Angel Falls

by Connie Mann

  Porto Alegre, Brazil

  Regina woke to the sounds of a baby crying and wondered why Irene wasn’t getting up to nurse Eduardo. All at once yesterday flooded back, bringing razor-sharp pain and fresh tears.

  She shoved her feet into her slippers and fumbled for her bathrobe, crooning softly, “Shh, Eduardo. I’m here, angel, it’s okay.” She scooped him up and padded to the kitchen. To her surprise, Olga already had a bottle in a pan of water on the stove. If only they could stretch the budget to buy a microwave.

  “It’s almost ready,” Olga whispered.

  Regina leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. I’ll go change him, and then you go back to bed. No sense both of us being awake.”

  While Eduardo sucked contentedly, Regina looked around Irene’s bedroom. Their budget left nothing for frills, but Irene had left her unique imprint on the room. A brightly colored blanket covered the single bed and a red scarf draped the water-stained lampshade on the bedside table.

  A piece of paper peeking out from a half-closed drawer drew Regina’s eyes again and again. After she put Eduardo back in his crib, Regina approached the nightstand, hating the idea of rifling Irene’s possessions. Even as street kids, the other’s backpack stayed strictly off-limits. But things were different now. They had a murderer on the loose and a baby to protect.

  Muttering an apology, Regina pulled open the drawer and a handful of photos and papers tumbled to the wooden floor. She scooped them up and spread them out on the bed. Bills, a few café receipts, but no letters or cards. She’d been hoping for at least some clue to the identity of Eduardo’s father, a place to start looking for answers.

  Disappointed, she shuffled through the meager pile of photographs. The first was old and faded; two parents with eight children, none of them smiling. Regina wondered idly if any of the Perrieras would see the news and attend the funeral. For Irene’s sake, she hoped so.

  Regina flipped through the pictures, smiling over the ones of newborn Eduardo. There was even one of her holding him. Tears slid over her cheeks, but she brushed them aside. There would be time for tears tomorrow.

  She glanced through the rest of the stack, then stopped, stunned, at the last one. Behind Irene, arms protectively curved around the baby filling her womb, stood Noah Anderson.

  Surely her eyes were deceiving her. Regina dropped the picture in her lap, drew a deep breath, and looked at it again. No, it was Noah. Tall and solid, with his salt-and-pepper hair, warm smile, and booming laugh, it could be none other than the founder and president of Noah’s Ark International. The man responsible for House of Angels. The one who had rescued her and Irene from the streets that long-ago night, taught them about God’s love, gave them hope. He was Eduardo’s father?

  Regina strode to the window, revulsion and betrayal sending chills up her arms. Bitter cold covered the city, and Regina shivered, thinking of the children on the streets. Tomorrow, she’d order more blankets.

  Her mind veered back to the photograph, and she shook her head. No. There had to be a rational, innocent explanation. Noah made frequent trips to Brazil. He’d probably laugh out loud when she told him.

  Except she wouldn’t tell him, not until she knew more. She had to think logically. The cold hard facts were that Irene had a baby with a married man, and now Irene was dead. The photo showed Noah with Irene. Regina loved and respected Noah and Carol, but Irene was the only sister she’d ever known. Eduardo’s safety took priority over everything else.

  The terrifying voice on the phone had said the guilty must pay. Regina had no idea what that meant, but she’d start by protecting Eduardo and the rest of the children. And she’d find answers.

  No matter what.

  3

  THIRTY SILENT CHILDREN SAT AT LONG TABLES IN THE ORPHANAGE DINING room, shoveling rice and black beans into their mouths. After this morning’s funeral, no one felt much like talking or laughing. Regina knew she should lighten the somber mood, lead by example, but her heart raced with panic.

  The frightening mechanical voice had called again, right after she and the children returned from the funeral. Only this time, the caller had demanded to know why she hadn’t taken the baby to the church with her. She thanked God she’d followed her instincts and left Eduardo home with Olga and Jorge.

