by Meryl Sawyer
Kelly was sitting on the floor, Rafi in her arms. The little boy was beaming up at her as she said something to him. Then Rafi giggled, the happy, totally uninhibited sound only a young child can make. Kelly smiled back at Rafi, but Logan noticed tears in her eyes.
Tears of joy.
The love in her eyes and on her face was impossible to miss. For a heartbeat, Logan wished he were the little boy. Wished he could remember someone gazing at him with such love and total devotion.
But he wasn't a small child at the mercy of adults any longer. He was his own man. He didn't need anyone to look at him like that, even if some small part of him wanted it.
Another hour passed while they filled out the papers that released Rafi to their custody. The formal adoption procedures would take place when they returned to Arizona. By then Rafi was asleep in Kelly's arms, his thumb in his mouth.
The minute they opened the car door and tried to put the child in the car seat, the boy woke up and bawled so loudly that he could have been heard over the border in Colombia.
"No, mami, no," he wailed over and over, gripping Kelly's neck so hard that Logan was concerned. "No, mami, no!"
Logan tried to take Rafi, but that only agitated the child more. He flailed at Logan with his skinny, little legs and squalled so hard his face turned crimson.
"Kelly, get in the car and hold Rafi on your lap. There's hardly anyone on the road. It won't hurt to drive back to Elorza, not using the car seat. Obviously, he's terrified that if he lets go, you'll disappear again."
Only when they were settled in the car with Rafi securely planted on Kelly's lap, did the little boy stop crying. By then, he was hiccupping, close to hyperventilating. Logan drove off, wondering if he had cried hysterically when he'd been taken from his mother and given to the Stanfields. He'd been a year old, but given Amanda McCord's coldness and hostility toward him, Logan doubted that he'd pitched a fit like this.
Luz Tallchief had been different from his own mother. Even though he couldn't remember being with Luz now, Logan wondered if he'd cried when they'd been separated. Probably. She'd cared for him, read him stories, and protected him when he'd been terribly vulnerable, unaware danger existed.
The thought depressed him. He wanted to remember Luz; he wanted to think about her cuddling him the way Kelly was cuddling Rafi now. It touched a sweet spot in him, a hidden well spring of inner emotion that almost brought tears to his eyes.
Rafi's hiccups subsided, becoming snuffling sounds. Then, like a candle that had been snuffed, he stopped making noise. The little boy was sound asleep in Kelly's arms, his head resting on her breast, his thumb in his mouth.
"Uma told me to expect this," Kelly told him, whispering. "The papoose drop, she called it. That's when young children exhaust themselves, then fall asleep instantly."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kelly stroking the sleeping boy's head in an instinctive, maternal way. He wondered if Rafi would ever realize how lucky he was.
"I'm shocked Rafi thinks I'm his mother," Kelly said, her voice pitched low.
"It's understandable." He slowed the car and reached over his shoulder to where his backpack was resting on the back seat. The top compartment was open; the brown bag was inside. He located the photograph and handed it to Kelly.
"Oh, my God," she said, probably a little louder than she intended. "This is a picture of me. What—"
"See the holes around it? Someone tacked it to the wall. At the orphanage, I noticed photographs tacked to the wall above some of the beds. I'll bet this photograph was above Rafi's bed the entire time he's been here."
"This is a picture of me with Daniel on the beach of a friend's home in the Hamptons. I remember the exact moment it was taken. How did it find its way to an orphanage in South America?"
The heartfelt anguish in her voice reached him in a disturbing way. He actually felt her frustration, her grief.
"It's pretty obvious what happened," he told Kelly as he stepped on the accelerator. "The grandmother was taking care of Rafi when Daniel and her daughter were killed.
"At some point she went through their things and came across the photograph. She kept it. Maybe she was already ill and expected to die. There must have been some link, some connection between Daniel and his friends in New York."
"Matthew Jensen," Kelly said. "Daniel told Matt all about his affair."
