Angel Falls

by Connie Mann

  “I’ll get bandages,” she said, then she hotfooted it on out of the small room.

  While he had the chance, he checked his forearm; glad to see he hadn’t torn anything open again. After however many stitches it had taken to sew him up the first time, he didn’t relish a repeat in some dirty foreign excuse for a hospital.

  “Let me see.”

  Before he knew what she had planned, she’d snatched his arm and held it in both her hands. “No new tearing. That’s good. Now, let’s have a look at that shoulder.”

  Her matter-of-face tone registered. “Are you a doctor?”

  She leaned up on her toes. “Nurse. USA trained.” She was tall for a woman, but not tall enough to work on his shoulder comfortably. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating the rim of the tub.

  She set out her supplies while he shrugged out of his sheath and sat, still and silent. He didn’t want to make her any more nervous. And he sensed that underneath her bravado, she was uneasy. He thought about her reaction to that stuffy Jair fellow this morning and decided, maybe, she didn’t like men in general.

  Either way, he studied her as she bustled about tending him. He’d bet his knife she was hiding some very nice curves under that shapeless blouse. He shifted position on the edge of the tub, uncomfortable with the direction of his thoughts. She was wife-mother material. Clearly off-limits.

  She looked down and caught him staring. Immediately, she froze and that pretty mouth puckered up like she’d swallowed a lemon. The muttering started again, too. In record time, she stepped back and announced, “All done, Senhor.” She held a T-shirt out to him, careful to keep as much distance as possible between them. “This is one of Jorge’s shirts, but I think it will fit.”

  He nodded, and after adjusting his sheath, pulled the shirt over his head, ever mindful of his newly bandaged shoulder.

  “We need to talk. You and I have a few things to get straight, and I’d rather not do it in the bathroom.”

  Back ramrod straight, she nodded and led the way down the hall.

  6

  REGINA LED HIM BACK INTO HER OFFICE AND INDICATED THE CHAIR ACROSS from her. “Please, have a seat.” Amazed at the steadiness of her voice, she kept her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see them shaking.

  Someone had tried to kill the guard.

  Her stomach flip-flopped wildly. Dear God, what do I do now? Across from her, Senhor Anderson sat in the same chair as before, but his apparent laziness had changed to watchfulness.

  He glanced at the black diver’s watch on his wrist. “He’s been gone for eighteen minutes. That’s long enough to get himself patched up and come back to finish the job. We need to be ready.”

  Regina felt all the blood drain from her face. Somehow, the man coming back had never occurred to her. “The children. We have to protect the children.”

  He patted the air with his hands when she sprang out of her chair. “Easy. We will. How many are there?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Who else is here?”

  “Just Olga and Jorge.”

  “Who’s the man he shot?”

  “The guard.”

  His eyes didn’t widen exactly, but he seemed to grow even more alert. “Since when have you had a guard?”

  “Since Irene’s funeral.”

  He expelled a frustrated breath. “Look, you obviously have some trouble here. Frankly, I want no part of it. I’m just here to pick up the boy.”

  Could he really be that unfeeling after the way he’d helped them tonight? “And you don’t think Eduardo had anything to do with tonight?” she asked sweetly.

  When he narrowed his eyes, she nodded in satisfaction. “I have all the necessary papers. Just sign them, and me and the kid will be on our way. Then you can let the police handle whatever else is going on.”

  “You’re just going to walk away, without a backward glance?” She could barely get the words past the resentment clogging her throat.

  “That was the idea, yeah,” he muttered, scrubbing his jaw.

  “Not on your life,” she shot back. How could this man be related to Noah and Carol Anderson—a couple who’d spent a lifetime helping others? Maybe he wasn’t, a little voice said. She’d met Nathaniel Anderson a long time ago, and then only briefly. Maybe this man was an imposter.

  And maybe there really was a tooth fairy.

  No, this was their son. It was his motives she seriously questioned. “There is no way I’m letting Eduardo or any child out of here with you. How do I know you aren’t working with this lunatic?”

