Forbidden

by Suzanne Brockmann

  The girl crossed toward the radio and turned it off. Then she reached down into the bedside table and removed the miniature microphone. She dropped it onto the tile floor and crushed it under the heel of her boot.

  Cal looked down at Kayla. He was angry at the guns aimed in his direction, but he was right there beside her, one hundred percent.

  “This is going to be okay,” she said to him, realizing that for all he knew, they were about to be executed. The conversation had been going on around him in a language he didn’t understand. “They just want to talk.” God, she hoped she was right about that.

  “If you’re wrong—”

  She reached for him. “If I’m wrong, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  Cal held her tightly, speaking softly into her ear. “If you’re wrong, I just want you to know…there’s something I didn’t tell you last night—”

  “Sorry to interrupt this tender moment, but we don’t have a lot of time.” The girl spoke in her perfect, nearly accentless English, sitting down on one of the chairs by the sliding door. One of the men stood guard by that door, another stood at the other door, looking out the peephole at the hotel corridor. The third man—the one who’d picked the lock—had opened the front panel of the TV set, and was dismantling the video camera that had been hidden inside.

  “My name is Marisala,” the girl continued, looking from Cal to Kayla. “And you’ve already met Armando—you broke his nose, in fact, earlier this evening.”

  The man crouched in front of the TV set gave Cal a baleful glance. His nose was, indeed, bandaged.

  “Since he was unable to deliver my message, I decided to deliver it myself.” Marisala gazed at Kayla. “You are Mike, are you not?”

  Kayla slipped out of Cal’s arms, moving closer to Marisala, her heart pounding. She had been right. This girl had come with information about Liam. “Liam was the only one who ever called me Mike,” she said. “You did know him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Marisala admitted. “I met him when he first came to Puerto Norte, more than two years ago. I was just a kid then.”

  She was just a kid now, but Kayla wasn’t about to tell her that, not while she was carrying that very grown-up gun.

  “We were told that he wasn’t killed in the bus explosion,” Cal said, “but that he was kidnapped by the rebels and taken into the mountains.”

  Marisala laughed. Her smile was sparkling, and it made her look like the beautiful teenage girl she was, softening even the harsh scar on her cheekbone. “Is that what they told you?” she asked. “That we took Liam?” Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “They intercepted his fax to his newspaper,” she told them fiercely. “They didn’t like the story he wrote, didn’t like the dirt he’d managed to uncover—didn’t like his focus on the Special Forces Police and their arm-long list of human rights violations. They tried to kidnap him, tried to kill him. He came to me, badly injured—he knew I had friends who could hide him in the mountains.”

  She gazed at them steadily. “He sent messages to his newspaper and to his brother, but there was never any reply, and it wasn’t until we were ambushed that I realized one of my own brother’s friends was working for the government. Not only had the messages never been sent, but we were set up. In the surprise attack Liam was shot and badly wounded again.”

  “He was killed,” Cal said. “I have his death certificate.”

  Marisala turned her luminous brown gaze to him. “He wasn’t killed,” she said. “He was hurt very badly, but he wasn’t killed. He’s a very strong man—he’s been seriously injured twice more since then, but he’s still very much alive.”

  14

  “Alive?” Cal could hear the frozen disbelief in his own voice. “But the death certificate…It’s signed by a doctor….”

  “No doubt it was a long distance diagnosis,” Marisala said dryly. “The San Salustiano army doctors are quite good at doing that. The army lost nearly forty of its soldiers that day, but they never returned to claim a single body or to verify those men’s deaths. We ended up burying them all.”

  Liam was alive. Was it possible?

  “Where is he?” Kayla asked eagerly. “Is he hurt? Can you take us to see him?”

  Cal put one hand on her arm. They weren’t going anywhere with anyone. Not without some kind of proof. “How do we know you’re telling us the truth?”

  Marisala took a photo from her pocket. It was the kind that had been taken with one of those instant cameras. Silently, she handed it to Cal.

