark. Did she have nightmares about bloody knives?

Knowing he couldn’t put this off any longer, he grabbed the swing’s chains to stop it. He went around to crouch in front of Mercedes.

She tipped her head, smiling at him, and he saw that the scab on her knee had fallen off, leaving a rough white scar. Other than that, she looked as happy and secure as any well-cared-for seven-year-old. He was going to take her back to scars on her soul even more permanent than the one on her knee.

Eli had thought this over a lot. Easy does it, he told himself. With two fingers he pointed to her eyes, then touched his own lips. “Watch me speak,” he said in Spanish.

Mercedes grinned and nodded.

Eli continued in her native language, though he knew she understood a lot of English by now. He didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding. “Tell me about this picture.” He opened his wallet and removed the bloody drawing.

Mercedes’s expression changed. Her smile fled, and darkness that had nothing to do with color filled her eyes. She shook her head and did something with her hands that he couldn’t understand.

Okay, back to yes-and-no questions.
“Is this something you saw?”

Predictably, she shook her head.

“Mercedes, I won’t let anybody hurt you again. If you saw someone hurt another person, you have to tell me so I can—” He realized she had closed her eyes, and he didn’t know what to do to make her look at him. He gently took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “Never mind,” he whispered to nobody in particular.

Now what was he going to do?

Chapter Five

“D
ie, you villain!” The blue-and-red pajama-clad superhero aimed gloved wrists at his nemesis, two fingers folded into his palms as he sprayed sound effects. “You’ll never hurt my girlfriend while I’m around!”

“I’ll get you someday!” With a groan that clearly indicated lifeblood pouring from his villainous body, Eli sank to the carpet. He writhed in mortal anguish, then lay twitching.

“You’ll never escape me!” declared the hero, stomping a light-up sandal into Eli’s solar plexus.

“Oof!” Eli involuntarily rolled over.

Danilo frowned. “It’s not funny, Mercedes. He’s the bad guy!”

“I’ll show you a bad guy.” Eli sat up to pull Danilo down for a tickle. The boy giggled and squirmed, while Mercedes jumped on Eli’s back. “Hey, no fair, two against one!”

He reached around to pull Mercedes into his arms, falling back against the living room carpet. Fonzie took that as an invitation to join the game, and Eli got his face washed by a long, pink, slobbery tongue.

“What is that dog doing in the house?”

Isabel’s outraged cry from the kitchen doorway rang the bell on the impromptu wrestling match.

After a moment of startled, guilty silence, Danilo scrambled to his feet. “Mommy!” He ran to throw his arms around Isabel’s legs. Fonzie slunk off behind the recliner, and Mercedes shrank against Eli, eyes worried.

Isabel’s expression settled into confusion as she ruffled Danilo’s hair. She sniffed. “What is that smell?”

Eli sat up, hugging Mercedes. “That would be wet dog.”

“Fonzie took a shower.” Danilo beamed up at his mother.

“He took a—
what?
”

“You said he couldn’t come in the house ’cause he was dirty, so we put him in the shower.”

“I bet he loved that,” Isabel said, a reluctant grin tugging at her mouth.

“I think he actually enjoyed it,” Eli said, smiling down at Mercedes, whose anxious expression lightened. “He seems to be part Lab. They’re big water dogs.” Noticing the bags that Isabel carried, he jumped up, carefully setting Mercedes on her feet. “Here, let me get those for you.”

Isabel’s cheeks turned rosy. “No, I’ll just go put them in my room.” She backed away from him, beckoning to Mercedes. “Come with me, darlin’?”

Mercedes ran to take Isabel’s hand, leaving Eli to settle on the floor, flanked by the dog and the boy.

Danilo yawned. “I don’t want to take a bath,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Me, neither,” said Eli. “But girls kinda like it when you don’t stink.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know.” Eli gently scrubbed his knuckles against the top of the dark head tucked under his arm. “One of those mysteries of life.”

“I already got my pajamas on.”

“Yeah.” Eli watched as Danilo fell asleep right before his eyes. He smiled. Poor little guy hadn’t even had any supper. Eli wondered if Isabel would wake him up to feed him and bathe him. Isabel was a world-class mother. Likely, a little stink wouldn’t faze her.

When she came back, accompanied by Mercedes dressed in the pink nightgown, her eyes softened. “The hero falls victim to the Sandman.”

“Yeah, we pretty much wore each other out.” Eli rubbed the back of his neck. “Want me to put him in bed for you?”

“Not until he’s good and asleep.” Isabel sat down in the rocker with Mercedes in her lap. “I really appreciate you giving me a hand on your day off. Beyond the call of duty.”

“Not really. It’s in my best interests to keep you happy.”