  “Are you listening to yourself? Carol sent me, remember? The wife of the guy who rescued you as a kid, if I understood my mother correctly.”

  She had to think. Fast. “Show me your passport,” she demanded. Since that beady-eyed policeman had first come by the orphanage and declared her a suspect in Irene’s murder, she’d realized the police weren’t going to be any help. The slimy little official would probably arrest her just to get his hands on her. Goosebumps crawled up her arms. They were on their own.

  Brooks stood and pulled his passport from his hip pocket, then tossed it on her desk. “Satisfied?” he asked, leaning his knuckles on the desktop. “Time’s wasting, lady. Get the kid.”

  “No.”

  “Fine. I’ll get him myself.”

  The knife slid out of her sleeve like silk on skin. Instantly, she had the edge pressed against the pulse in his throat.

  “Let’s get something straight, here, Senhor Anderson. Around here, I call the shots. And I’m telling you in no uncertain terms that Eduardo is not leaving here with you.”

  With a speed that made her dizzy, Brooks had the knife out of her grasp and her pinned to the desktop, his upper body holding her down.

  “Now I don’t mind you rubbing your curves on me, lady,” he drawled, “but I’d prefer to do it when we’re not in danger of getting shot.”

  He let her up and pocketed her knife. “Never, ever, point a knife unless you plan to use it. Get the kid.”

  She sputtered at his casual manhandling, but quickly realized that could be dealt with later. Right now they had a lunatic with a gun on the loose. And if she believed this terrifying man, the lunatic would be back.

  Her stomach pitched and rolled, and her brain flitted wildly from one option to the next, but in the end, she found only one answer. Eduardo. “Fine. Give me ten minutes to get his stuff together and tell Olga and Jorge what’s going on.”

  “You’ve got four minutes, so you’d better talk to them while you pack his things.”

  Regina ran to her room, calling for Olga as she went. She grabbed a worn duffle bag from under the bed, and threw clothes, underwear, and socks into it. She also raided her emergency stash of reais, and threw them in with her passport and Eduardo’s.

  She fired off rapid instructions in Portuguese as she went. “Olga, take the van and the truck, go twice if you have to, but take all the children out to your son’s farm. I’ll contact you there.”

  She raced into Irene and Eduardo’s room, Olga hot on her heels. She scooped up as many diapers and baby clothes as she could find and threw them in on top of her own stuff. Olga dashed to the kitchen and returned with formula and bottles.

  Before they had everything near ready, Brooks strode through the doorway and grabbed the bag from her hands. “Time’s up. Give me the kid.”

  Regina scooped the sleeping Eduardo from his crib, gave Olga a quick kiss on the cheek, and turned. “We’re ready.”

  Brooks stopped in mid-stride. “There is no ‘we.’ ”

  He glanced down the hall at Jorge, who stood with his knife in one hand and his other wrapped around his wife’s substantial middle, then back at her.

  Regina jutted her chin in the air. “I’m Eduardo’s guardian. Where he goes, I go.” When he started to protest, she held up a hand. “Take it or leave it, Senhor. You want Eduardo, you get me, too.”

  Panic fluttered in her chest, and she fervently hoped he hadn’t n
oticed the quaver in her voice. What am I doing? Going off alone with a man I don’t know? She looked down at Eduardo and stiffened her spine. For him, she would walk through fire, even with this man.

  And at the first opportunity, she planned to get her knife back.

  “What about the children?

  “Olga and Jorge will take them out of the city to a farm.”

  “And until we get away? How will you keep them safe?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t care about them.”

  When he took a menacing step toward her, she quickly outlined her plan. “We should be hearing sirens any minute now. Jorge set fire to the small shed out back. He and Olga will take the children, while we leave with Eduardo.”

  It took him only a moment to think it through. “What about the guard?”

  “They will take him, too. In the bed of the truck.”

  He nodded once and strode from the room, tossing orders over his shoulder as he went. “Jorge, help me load the guard. You two round up the kids and get them out of here.”

