Dark Truth

by Lindsay McKenna

  And now she was in his arms. The look in his wide eyes was one of worry, shock and concern. Ana’s intuition—which her adoptive mother, Mary Rafael, had often told her resembled that of her beloved jaguars—absorbed all his feelings like a sponge. That was how Ana read people. How she knew what they were feeling, instead of what they projected.

  Ana could feel his hands. With thick calluses across his palms, long, strong fingers and short nails, they were a worker’s hands. This was a man who labored outdoors, no doubt. And now those hands were wrapped around her shoulders.

  Cushioning her.

  Saving her.

  The stranger had stopped her from striking her head on the seat in front of them, or possibly worse. As Ana steadied her breathing, she managed to grip one of his arms. The man was like a rock. His shoulders were broad beneath that thin cotton shirt. Ana felt the thickness and strength of his muscles as she tried to recapture her balance.

  She heard the Peruvian boy’s father mutter a rebuke to his child, then walk on by without stopping to apologize or help her straighten up.

  Something gave way in her ankle; pain shot up her right calf. The blue-eyed man grunted as he took her full weight, his hands gripping her shoulders as he held her upright.

  More passengers were pushing past her as she clumsily regained her balance. They were in a hurry. It was 6:00 a. m., and they wanted to get into the city.

  Ana felt the man gently settle her into a seat.

  “Welcome to Cuzco.” He smiled wryly. “I call this one the stampede flight. It’s the first plane out of Lima in the morning, and most of the businessmen are on it. Are you okay, señorita?”

  Ana felt embarrassment tunneling through her. Strands of her hair caught against her lips and she brushed them away. “Thank you…I wasn’t expecting to get trampled.”

  He gave her an understanding look and held out his hand. “I’m Mason Ridfort. My friends call me Mace.”

  Ana gripped his outstretched palm, feeling her thumping heart responding to his slow smile. His square face showed off his high cheekbones, solid jaw and cleft chin…and a sensual male mouth. “I’m Ana Rafael. From Sedona, Arizona. Thanks for saving me.”

  The moment their fingers touched, a shock of energy raced up her arm and straight into her chest. The warmth of Mace’s hand contrasted with hers, which was cool and moist.

  Coming here to Peru scared her. Given her clash with the child and her encounter with this interesting stranger, it wasn’t hard to figure out why. But this journey was something she had to do. The dream called to her. Haunted her.

  Ana had to find out the truth. Who was she? The orphanage where she’d lived before she’d been adopted was here in Cuzco. And that was her reason to be in Cuzco to investigate that lead. The dream she’d just had was something new. Ana wasn’t going to be detoured from her only lead to her young life before being adopted. She would find out what she could at the orphanage and then try to find out later about the mysterious Village of the Clouds from her dream. Maybe the officials at the orphanage had heard of it. Ana made a note to ask. Alaria had said her birth mother had been born in the Village of the Clouds. Where was the village located? Somewhere in Peru? Many times, Ana’s dreams were precognitive and came true. She hoped the peaceful village—and the people inhabiting it—were real and would provide answers.

  Releasing Mace’s hand, she saw that crowd in the plane had thinned to a trickle. Giving him a tense, fatigued smile, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m not the best of company right now. I’ve just had a long flight from Arizona to Florida to here.”

  “Umm, jet lag. I understand.” Her rescuer looked up and checked the aisle, empty now except for the flight crew. “Are you ready? I think we can disembark without getting trampled this time around.”

  Ana felt incredibly cocooned by the warmth and security of Mason Ridfort’s wonderful auric energy. His care and protection embraced her like sunlight. If she hadn’t been so distracted, so raw from the child’s hammering on her seat for an hour, or the haunting terror of coming back to the orphanage, Ana would have liked to spend time with this man. But right now, her focus wasn’t on him. She glanced down at the gold Rolex on her left wrist.

  “I’m late,” she said. “I can’t be late.” She quickly shoved herself to her feet. The jab of pain in her right ankle made her wince.

  Mace rose in turn. “Twist an ankle or your back?”