  But that meant this monster was after the baby. Shaking, Regina had notified the police. They dismissed her as a grieving female with an active imagination. Regina wanted to grab Eduardo and hide in her room with her knife, but the children needed her. So, she sat in her place at the head of one of the tables trying to coax a smile out of shy Claudio when Olga hurried over, her brown eyes huge.

  “Regina, a man came to the door and said Senhor Lopez sent him.” Olga leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He said he’s a guard and he’s to start work later tonight. I didn’t dare open the door. He said he’d be back later.”

  Regina forced a smile and gave the twelve-year-old’s hair a quick pat. “Claudio, why don’t you take the other children into the courtyard to play? Ask Jorge to go with you.” The high walls should keep them safe.

  After Claudio scampered away, Regina sighed. “I expected him. Senhor Lopez made the offer after the service this morning. Given the situation, I didn’t feel we could refuse.”

  “But an important man like the Colonel? Why would he do that?”

  The thought had crossed Regina’s mind as well. “I know he and Tio Noah and Tia Carol have been friends for many years. By the way, still no word from the Andersons?”

  “None. I’ve left messages on every contact number we have. I thought surely either Tio Noah or Tia Carol would be at the funeral.”

  Regina thought the same thing. This was Noah’s first orphanage, and he’d always taken such pride in it. Besides, he had arranged Irene’s job in Orlando. He should have been here. Unless he had something to do with Irene’s death?

  Regina shivered. She couldn’t think like that. She’d call Orlando again, but first she confirmed the guard’s identity with Francisco Lopez and reiterated that the man had to stay out of sight of the children. They’d been terrified enough.

  Standing by the phone, swaying from exhaustion, Regina jumped as though someone had goosed her when a knock sounded on the front door. No more visitors, please. She wavered, at the end of her strength.

  Slowly, she walked toward it, fingering the knife hidden in her skirt. She hated keeping it where the children might see it, but she didn’t have a choice. She wouldn’t take any chances.

  She had her hand on the doorknob when Jorge hissed, “Senhorita, wait.”

  She looked over her shoulder to see the old man barreling down the hallway brandishing a kitchen knife like a sword. She wanted to tell him to go back to the children, but she read the determination in his eyes. His age was not the issue; his honor demanded he protect the women and children under his care.

  Regina smiled and waved him on, quietly showing him the lethal blade now tucked into her own sleeve. She hoped she never had to use it again, but she could if she had to.

  Drawing a deep breath, she peered through the peephole, but whoever stood there was so tall she couldn’t see more than a leather-jacket-covered chest.

  “Who’s there?” she demanded in Portuguese.

  “Irene Perriera?” a hard male voice demanded.

  Regina’s palms began to sweat. Whoever this was didn’t know Irene was dead. On the plus side, the voice didn’t sound like the one from the telephone, either, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Who wants to know?”

  A distinctly American voice growled in Portuguese, “Carol Anderson sent me.”

  Regina looked through the tiny glass again. The man had stepped away from the door and this time she caught sight of a pair of cowboy boots. “State your name.”

  “Are you Miss Perriera?”

  Clearly, this was a man used to getting his way. Well, he wasn’t getting so much as the tip of those battered boots in the door unless he ans
wered her questions.

  “Look, Senhor, you showed up at my door uninvited. Now, unless you are willing to tell me your name, I will bid you good day.”

  He gave a very male, very put-upon sigh and then said clearly, in English, “My name is Nathaniel Brooks Anderson of Key West, Florida, and I’d appreciate it very much if you’d open the door so we can have a conversation.”

  Somehow, his irritation—and the fact that he sounded very much like Noah—eased Regina’s apprehension slightly. It had been quite a few years since she’d heard this harsh, precise voice, but she knew one thing. It didn’t belong to the man on the telephone. That voice had been disguised and belonged to a weak man, a coward. This deep, commanding one belonged to another kind of man entirely.

  She opened the door a mere crack and felt Jorge step up behind her, knife at the ready. “What can I do for you, Senhor Anderson?”