  It was Liam.

  He looked skinny and gaunt. He was sitting in a chair as if standing up would be too difficult a chore. His hair was long, but his face was clean shaven. Somehow he was managing to smile, a glint of his familiar happy-go-lucky humor showing in his blue eyes despite all he’d been through. He held a copy of a newspaper in his hands, front page visible to the camera. It was definitely Cal’s little brother.

  “That’s today’s paper,” Marisala said. “I took this picture this morning.” She had a scrap of the newspaper in her pocket and she unfolded it to show them the date. It was indeed the same front page Liam was holding, and it was dated that day.

  Kayla had been looking over Cal’s shoulder, but now she took the photograph from his hands, using one of the flashlights to examine it more closely. “It’s him,” she said, looking up to meet his gaze. “My God, it’s really him!”

  Cal had to sit down. Liam was alive. The kid was still alive. It didn’t seem possible….

  “Has he been with you all this time?” Kayla wanted to know. “Since he first came to you for help?”

  Marisala shook her head. “No. Much has happened since then. After the so-called rescue attempt by the SFP, it was many months before I even knew if Liam was going to live or die, and more after that when he was very weak. And the entire time, the soldiers were searching for him. We had hidden him in a small village—my home village—on the west side of the island. It was on the water, and we’d hoped to smuggle Liam off San Salustiano by boat. But again we were found out. The Special Forces Police came into our houses before dawn. They searched everywhere, but Liam escaped into the jungle.”

  Cal’s head was spinning, and he struggled to understand the San Salustiano girl’s words. He felt like laughing, like crying—a jumble of emotions making his chest feel as if it were expanding. The kid was alive.

  “The captain told us that he would kill half the villagers and burn the village if we didn’t give Liam up within six hours,” Marisala continued. It was the same story the shopkeeper had told them. Her voice grew thick with emotion. “Somehow Liam found out, and he surrendered, but El Capitán Muerte ordered the executions anyway. He made Liam and the rest of us watch as they murdered nearly fifty people. My father and little brother were among the dead that day.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kayla murmured.

  Marisala’s dark eyes seemed to glitter. “That was when I vowed I would see my island free or die trying,” she said quietly.

  “The captain burned your village too, didn’t he?” Kayla asked. “We’ve heard a version of this story—but in the one we heard, Liam was taken to prison and beaten to death. We have his journalism ring—supposedly cut from his finger.”

  “He was taken to a prison in the mountains,” Marisala agreed. “And beaten. But not killed. He was there for many months, and he will not speak of what he endured. I’ve seen some of his scars though, and I’m not sure I really want to find out. It was very bad, that I do know. But the last time I looked, he still had all ten of his fingers.”

  “How did he escape?” Kayla asked.

  “He didn’t,” Marisala said. “My army infiltrated the prison and attacked from the inside about three months ago.” She gave them a tight, satisfied smile. “It was one of the more successful operations of our little war. We had few casualties and we got Liam and the other prisoners out alive. Mostly alive. Liam was very nearly dead when I found him.”

  Cal watched Kayla�
��s face, saw the flood of emotions sweep across it. She looked at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

  “I feel like one of Lazarus’s sisters,” she whispered.

  Lazarus’s sister. Not his lover, or his wife.

  She moved toward him and he enveloped her in his arms. He was crying too, just like a baby. Sweet Lord, he’d broken down twice in just a matter of hours, once because he thought the kid was dead, and once because he knew for sure that the kid wasn’t.

  Kayla clung to him, taking comfort from him and giving it in return. He buried his face in the sweetness of her hair, holding her close, wishing he could hold her forever.

  A burst of realization hit him hard, and he felt suddenly sick. Dear God, not more than a few hours ago Cal had made love to the woman his brother wanted to marry. He’d given the kid up for dead, and given in to his own selfish needs. He released her slowly, jerkily, hardly able to move. What the hell was he doing? What had he done?