Isabel looked self-conscious. “You may not think so when I tell you who I ran into in the soap aisle.”

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“I told you I wanted to call Pamela Hatcher. She apparently came by the other night when you were here so late.”

Eli frowned. “She was watching your house?”

“Eli, we’re good friends. Prayer partners, and we talk nearly every day. When she didn’t hear from me and couldn’t get me on the phone—well, she drove over here to check on me. Pam saw you leaving.”

Eli watched the deep lids flicker to hide Isabel’s dark eyes. “And this is a problem because…”

“Because she thinks we—she thinks you and I are—” Isabel circled her hand and gave Eli a helpless look. “I know that sounds crazy, and I tried to tell her so, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Eli couldn’t tell if Isabel was angry or simply incredulous. Clearly she had no clue about his feelings, which meant he must be a pretty good actor. He felt his way along in this embarrassing conversation.

“You know what,” he said, “that may not be a bad thing. In fact, I wish I’d thought of it myself.”

Isabel’s lips parted. “Huh?”

He shrugged. “Somebody’s got to be watching out for you and Mercedes, and I’d feel better if it were me. If it will cause less speculation among your friends, we can let them think we’re…involved.”

“But it’s not true!”

The words sat out there between them as Eli considered his response. “We’ve talked about it before,” he said carefully. “We can’t keep Mercedes safe if people know she’s here. A little bit of prevarication is necessary.”

“I know, but not about—” Isabel looked around a bit wildly. “You know.”

Eli’s gaze fell on the Alamo photo. “Isabel, you’ve been a widow for nearly two years. Nobody would fault you for starting to date again.”

Stroking Mercedes’s hair, Isabel closed her eyes. “I’m just not ready yet.”

Another awkward silence. “Okay, look, I understand. I really do. But the bottom line of this situation is Mercedes. She needs both of us.” He watched Isabel’s arms tighten around the little girl. “Look at me, Isabel,” he said softly.

She obeyed, eyes dark and wary.

Eli smiled. “I promise just to be your friend.” But he wasn’t sure he could keep that promise. More than halfway across the bridge in love with Isabel, he couldn’t figure out how to get back.

“I could really use a friend,” she said on a sigh. “I just never imagined it would be—” She stopped, looking self-conscious.

“Me?” Eli supplied. Dennis Carmichael’s son falling in love with Rico Valenzuela’s widow. Some might say God had a cruel sense of humor. Eli rejected the thought. “I happen to think there’s a reason we’ve been thrown together like this.”

“I don’t know.” Isabel shook her head. “Ever since you came over that day, asking me to meet Mercedes, I started having nightmares again.”

“Nightmares? You mean about Rico?”

“Yes.” Isabel’s voice was low and strained. “Every night I dream about that place over in Eagle Pass where he died.”

Eli wanted to move close to her and take her in his arms. He didn’t dare. Instead he looked at her steadily, keeping his voice even. “Have you talked to a counselor? The pastor?”

Her eyes widened. “No! I don’t want anybody to think I’m…crazy.”

“Isabel, you’re not crazy. Even though I wasn’t there, I dream about that scene, too—or I used to. Sometimes I’m jerking the gun out of my father’s hand, sometimes I step in front of the bullet.” He shook his head. “The counselor said that’s normal.”

“You went to a counselor?” Isabel tipped her head. “You’ve never seemed to let what happened bother you.”

“Oh, I’m bothered all right.” Eli looked away. “Some days it’s all I can do to look you in the eye.”

“Oh, Eli.” Isabel swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well. We’re both sorry, huh?” He offered a smile, which she returned softly. “But the good news is, once I told somebody—the counselor—how I was feeling, the nightmares started to fade. I try to remember the good parts of my father as I was growing up. I try to realize that God may be up to something in me, making all the bad more than a pointless tragedy.”

“How do you…how do you get there?” Isabel’s tone was wistful. “I do okay in the daylight, but at night…”

Eli looked upward.
Lord, help me here
. After an imperceptible pause, he sighed. “Patience, I guess. Prayer in every breath. Memorizing Scripture that I can spout back at the devil when he attacks.”

“It feels like that, doesn’t it?” Isabel said. “An attack.”

“Oh, yeah. For me, it was my whole concept of fatherhood on the block. For a while I couldn’t trust God because of what my father had done. And I didn’t trust myself. Maybe,” he added painfully, “maybe I’m still dealing with that.”

Isabel stilled, her eyes flashing. “You are a very good man, Eli Carmichael. Don’t ever doubt it.”

He laughed, pleased at her fierce loyalty. “All right. So noted.” He slid one arm under Danilo’s legs and lifted him against his chest. “I’m pretty sure it’d take a planetary invasion to wake this kid up. How about showing me where his room is.”