A prickle of alarm waltzed down Logan's spine. A base uncovered. He assured himself the chances of a leak were slim. But a slim chance had killed more than its share of men.
"That must be the explanation. The grandmother was shrewd. She told Rafi that you and Daniel were his parents." He glanced at Kelly and saw she was still cradling the sleeping boy. "Rafi was too young to have a mental image of his mother. She substituted your picture."
"But why?"
"She must have arranged for Jensen to find out about her death. She counted on you coming for Rafi. This it made it easier."
"I guess, but I'll have to tell him the truth."
"Not right away. You'll only confuse him."
"Thank heavens, you made up the story about being related to Rafi. Otherwise the nuns might have been shocked to see how much I look like the woman in the picture."
"We got lucky with that one," he agreed as he stopped the car to let a farmer lead a donkey loaded with firewood across the road.
* * *
Kelly gazed at Rafi, admiring his long, gloss-black eye lashes. He was still sleeping in her arms, exhausted from crying. But he was still clutching her, even in sleep terrified she might leave him.
What was she going to tell him? He believed she had deserted him. Not being able to speak the language was a tremendous handicap, she thought as she stroked his head. He shifted, his soft breath fanning her neck.
He was so incredibly precious. She hoped the months he'd spent alone at the orphanage, convinced she'd left him, had not scarred him emotionally. She made up her mind to take him to a child psychiatrist in Phoenix as soon as they returned home.
She was going to have to take a crash course in Spanish. Being able to communicate with Rafi while he learned English was extremely important to her. Granted, he couldn't have an extensive vocabulary at three, but it would make him much more secure if she spoke his language.
They parked on the side street near the blind man with the telephone. Rafi lifted his head when the car came to a stop. He looked confused for a moment, gazing around him. Then he turned to face Kelly.
"Mommy, Mommy," he cried with a smile that broke her heart. He smacked her on the cheek, then peppered her face with little kisses.
She hugged him, saying, "Mi Rafi," and wishing she knew other more reassuring words.
Logan helped them out of the car. "There's a small shop over there. It looks like it has clothes. Maybe you can get Rafi—"
He stopped speaking abruptly, and she followed his gaze. He was looking at the plaza where vendors were selling reed bird cages and split bamboo baskets from wooden stalls with woven raffia roofs to protect them from the blistering sun.
A gray plume of smoke rose from one stall, filling the hot, humid air with the smell of arepas, a tasty fried fish treat. Nearby four llaneros, were strumming cuatros, a four-stringed instrument that Kelly hadn't heard until she'd come to Venezuela. An old woman hunched over a large stone mortar, grinding cutter ants to make Amazonas hot sauce that many claimed was an aphrodisiac.
She didn't notice anything unusual. The plaza didn't seem much different than it had when they'd arrived yesterday afternoon and explored it while also looking for a place to stay. But the sudden tension in Logan's body alerted her.
"Logan, what's wrong?"
Rafi squirmed in her arms and she set him down. He clung to her legs, unwilling to let her go. She put her hand on his shoulder to give him confidence.
"See the policemen in front of the entrance to our hotel? Two others are directly across the street, leaning against the big tree."
"So?"
A prickle of alarm unsettled her for a moment. Logan was just being cautious, she reminded herself, doing his job. "Is it all right for me to take Rafi into the shop?"
"Yes. Stay inside until I come for you."
The terseness of his voice unnerved her. He really believed something was wrong.
"Mommy, Mommy." Rafi tugged at her skirt, then he said something in Spanish that she didn't understand.
"He has to go to the bathroom," Logan said. "Ask in the shop."
La Tienda del Sol turned out to be a clothing store that catered to the entire family. The children's section didn't look particularly promising, but the rubber sandals Rafi was wearing had to be replaced immediately. He needed a couple of outfits to wear until she brought him home.