  Testing her right leg, Ana opened the overhead bin, retrieved her suitcase on wheels and placed it in the aisle. “A little pain in my ankle is all. I’ll be okay, thanks.” Her hair had fallen forward, a curtain around her face. It swung back as she looked up into his warm blue eyes. “I wish I had time to thank you properly, Mace, but I have an appointment to get to. It’s really important. Thanks so much for catching me. I could have hurt myself.”

  “No problem, Ms. Rafael.”

  “Call me Ana.” She lifted her hand in farewell and hobbled down the aisle. “See you….”

  “You just might,” Mace called as she exited the plane.

  Ana hurried down the empty corridor. By the time she reached the main terminal, her ankle was beginning to burn. Perhaps she’d strained it more than she thought. It didn’t matter. The pain in her heart was twenty times worse than that in her ankle.

  It turned out that the crowd of passengers leaving the airliner had been nothing compared to those in the airport terminal. She was shocked by the numbers of milling bodies, mostly men in dark business suits. The hustle and bustle was tremendous, the noise setting her even more on edge, along with the elbowing and pushing, the aggressive energy that abounded throughout the area.

  She had to get a taxi. As Ana moved toward the glass doors of the airport, it seemed a thousand other passengers had the exact same idea. Again and again she was jostled and pushed. Frustrated, Ana began to elbow these disrespectful men back. Who did they think they were, anyway?

  By the time she got out the door, her ankle was hurting in earnest. There were thirty or forty taxis lined up, the drivers gesturing and calling to potential patrons. Ana felt like she was in the middle of a male stampede, with no one caring that she was in the way. Obviously, the number of people was greater than the number of taxis, and the rush to get to one overwhelmed her.

  All too quickly, the taxis were gone and she was left standing on the curb. Looking at her watch, she felt frustration and more terror. She had an appointment with Mother Bernadette at St. Mary’s Orphanage on Plaza de Armas in less than an hour.

  And it was one appointment Ana didn’t dare miss. This was the orphanage she’d come from.

  So far, nothing in Peru looked familiar to her. But she was twenty-seven years old. How much would she recall of being here as a young child? Only snatches, brief flashes—and nightmares that continued to plague her to this day. Nightmares that had unsettled Ana to the point that they had driven her back here, back to her last home in Peru.

  Was she Peruvian by birth? Were her real parents citizens of this country? In a letter to Ana, Mother Bernadette had told her that she recalled her being brought to their orphanage as a four-year-old. The nun said she’d taken notes about Ana’s arrival on the day of her induction. Clearly, she had precious information Ana wanted.

  The desire to find out who she was had eaten at her daily since she was young enough to know they were not her real parents. At age fourteen, her adoptive parents had told her all they knew at that time—Cuzco was a connection to her mysterious past. They had tried to find out more, but had come to a dead end. Now, it was up to Ana to continue the investigation. John and Mary Rafael loved her like the daughter they’d always wanted and couldn’t have. And love her they did. Ana loved them just as fiercely in return. No one could have asked for better parents than John and Mary.

  As Ana grew older, the nightmares increased in frequency and intensity until she was having them three or four times a week. Often she saw a jaguar. Sometimes she would change into one, and then morph back into h
uman form. At times, a dark hunter stalked her dreams, intent on killing her.

  Ana was losing so much sleep, her adoptive parents had urged her to go to Cuzco. They’d coaxed her into making the journey in order to find out who she was. Then, they felt, her nightmares would cease, and she could live in the present, unfettered by the puzzles of her past.

  Ana knew it was the right thing to do. She had so many questions. Why had her mother given her to an orphanage? What circumstances had made her abandon Ana? And what about her father? If her dream on the plane was true—and her mother had been born in the Village of the Clouds—Ana was confounded even more. If her biological mother had been born in that magical place of love and caring, why would she abandon Ana? The village seemed so beautiful and tranquil. It seemed impossible that one of the inhabitants could carry out such a heinous act.

  As she stood before the airport terminal on the chilly, gray March morning, waiting for a taxi, she hoped all the mysteries of her origins would be solved during this trip.