  “The army retaliated by firebombing a village near the prison, but we had warning of that and got the people out in time,” Marisala told them.

  “But we saw all those graves…” Kayla said, wiping the tears from her face with both hands.

  “A ruse to make them think their bombs killed our people. If they had no body count, they would retaliate again. So we painted crosses and buried leaves and branches to make them believe they won.”

  “How badly was Liam hurt?” Kayla asked. She glanced at Cal, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. He couldn’t even look at her.

  “Badly. He is just starting to have the strength to walk again,” the younger woman told her.

  Kayla looked at the photograph one more time. “He looks…like a skinny Liam,” she said with a laugh, smiling at Cal through her tears. “I can’t believe this.”

  All of Cal’s life he’d done his best to give Liam everything he could possibly want. The kid had been orphaned, he’d already been deprived of enough, so Cal had always bent over backward to provide him with anything his heart desired.

  And what if the thing that Liam’s heart desired was Kayla’s love?

  There’s something I didn’t tell you last night…Cal hadn’t had a chance to tell Kayla. Sweet God, he was so glad he hadn’t finished his sentence with the words he’d intended to say: I love you.

  Because Liam was alive, and odds were that Liam still loved her too. How could he not? How could any man not love this woman?

  It was better that she simply never know how Cal felt. It was better if she thought he didn’t give a damn about her at all. Because, just the way he’d done many times before, Cal was going to walk away from his own dreams for his brother’s sake.

  But what about what he wanted?

  What about finding heaven, finding peace and joy in Kayla Grey’s eyes, then having to turn around and give it all back?

  “I need your help getting Liam off the island,” Marisala told them. “The SFP has renewed the search for him. We’ve got him hidden, but we’ve all learned that hiding’s not the answer. He needs to go home, to America, and tell our story.”

  Cal squared his shoulders. “What’s the best way to take him off the island?” he asked. “By boat? Or plane. I can pilot a small plane, and if I can charter one—”

  “We have a plane,” Marisala interrupted him. “We have three different planes at three different airstrips across the island. But no pilots. Liam told me you knew how to fly.” She smiled grimly. “Of course, there’s a catch. The SFP is aware of our planes, and is watching all the airfields at all times. There’s too many of them for our guerrillas to take out without a full firefight.”

  “So what does that mean?” Kayla asked. “What can we do?”

  “We either prepare for battle,” Marisala said, “or—” She broke off, shaking her head. “Liam didn’t like this plan. He forbade me even to suggest it.” She looked up at them. “It would put you in a great deal of danger.”

  “My brother’s already in a great deal of danger,” Cal said evenly.

  “Tell us,” Kayla urged.

  Marisala nodded. “You must go to Tomás Vásquez and ask him for his help.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  Cal barely even glanced at Kayla as he threw the rest of his clothes into his travel bag. “That would be stupid, and you know it.”

  Marisala’s plan was shockingly simple—and shockingly dangerous. Cal would approach the “kindly” so-called Council of Tourism official, Tomás Vásquez, and tell him the good news—that his brother Liam was alive and well. Cal would ask for Vásquez’s help getting Liam off San Salustiano. He would ask for help finding a pilot to fly an airplane that he had mysteriously been given access to. He would imply that the people who had led him to Liam didn’t know that he had come to Vásquez for help—they had warned him against trusting anyone, but Cal knew Vásquez had risked his own career to help him once before, and therefore could be trusted.

  Vásquez, of course, would be more than willing to provide Cal with a pilot. He would also let the plane take off from the tiny airstrip in the mountains, assuming that his pilot would simply land the plane—with its most wanted and highly valuable cargo, namely Liam—at the San Salustiano airport, thus delivering them all into the hands of the Special Forces Police.