  Another quick check of his watch. “It’s been too long.”

  7

  REGINA’S HEART CONTRACTED PAINFULLY AS SHE KISSED HALF-ASLEEP CHILdren before hoisting them into the aging van or the even more decrepit flatbed truck. Some of the older ones, like Rico and Fernando, saw this as a grand adventure, and their eyes shone with excitement. Others, like three-year-old Luisa, clung and cried, confused by the thickening smoke and noise as neighbors poured out of homes and apartments to gawk. In the distance, sirens screamed, adding to the confusion.

  Beside her, Senhor Brooks worked quietly and efficiently, loading the children. If his injured shoulder pained him, he gave no sign. She wondered how he could be so aloof and detached, but then, as she watched, she saw him pat an arm here, tousle a curly head there, whisper something to another disoriented child. So, the big, tough American had a soft spot for children. Somehow, she felt much better about leaving the city with him. There were still questions she needed answered, but there would be time for that. For now, they had to get the children safely away.

  Scooping her ankle-length skirt in one hand, Regina raced to the driver’s window of the van. Olga had the seat all the way forward so she could reach the pedals and was wedged in close to the steering wheel. On impulse, Regina leaned in and gave the older woman a hug. “Go with God. Tchau.”

  Olga returned the hug fiercely, then cupped both Regina’s cheeks in her work-worn hands. “It will be all right, minha filha. Jesus will protect us.”

  My daughter. Tears threatened, so Regina swallowed them back. Tears could come later. “Yes, He will. Go. You must hurry.”

  She blew a quick kiss to the children who peered anxiously out the van’s dirty windows, then hurried to the truck. “Take care of them, Jorge. I’m counting on you.”

  The old man seemed taller now, stronger than he had in years. The light of battle gleamed in his dark eyes. “Don’t worry, I will protect them with my life.”

  Regina managed a smile. “Let us pray it does not come to that.”

  The sirens were getting closer. “Go, Jorge. I will contact you when I can.”

  He nodded once and the truck lurched off down the street, brakes screaming, gears grinding deafeningly.

  Whirling, she ran back into the building to get Eduardo, only to meet Senhor Brooks striding down the hall, the sleeping baby tucked under his arm like an American football.

  “Where is his bag?” she asked. She had left it on the bed.

  “Already in the car. Let’s go.”

  In seconds, they were across the street and in his rental car. The crowd of gawkers continued to swell, and a collective gasp went up when the shed roof burst into flames. Fire trucks lumbered up the cobbled street.

  Regina looked out the car window and back at Brooks. “Why aren’t we leaving?” She couldn’t stop the note of panic that crept into her voice.

  He kept watching. “He’s not here yet.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “You mean you’re waiting for him?”

  Surely, surely she’d heard wrong.

  This time, he deigned to look over at her. The coldness in his eyes chilled her, made her instinctively shrink away. This was a predator, a hunter, and he waited for his prey to make an appearance.

  She shifted Eduardo to her other shoulder. “You can’t mean to use us as bait?” The words were a mere whisper.

  “It’s the only way to get those kids away safely.”

  “What about us?”

  The half-smile he sent her chilled her insides. “We’re going for a little ride, lady, so hang on to the kid.”

  As the minutes dragged by, Regina felt the strength born of adrenaline seep out of her. She knew she needed to stay alert, to get Eduardo to safety, but her head felt so heavy. Before she knew it, she’d leaned back against the seat, hugging Eduardo close. At least he slept, she thought drowsily, kissing the top of his head. She didn’t think a squalling baby would help matters.

  She must have dozed, for the next thing she heard was the engine turning over and Senhor Brooks muttering curses against the shooter.

  “That’s it, come on. Look this way.” His hands were wrapped around the wheel with calm competence as he expertly eased the car out onto the street and slowly chugged up the hill. The smoke thickened as firemen worked to contain the fire. Several police officers tried to keep the crowd from coming too close.