Eli slammed the door of the patrol car and settled in with a cup of coffee, ready for a long, uncomfortable vigil. He’d been spending every night when he wasn’t working parked down the street from Isabel’s house. From this angle he could observe the front, side and unfenced backyard, making sure she and the children were safe.

Owen thought Eli was off the deep end. If Marlon Dean found out what he was doing, he’d be fired, or at the very least put on suspension pending a psychological checkup.

Eli shifted to put his back against the door. Maybe he
was
a bit loony, from lack of sleep. He didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to guard Isabel, look for Bryan Hatcher’s killer
and
do his job. He’d managed to snatch a couple hours rest yesterday during lunch, which was going to have to do him for the foreseeable future.

One thing was for sure. He had plenty of time to think. Reaching under the seat, he pulled out his Bible and a flashlight, then sat there in the dark with the sound of Isabel singing to Mercedes playing through his brain. Which made no sense, because Mercedes couldn’t hear the music. Maybe she’d been singing for Eli’s benefit. He’d gone back to the living room and picked up Isabel’s unfinished sampler, then stood there listening.

He’d read the words, “This precious treasure—this light and power that now shine within us,” and heard the song at the same time.

He sure didn’t
feel
filled with light and power. When Isabel had asked for help, all he could do was sympathize.

He felt loaded up with frustration and weariness.

Wondering how the rest of the passage went, he turned on the flashlight and flipped open the concordance at the back of his Bible.
Treasure
. There it was, 2 Corinthians 4:7.

“This precious treasure—this light and power that now shine within us—is held in perishable containers, that is, in our weak bodies. So everyone can see that our glorious power is from God and is not our own.”

A perishable container like a clay pot, that’s me
. But how was God’s power going to be seen in Eli Carmichael’s stammering, fragile, everyday life? Rubbing his temples where a headache was growing, Eli closed his eyes and tried to pray.

Lord, I’m wandering around in circles. I’ve interviewed everybody I can think of, and I can’t get Mercedes to talk about the knife.

Mercedes was the key.

Where, Lord? Where did she come from?

Eli had a sudden, vivid image of the first time he’d seen Mercedes. One shoe off, one shoe on, like the old nursery rhyme. If that other little tennis shoe ever turned up, he’d finally get someplace.

Pablo Medieros understood the appeal of a beautiful, well-kept animal. After all, he had grown up on a ranch in Godley, Texas, where he had become equally adept at dodging cow patties and the flat-handed sideswipes of the ranch manager. Tagging along behind his father, who had crossed the border without benefit of immigration papers and hired on to work
Señor
Flaherty’s livestock, Pablo had become quite familiar with ranch life.

The bread-and-butter of Flaherty’s operation might have been cattle, but in terms of status, the horses clearly reigned. One had to be wealthy to be able to feed and care for, let alone ride and show, a stable full of pure-bred cutting horses. And Pablo had determined, even as a young teenager, that he would one day run his own stable.

He was very close to achieving that dream. The next big run of cocaine across the border would enable him to buy the ranch outside Quemado he’d had his eye on for some months. He would resign his post with the governor, lay down cash for his property and stock it with the finest horseflesh money could buy.

He considered himself a connoisseur, and it was with a mixture of disdain and envy that he strutted through the crowd lining the fence surrounding the main arena at the Eagle Pass stockyard. His purpose at this time was business rather than pleasure.

“Hola, señor,”
he said as he approached a tall, silver-haired man standing near the gate. Dust swirled in great choking waves, making Pablo wish for a bandanna to cover his mouth and nose. Americans never had the sense to sprinkle the arena before a show in order to settle the dust. Stupid
gringos.

Rand Hatcher turned, took in Pablo’s sport coat, starched western shirt with its bolo tie and eelskin boots. Hatcher’s dark brows rose. “’Morning,” he drawled. “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, it is more a question of what I can do for
you.
” Pablo smiled and leaned against the fence. “You are pointed out to me as the owner of the champion palomino in the National Cutting Horse Trials. Is this correct?”

Hatcher nodded coolly. “Icharus is mine all right.”

He waited without further comment, and Pablo recognized a formidable opponent: a man who refused to volunteer information.

“Then I have a business proposition for you. I am Pablo Medieros, director of security and personal friend of Juan Avila, governor of Coahuila. Governor Avila has charged me with finding a stallion suitable to breed with his prize mare, Music Box Dancer.”

“Icharus is not for stud,” Hatcher said. “He’s a working cutting horse.”

“Understood.” Pablo removed his Stetson to wipe his perspiring brow. The dust had turned to mud beneath his hat band. “But perhaps our fee will change your mind. The stallion is a most amazing animal, and we are willing to pay well.”