  They eyed each other over the threshold. She took him in at a glance, from the tips of too-long dark hair tied at his nape to the worn knees of well-washed blue jeans. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and compared this man to the one she’d met in an Orlando shopping mall years ago. He had crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and he wore his hair longer, but they were unmistakably one and the same.

  Just as it had then, a frisson of something close to fear whispered up her spine. Her eyes widened as they skimmed over the well-developed chest and arms wrapped in a black T-shirt and leather jacket. She refused to think about his size and the way those jeans clung to his shape. Everything about him bespoke a hard-edged masculinity, a frightening virility.

  “Just Brooks.”

  “Pardon?” She pulled her eyes back to his face, flushing when she realized he’d given her as thorough a perusal as she had him.

  Almost against her will, those dark gray eyes pulled her into their depths. She blinked in shock, and something akin to recognition. He had old eyes. Eyes that—like hers—had seen too much. She shoved the thought roughly away. She didn’t want to feel any empathy, any connection to this man. To any man. She didn’t really know him, didn’t know what he was doing here.

  He was Noah’s son.

  Confusion swamped her. Anyone associated with the Anderson family had always meant safety and shelter to her. But after finding the photo, her whole world had shifted. It felt like someone had shaken up all the puzzle pieces, and none of them fit in the same place as before. She gripped the doorjamb, the knife carefully hidden.

  “Not Mister,” he said again. “Just plain Brooks.”

  Regina ignored that and moved on to important matters. “Take your hands out of your pockets.”

  He raised one dark brow, but pulled both hands out of the battered bomber jacket and held them out for her inspection.

  “Why did Senhora Anderson send you here?” she asked.

  Annoyance flashed in his eyes. “She didn’t tell you I was coming?”

  “I’m sure I would have remembered,” Regina drawled. She had the satisfaction of seeing puzzlement furrow his brow.

  He turned to scan the street in one quick, efficient movement. Regina followed his gaze, but saw nothing except an old car parked some distance away. “Let’s take this conversation inside.”

  Before she had a chance to protest, he’d grabbed her arm, closed the door, and propelled them both down the hall.

  “Let me go, Senhor,” she demanded, trying to wrench her arm out of his grip. It was like pulling wood out of a vise.

  He headed straight for the office and pushed her unceremoniously into one of the desk chairs before releasing her. She rubbed her arm, temper and panic fighting for dominance. She wouldn’t let any man push his way into her orphanage and manhandle her. She didn’t care what his last name was. The fact that he knew exactly where the office was ratcheted her fear up another notch.

  Regina squared her shoulders and pushed her glasses firmly back into place. She reached for the telephone. “You will state your business immediately or I will call the police.”

  He leaned back and stretched his long legs all the way under her chair. Fingers laced across his chest, he regarded her as though showing up unannounced at a stranger’s home occurred every day. “It’s really very simple. You have a baby here by the name of Eduardo Perriera.” He paused as though waiting for some reaction from her. “My mother asked me to bring him to the States.”

  Regina studied his insolent pose and her panic coalesced into indignation. Flames fairly leaped behind her eyes, burning her eyeballs. This man acted as though he’d come to pick up a crate of bananas. Taking Eduardo away from the only home he’d ever known—from her—seemed to be no more than an errand to him. Something to kill time between assignments, or whatever he did for the government. Another thought struck, snuffing out her anger with its terrifying implication. What if there was more to it than this?

  “Why should I believe you?” she demanded. She could see Irene’s car exploding all over again. Gripping the arms of the chair for support, she briefly closed her eyes to block out the scene. In an instant, her mind replaced that image with another: the photo of Irene and Noah before Eduardo’s birth.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw a flash of surprise in Brooks’s face. He was obviously not used to having his motives questioned, but he was used to hiding his emotions. She could read nothing in those fathomless gray eyes. “Why would I lie?” he asked reasonably.

  Regina stood up on wobbly legs, to give herself at least a height advantage over him. “I can think of several reasons.”