The one restroom that served both sexes was in the alley behind the store. It wasn't very clean and didn't have any soap, but she wasn't sure if Rafi could make it until they returned to the hotel. She realized that she had no idea about what to do with a little boy in a situation like this.
Evidently, Rafi had been on his own long enough. As soon as she shut the door and tugged on the chain that turned on the light bulb dangling from the ceiling, he pulled down his pants. His aim wasn't very good, but he did manage to hit the bowl most of the time. She held him up to wash his hands. She was drying them with her skirt when she heard Logan knock and call her name.
She opened the door, and he stepped inside. He didn't have to say a word. She knew they were in trouble.
"The police have found a stash of cocaine in our room. They're waiting to arrest us."
The air exploded from her lungs in a dizzying gasp, and she gripped Rafi's little hand. "It's a setup."
He brushed her cheek with his fingertips, a gesture meant to calm her, but the cold glint in his eyes frightened her even more. "Kelly, if they arrest us, we'll never come out of the police station alive."
"Mommy," Rafi clung to her leg with one arm. There was a frightened tone to his voice. Even though he couldn't possibly understand what they were saying, he was alarmed.
"Está bien," she told him. It's good; it's okay. But everything wasn't okay. If they arrested her, Rafi would be taken away. He'd be devastated if she deserted him again.
"Here's what I want you to do," Logan said. "Go back into the shop. Buy yourself sturdy shorts, a shirt, and hiking boots if they have them. If not, get the best tennis shoes you can find. Do it as fast as you can. I'll wait here with Rafi."
"What are we—"
"Hurry up. We don't have a second to lose."
The minute she tried to leave, Rafi began to sob. Logan pried Rafi's little fingers from the death grip they had on her skirt. He was wailing when she closed the door.
She managed to steady herself as she walked into the shop. It took her a few minutes to find what she wanted. She selected tan shorts and a polo shirt without trying them on. Hiking boots weren't available, so she bought tennis shoes and socks.
A mother with a gaggle of young children distracted the clerk just after Kelly had paid. She took advantage of the situation to slip out the back door. She rushed toward the restroom, expecting to hear Rafi crying.
Logan was singing in his raspy voice. "Oh, mi chiquito bonito, mi chiquito bonito. Coma está, mi chiquito bonito?"
She opened the door and found Logan standing there, Rafi in his arms. The little boy was playing with the flashlight that Logan must have taken out of his pack.
"Mommy está aqui." Mommy is here. At least that's what she hoped she'd said in a very primitive way. She kissed Rafi's cheek, but he was utterly absorbed by the beam of light.
Logan handed her the child. "Get the flashlight away from him. We need to save its batteries. Wait outside while I change my clothes. Then you put on the things you bought. We have a chance—if we get out of Elorza."
"Where are we going?"
"Over the border into Colombia."
"No," she cried. "You can't do that. There's a bounty on you in Colombia. They'll kill you."
He shrugged off the danger with a half-hearted smile. "We're only a few miles from the Colombian border. It's our only chance."
* * *
Chapter 29
« ^ »
He checked his Rolex and smiled. "By now Logan and Kelly are under arrest for drug trafficking."
She clinked her champagne glass against his. "Are you sure?"
"The agent I hired planted the stuff, then the Israeli alerted the local authorities. He bribed the police to shoot Logan and say he was trying to escape."
"What about Kelly?" she asked, keeping her voice low. They were on the terrace, attending Woody's reception for the Arabian Horse Breeders Association, which was about as interesting as the flagstones they were standing on. Bullshit horse talk.
"Kelly is in for a special treat. The guards are going to take turns with her, then she'll be killed, but it will look like she committed suicide."
"I love the idea of her being raped over and over by those brutes, but won't that make people suspicious about her death?"
He could tell from the way the pulse throbbed at the base of her neck and the slightly breathy quality to her voice that the thought of Kelly being tortured, then killed, aroused her. With luck they could slip away from these bores and have some kinky sex.