  The man beside her said nothing more, simply maneuvered them past the chaos. As he topped the hill, he came within inches of a car parked on the right side of the street. The same car, Regina realized, that she’d seen outside the orphanage several times. Was this the shooter?

  Brooks hunched over the steering wheel so he could see out her window and gave the other driver a lazy two-fingered military salute before he gunned the engine and sped away. Glass shattered from somewhere in the rear of the car. “Get down!”

  Regina clutched the dashboard with one hand and a now-squirming Eduardo with the other. “Are you crazy?” she shouted. “That’s the shooter!”

  “You got any better ideas?” he shot back, eyes trained on the rearview mirror.

  Brooks careened around a corner, and Eduardo screamed in earnest. Regina braced herself and began crooning softly to him. She risked a glance over the seat and immediately wished she hadn’t. She could see the nondescript little Fiat gaining on them.

  They whipped around another corner. “Turn left! Turn left! This street is a dead end.” His look said he clearly didn’t like to be challenged, especially about his driving. Too bad. “I grew up here, remember?”

  His jaw tight, he fired words like bullets. “Get us on a main highway so we can lose him.”

  “Take a right here. At the next intersection, make another right. A few blocks down is the highway on-ramp.”

  He followed her instructions to the letter, but when he got to a red light, he merely honked his horn and barreled through. This American drove like a Brazilian.

  Regardless of the hour, the highway teemed with cars, everyone determined to get to their destination in the next thirty-five seconds. Brooks darted out and around lumbering trucks, rusty buckets of various makes and models, and sleek sports cars that thought they owned the road. He drove just like they did: one hand on the wheel, the other on the horn.

  Regina sang softly. Eduardo screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “Do something about that squalling, would you?”

  She stiffened, but kept singing. “Where’s my bag?”

  “Trunk.” He gunned the engine and passed a flatbed loaded with chickens, ignoring the driver’s shouts.

  Regina settled Eduardo in the crook of her arm and gave him her index finger to suck on. Tense silence filled the car, blending with the traffic noise and magnifying her panicked heartbeat. This couldn’t be happening. Were they really fleeing a madman with a gun? This had to be a nightmare, and she’d soon wake in her narrow bed at
House of Angels, with Irene in the next room.

  Brooks glanced in the rearview mirror and gritted his teeth. “He’s still behind us.”

  It wasn’t a dream. Regina took a steadying breath and pointed to the next off-ramp. “Get off there and we’ll lose him in the back alleys.” When he hesitated, she said, “I know these streets like the back of my hand. Unless he grew up in the favelas like I did, he won’t know his way around. Only those who’ve lived in the slums know them.”

  She thought he planned to ignore her. He kept going straight ahead in the left-hand lane, but at the last second, he whipped across three lanes of traffic and roared up the ramp.

  “Left or right?” he demanded.

  “Left, then right immediately.” Regina looked over her shoulder.

  The brown Fiat sped past the ramp.

  Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “He kept going.”

  “How far to the next exit?”

  “Couple of kilometers. Not far.”

  He sped toward another intersection. “Now what?”

  “Right. Then left at the next street.”

  Abruptly, they crossed into another world. Precariously tilted shacks looked to once-proud buildings for support. The smell of garlic mixed nauseatingly with the stench from open sewers. Blank-eyed men huddled around burning barrels of trash. Children with eyes that had seen too much peered from around corners and darted into dark alleys.

  Brooks slowed and his arm shot out in her direction. She instinctively reared back, then forced herself to stay still when he merely locked her door.

  He pulled up in front of what had once been a pretty little church, but was now merely a burned out shell. He brushed her knee as he reached into the glove box for a map, and Regina could have sworn he did it deliberately, just to jangle her nerves further. Her heart hammered as she watched him, cautious.

  He unfolded the map over his knees, all the while scanning the area with those deceptively casual glances. She’d already learned the man didn’t do anything without a reason. And he had an amazing ability to do two things at once. He may be studying a map, but she’d bet her next cafezinho he knew the exact location of everyone on this street.