  He folded his arms over his chest as though he didn’t care one way or the other. “So enlighten me.”

  Before she could come up with a response, the doorbell rang again.

  Brooks watched the orphanage director pull herself up to her full height, as though bracing for an attack. With her unruly dark hair bunched into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, black-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose and shapeless, faded dress brushing her ankles, she would fade into the background, become almost invisible walking down a crowded street. She looked like a million other young mothers.

  But when he saw that stubborn chin go up again, he realized that what she lacked in looks, she more than made up for in spirit. He imagined she did a fine job keeping a pack of unruly children in line.

  The office door swung open and a relatively short, though extremely well-dressed, man strode into the room, expensive leather shoes beating out an elegant rhythm. A short, round woman, who bore a startling resemblance to Mrs. Claus, padded in behind him, grinning from ear to ear. The man reached for the Senhorita standing stiffly in the center of the room and kissed both her cheeks.

  If Brooks hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the way she inched back a fraction when the man invaded her personal space. Interesting.

  “Regina, meu amor, I came as soon as I heard,” the man exclaimed, and Brooks’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of her name. “I am so sorry I missed the funeral, but business kept me in São Paulo.”

  Brooks sat up straight. Unbelievable. He hadn’t bothered to ask the woman’s name, just assumed it was Irene Perriera. Too late, he remembered his mother’s old saying about assumptions.

  “Thank you, Jair,” Regina said, gracefully pulling her hands out of his.

  Jair, apparently, didn’t want to let her go, for he tucked one hand beneath her arm and then noticed Brooks sitting in the chair. “Bom dia,” he greeted politely.

  Brooks responded in kind, but made no move to rise or shake the man’s hand.

  Regina looked from one man to the other and rushed into introductions. “Senhor Brooks, this is my friend, Senhor Jair da Costa. Jair, this is Senhor Brooks Anderson.”

  Brooks inclined his head and watched as Regina got more and more flustered.

  The gray-haired woman he figured for the housekeeper set a tray on the table and poured coffee. But first, she handed the woman what looked to be a wet washcloth. Turning her back on the elegant Jair, Regina s
crubbed her hands as though prepping for surgery. She scoured until he thought she’d draw blood.

  When she looked up and found him watching, she froze. In one smooth motion, she tucked the washcloth in the pocket of her skirt and turned toward her guest, presenting Brooks her back and deliberately shutting him out.

  An odd fragment of memory clicked into place. Brooks had met Regina in Orlando where she had gone shopping with his mother. She’d been late arriving, busily shoving a packet of baby wipes into the pocket of another shapeless skirt. How had he forgotten? He rubbed his jaw and decided the local liquor had pickled his brain.

  Or maybe that was a convenient out.

  He’d lost his edge, the focus a Ranger needed to stay alive. He’d screwed up not once, but three times today alone. Even raw recruits understood that success or failure hinged on the details. He’d missed several standing out in plain sight, waving red flags.

  Failure rose like bile, choking him. What had he missed that other, deadly day? What obvious sign had he overlooked, what warning had he dismissed that would have changed everything?

  “Would you like coffee, Senhor?” the housekeeper asked, startling him.

  “Please.” Jerking himself back to the present, he looked up and noticed Regina studying him. Expression blank, he returned stare for stare.

  When Jair asked what brought him to Brazil, Brooks merely raised a questioning brow at Regina.

  “He’s here visiting the orphanage on behalf of his family,” Regina supplied.

  Jair began rattling in Portuguese and Brooks lost the thread of the conversation. If he worked at it, he could keep up with a native speaker, but he didn’t figure this Jair character had anything worthwhile to say.

  Instead, he watched Regina. Behind the glasses, the woman had a lovely face, despite the dark circles under her eyes. Her high cheekbones emphasized her plump, kissable lips. Whoa. Back up. Regina ran an orphanage, ergo she belonged squarely in the untouchable, maternal-woman category, as opposed to the party-girl category. He wondered why it mattered either way when Eduardo’s name yanked his mind back to the conversation.