"I guess you don't read the Amnesty International newsletters," he told her, knowing full well she got all her news from the tabloids in the drugstore check-out lines. "In many third-world countries, women who are arrested are raped at the police station. Most are prostitutes, a few may have committed a crime, but the macho perception is that they have crossed over the line and are getting what they deserve."
"I hope dozens of brutes rape her until she's glad when they finally shoot her."
The venom in her voice disturbed him a little. He could understand why she hated Logan. He'd ruined her plans to live in the White House. But why did she hate Kelly so much?
At first he'd attributed her attitude to the fact that Kelly was younger and successful in her own right. Kelly had never been perceived as a woman who rode someone else's coattails. But now, he wondered.
"Kelly has something," he said to test the woman he loved. "If things were different, I might…"
She turned and walked over to the waiter who was passing champagne. After exchanging her empty glass for another flute of Cristal, she walked back to him. She angled her body so none of the horsy set could see.
"You're mine, and don't you dare forget it." Her hand circled his cock and squeezed.
He was hard the next second and immensely pleased with himself. She was jealous of Kelly. He loved it. Too bad Kelly was as good as dead. It might have been fun to flirt with Kelly a little, then see what she would do.
"Careful," he said, "Someone might see you."
She was becoming a little too bold, taking too many risks. He'd had to fight with her to convince her Woody's attorney needed to have an automobile accident that would prevent him from coming to Sedona to change the will. She had reluctantly agreed.
"When Woody discovers his son is nothing but a drug pusher—a dead one, I'll bet he changes his mind and decides to run for president," he said. "What else is he going to do with the rest of his life?"
She released his cock and took one step back. "Woody says he's devoting himself to his horses."
He glanced across the patio to where Woody was holding court. "He'll change his mind when he hears Logan is dead. Sweetheart, if we play this right, we will be in the White House."
* * *
Logan led Kelly through a warren of side streets to the outskirts of Elorza. When they were close enough to the town's only gas station to see it, Logan turned to Kelly.
"You stay here with
Rafi while I find us a ride to Colombia." She started to protest, but Logan left too quickly. Not that he would have listened. He was in the commando mode. They were going to Colombia—no matter what she said.
Kelly sank to the ground, Rafi sleeping in her arms. The late afternoon shadows concealed them, and from her position she could see Logan signal for them to join him. Rafi was a dead weight in her arms, and her back was aching from carrying him as well as her tote and purse, but she was afraid to set him down. What if he woke up and began crying?
A few minutes later, Logan held up his hand. She rose to her feet, pain searing up her back, taking care not to awaken Rafi. She walked quickly from the alley, across the street to the battered farm truck. The flatbed section was enclosed by chicken wire and covered with a tarp to protect the load from the brutal tropical sun.
"Get in quick," Logan told Kelly.
He took Rafi from her and she boosted herself into the truck. It was hot inside, the air so thick she could have sliced it. Evidently, the farmer had been transporting pigs. The truck's bed was littered with straw that was soggy and gave off an odor that could have knocked over an elephant.
Logan handed Rafi to her, then climbed in and pulled down the tarp. It was black as hell and just as hot, but Kelly didn't complain. She cradled Rafi, thankful he hadn't awakened.
The truck's engine rumbled to life and the vehicle lurched forward. She leaned against the side of truck, the chicken wire jabbing her back. Light seeped in from overhead, leaking through a gap in the tarp near the cab.
She could make out Logan's profile. He was sitting beside her, his back against the side of the truck, staring straight ahead. It was too dark to read his expression, but she couldn't help wondering if he blamed her for bringing him here. Would he have been any safer back home?
She doubted it. One of the Stanfields wanted him dead. She suspected they were behind this. It was an easy way to get rid of Logan, yet never be blamed. A coward's way.
"Is the driver heading to Colombia?" she whispered.
"Yes," Logan answered, rummaging through his pack. "We're getting off before the border checkpoint. Once the police realize we've fled, they'll alert the border patrol."