  The breeze was cool. It was the dry season in this part of the world. Ana wore a beige linen pantsuit and a pale pink silk blouse beneath. The black leather briefcase in her hand contained all her vital information—what there’d been of it when John and Mary Rafael had stumbled upon the orphanage and fallen in love with Ana.

  Looking up at the moody sky, Ana thought it might rain. She gazed toward the city skyline, where the spires of many Catholic cathedrals reached above the two-and three-story gray stone buildings. Founded by the Incas, Cuzco lay in a bowl-shaped valley crisscrossed with a network of cobblestone roads and highways.

  Before the Spanish arrived, this city was where the Inca had lived for most of each year.

  As she’d seen it from the plane window, the road system had reminded Ana of a spiderweb. Grandmother Alaria’s words about the ancients using symbols had come back to her.

  “Looks like you’re stranded.”

  Mace Ridfort’s low, modulated voice came from behind Ana. She turned around abruptly and nodded. With a large duffel bag balanced on one broad shoulder, he stood out starkly against the next wave of dark-suited businessmen. In his other hand he held a badly scarred brown briefcase. Her gaze settled on his hands—strong hands that had grasped and held her. Never had Ana felt so safe, so secure as when this man had caught her, protecting her from injury. What was it about Mace Ridfort?

  Noting the glimmer of a smile in his dark blue eyes, she felt as if the clouds had parted and the sun was shining down on her. Jolted, she realized Ridfort’s eyes were the same color as Grandmother Alaria’s. Was it just a coincidence? Right now, Ana was so out of sorts that her normal intuitive sense wasn’t functioning.

  Unaccountably, her bruised spirits lifted. When his mouth began to curve in a smile, Ana found herself returning his grin. “This has to be the Dodge City of South America, and I’m in the middle of a longhorn stampede. At least that’s what it feels like.”

  Mace glanced around. “Yes, a good analogy. That’s why I take my time getting off the plane and picking up my luggage. It’s not worth trying to fight with these guys. They’ll eat you up for breakfast and spit you out for lunch if you get in their way.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “This is all so loco,” Ana muttered. “I’m going to be late for my appointment.” She searched his face. “Do you know where I could find a taxi, Mace?”

  He shook his head. “They’re all heading into the city. You’ll probably have to wait twenty to thirty minutes before they return to pick up the next wave of passengers. Cuzco isn’t a big place and taxis aren’t plentiful.” He cocked his head. “But maybe I can be of help.” Lifting his briefcase, he pointed to a large parking lot filled with cars. “I’m going to my office in Cuzco. It’s right downtown. My Land Rover is over there in short-term parking. Maybe I can give you a lift. Where are you heading?”

  “To the St. Mary’s Catholic Orphanage. I’d pay you for your time and gas.”

  Shrugging, Mace said, “Not to worry. Matter of fact, my engineering company has an office overlooking Plaza de Armas, so it won’t be out of my way at all. I know exactly where the orphanage is located.”

  Relieved, Ana felt tears threatened, and fought them back. She put down her briefcase, reached out and squeezed Mace’s arm. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how important it is for me to get there on time.”

  Mace’s smile widened. “No problemo, señorita. Is your ankle okay or do you need some help with your luggage?”

  Ana picked up her bag. “No, it’s a bit tender, but fine. I’m ready.” What was a little sprain compared to the pain she’d carried in her heart all her life, wondering who she was?

  Sudden excitement gripped her as they walked toward the parking lot. She was on her way! Beginning an adventure of discovery.

  As they drove closer to the center of Cuzco, beautifully manicured lawns and sidewalks landscaped with trees, flowers and bushes began to spring up along the uninspiring highway. Stone statues of historical military figures, as well as an impressive stone obelisk, marked the entrance to the city.

  Ana’s throat began to close with anxiety, and once again fear wove through her. She sat in Mace Ridfort’s beat-up, rusted Land Rover, hands gripped together in her lap. As she looked around the streets, nothing seemed familiar to her.

  “You’re going to the orphanage,” Mace said casually as he drove. “Are you adopting a child?”