  Unless, of course, Vásquez knew that Cal and Kayla had figured out that he was, in fact, the notorious Captain Death of the SFP. Unless, of course, Vásquez knew that Cal intended to knock the pilot over the head and fly the plane to safety himself. Unless, of course, Vásquez figured it would be just as easy to toss Cal into one of his prisons and torture Liam’s whereabouts out of him.

  “Why should you be the one to risk your life?” she asked.

  Cal paused, giving her a full, long look. His flinty blue eyes were distant, his face carefully guarded. God, was this really the man who had made such incredible love to her just a few hours before? His eyes had been impossibly warmer then. He’d nearly set her aflame with a single heated look. “Because he’s my brother.”

  “But—”

  “Kayla, stop. I’m the one who’s going to talk to Vásquez, and you’re the one who’s not. You can talk at me until your face turns blue, but this time I’m not changing my mind.”

  “Talk at you,” she said, repeating his words. “Nice, Bartlett. If I didn’t know you better, if I weren’t convinced you wouldn’t do something so utterly moronic, I’d think you were purposely trying to antagonize me.”

  He turned back to his bag. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Guilt, maybe?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  Kayla sat down on the bed, her heart wadded into a tight little ball and securely stuck in her throat. He was feeling guilty about the intimacies they’d shared. That had to be the reason for his coolness. “We need to talk about last night—”

  He cut her off. “No, we don’t. Don’t worry, I have no intention of telling Liam. As far as I’m concerned, last night never happened.”

  Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

  Before she could find her voice, he turned to zip up his bag, as if the conversation were over.

  “But it did happen….”

  Cal closed his eyes briefly. “What was it really?” he asked softly. “Emotional comfort. Physical need.” He met her disbelieving gaze steadily. “In the scope of things, it was insignificant, Kayla.”

  Insignificant. The word echoed in her head as she stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was telling her.

  “It didn’t mean anything,” he continued. “You know that as well as I do.”

  It didn’t mean anything. No, she didn’t know that. She hadn’t realized. Kayla turned away before he could see the sudden rush of tears that had filled her eyes. Dear God, she’d given him her heart and her soul, and he thought it didn’t mean anything.

  “There’ll be a taxi waiting for you outside the hotel,” Cal told her. “Arma
ndo will be the driver—he’s the man with the broken nose, remember?”

  Silently, Kayla nodded. Cal had broken Armando’s nose, protecting her. How could she forget?

  “He’ll take you up into the mountains, where you’ll meet Marisala and Liam,” he continued.

  “I should go with you,” she interrupted him. “If I’m there, Vásquez will believe the story. We should tell him it was my idea to ask him for help. Men like you don’t ask for help. It’ll make him suspicious if you do.”

  Cal picked up both of their bags and started for the door. “That’s a chance we’re going to have to take.”

  Cal glanced at his watch. He’d called Vásquez and they’d set up a time to meet. Supposedly for a midafternoon snack at the open air market down by the harbor.

  He’d watched Kayla get into the taxi. He’d resisted the urge to hold her close one last time. He knew he’d hurt her. Insignificant. Lord, she’d looked at him as if he’d struck her hard across the face when he’d said that.

  He saw Vásquez’s familiar car approaching. Sweet Jesus, there was so much that could go wrong. Vásquez could have him arrested on the spot. Vásquez could somehow find out which airfield and which plane they were intending to use to leave the country, and set up some kind of ambush there, preferring to risk the pilot’s life to prevent Liam from escaping and telling the world about his two-year-long living hell on San Salustiano. Vásquez could somehow get his hands on Kayla, and use her as a hostage.

  Cal dried the palms of his hands on the thighs of his jeans. He couldn’t let Vásquez know he was sweating.

  He watched the man—the notorious Captain Death—get out of his expensive car and set the alarm. He was wearing a light-colored suit, with leather sandals on his feet and a pair of designer sunglasses covering his eyes.

  Cal knew he was a lousy actor, but now he had to put on a performance deserving of an Academy Award. Piece of cake. After all, he’d already done it earlier with Kayla.