  “No, I’m adopted. I lived here when I was four to six years old. I’m coming back to try and find out who I really am.” Nervously, Ana continued, “And I’m afraid of what I might find. Or not find.”

  Mace glanced over at her. “No wonder you looked pale and stressed. When I saw you come onto the plane, I was wondering if you were sick or something.”

  Giving him a wry look, Ana said, “Sick of not knowing who I really am….”

  Nodding, he steered the Land Rover deftly through the heavy morning traffic. “We share a common background. I was adopted, too. I know what you mean about not knowing who you really are.”

  Ana was amazed at the synchronicity. But things like this happened to her all the time, so why should she be so surprised?

  “Do you know who your biological parents are?” she asked.

  Mace nodded and concentrated on traffic. “Yes, I finally found out. When I was eighteen, my mother came forward. She told me everything.”

  “And you’re Peruvian?”

  “My mother’s Quero Indian from Peru, and my biological father, who’s dead now, was from France. So I’m a mix. I was adopted by a couple in Lima as an infant. Pablo and Manuela Vargas, who own a copper mine business. They gave me the best education money could buy. I learned four foreign languages and was sent to a nearby private school. I was very lucky and I see them as my second set of parents to this day.” Mace added, “You’ll be glad you did this. Any information is better than none. After I found out about my biological parents, I went to France to be with my father and get a degree in hydrology and engineering. I came back here after that and reconnected with my real mother.”

  “You’re right, Mace. I know that. But it’s scary for me.” Taking a deep, ragged breath, Ana saw that they’d reached the Plaza de Armas. Photos she’d seen earlier did not do it justice. It was a magnificent rectangular space with buildings rising around all four sides—one of them an Incan temple. Her stomach knotted even more. She clutched her hands until her fingers ached.

  The orphanage looked vaguely familiar to her. Its foundations were part of an Incan temple that had once stood here. The gray rocks were smooth, hand cut and seamlessly fitted together. The red-tiled roof stood out, and the cross on top announced it was Catholic.

  Mace pulled up in front of the imposing wooden door and put the car in Park. “We’re here.” He pointed. “That’s the main entrance to the orphanage. And over here—” he said, pointing to a different part of the plaza “—in that yellow stucco building, up on the second floor, is my office. We’
re not so far away from one another.”

  “No, we aren’t.” Ana couldn’t tear her eyes away from the door to the orphanage. Somehow, the wrought-iron door handle seemed familiar to her. She’d seen this door in her many nightmares. The door would yawn open like a serpent’s mouth ready to devour her—and she’d wake up screaming.

  “Here,” Mace said, digging into his jeans pocket. “My business card.” Handing it to Ana, he murmured, “Since you’re new here, so to speak.” He grinned. “And if you don’t have a friend or someone to help you get a hotel, or want to know a good place to eat, call me up when you’re finished here. I’ll try to be a good host and erase that bad experience you had at the airport. Cuzco residents are very nice and warmhearted. Most will give you the shirt off their back. I’d hate you to go away thinking we’re nothing but a herd of out-of-control longhorns.” He chuckled.

  Mace’s laughter was soothing to her jittery, edgy nerves. Ana studied the card: Mason Ridfort, Civil Engineer and Hydrologist. “You’re a builder?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I build wells all around the country. Fresh, clean water means babies of the Quero people won’t die of dysentery or diarrhea. My biological mother felt this was a cause worthy of me. I work with several international aid groups who donate the money so we can build wells for various villages.” Mace smiled. “It keeps me real busy.”

  Tucking the card into her pocket, Ana said, “I’ve seen the same problem in Belize. Your work is important. You’re saving lives.”

  “Just think of me a modern day knight on a white horse,” he joked. With both hands on the wheel, he said, “Remember, I can help you if you need it, señorita.”

  “Call me Ana. And thank you, Mace. You truly have been a knight in shining armor to me.” She gripped the door handle. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome. And I hope everything goes well for you in there. It is scary, coming home to retrace your roots and find out who you really are. Good luck.”