Before Amy could warn him, he ran into a low-hanging branch.

It snagged his shirt and held on. Juan grunted and jerked away. The shirt ripped, leaving a gaping hole, and Amy gasped. She stared at the gap left by the torn garment.

Juan followed her gaze and flushed. “I know. It’s not pretty, is it?”

His puckered, tortured skin looked angry, shouting its fury at the devastation the fire had left behind. Amy realized he thought she was horrified by the scars, but it was the birthmark over the lower part of his abdomen twining its way around to his back that had her transfixed.

Shock shuddered through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

She had to find a phone, get in contact with his family. She had to tell them their prayers had been answered. She’d found their missing son and brother. She’d found Micah McKnight.

LYNETTE EASON

grew up in Greenville, SC. Her home church, Northgate Baptist, had a tremendous influence on her during her early years. She credits Christian parents and dedicated Sunday School teachers for her acceptance of Christ at the tender age of eight. Even as a young girl, she knew she wanted her life to reflect the love of Jesus.

Lynette attended The University of South Carolina in Columbia, SC, then moved to Spartanburg, SC, to attend Converse College where she obtained her masters degree in education. During this time, she met the boy next door, Jack Eason—and married him. Jack is the executive director of the Sound of Light Ministries. Lynette and Jack have two precious children, Lauryn and Will. She and Jack are members of New Life Baptist Fellowship Church in Boiling Springs, SC, where Jack serves as the worship leader and Lynette teaches Sunday School to the four- and five-year-olds.

River of Secrets
Lynette Eason

MILLS & BOON

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For God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.

—1 Samuel 16:7

Dedicated to Jesus Christ

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Acknowledgments

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s impossible to say thank you to everyone. I’m so blessed by the many people God has placed in my life to encourage me, support me and love me.

I would like to say thanks again to my husband, Jack. You’re awesome and I love you. ’Nuff said.

My children…Lauryn and Will, you guys are the best. I don’t deserve you, but I love you beyond words.

Mom, Dad and Lane, thanks for all the writing time you provide. There’s no way I could do it without you.

Bill and Diane, my in-laws, thanks for giving me Jack.

My writing buddy, Ginny Aiken, thanks for all the fun conversations and brainstorming sessions!

Thanks, Dee, for endorsing Lethal Deception—You rock!

And my editor, Emily Rodmell, I didn’t forget you this time! Thanks for making my books shine.

And to all of you who buy my books, I can never tell you what it means to know you like them! Thank you!

And, of course, thank you, Jesus, for giving me the opportunity to share my love for you through my love of writing.

ONE

“We need help, Amy.”

Amy Graham remembered the director of the Amazon orphanage’s words. Ever since her mother had been arrested and sent to prison, Amy had felt as if she were foundering, seeking God’s plan for a life that been flung off course. So she’d told Anna Freeman that she’d be glad to come to Brazil to put her RN training to work.

Now she was here, in Tefe, Brazil, not only to help nurse some sick people back to health, but to find family she’d just learned may exist. Excitement warred with fear of the unknown. What would they be like? Would they be interested in meeting her? She shivered, praying God would lead her, show her the direction to take with her search.

She looked around her and grabbed a stethoscope from the wall next to her. In the meantime, she’d do her best to help these poor, suffering people recover.

The sparse medical staff busied themselves rushing from one patient to another. A low moan sounded to her right. She stepped around the curtain and saw a man thrashing and kicking his covers on the cot.

Quickly, she moved next to him and grabbed the cloth from the water bowl that had been placed on the little stand next to the bed. Wishing the liquid was cooler, she worked with what she had and placed the rag on his forehead, watching his eyes twitch under his lids.

Obviously dreaming, his head tossed back and forth as he muttered under his breath. Amy slid the cloth over the scars that began on the left side of his face, covered his ear, then inched down the side of his neck to disappear into the collar of his shirt. Compassion filled her. He’d been in a serious fire.

“No!”

Amy jumped, her heart pounding, and scrambled backward. The patient’s eyes remained clenched tightly against whatever tormented him; he continued to mutter unintelligibly.

She slid back to his side, shook his shoulder and tried to soothe him. “Hey, it’s okay, wake up.” Amy knew as long as his fever stayed this high, he wouldn’t understand a word she said. Trembling, he quivered with the effort to fight the illness. She grabbed his chart to see when he’d last been given medication. Four hours ago. His name was Juan.

“Is everything all right?”

Amy looked up to see the woman whose call had brought her here. Anna, looking concerned, peered around the curtain.

Amy nodded. “He’s having a nightmare.” She gestured with the chart. “His fever’s back up and he needs more meds. It’s been a little over four hours.”

Weariness oozing from her like a living thing, Anna took the chart, looked at it and made a notation. “Let me get something from one of the nurses. All the medicine is kept on a rolling medicine cart and is labeled if you need to get something. But I’ll go ahead and get his for you. Be right back.” A moment later, she returned with a filled syringe. Some of the really bad cases, such as Juan, had IVs.

Inserting the needle in the IV port, Anna said, “I’m not a nurse, but I’ve been trained to give injections in this emergency situation, just in case you were wondering.” She nodded to the patient. “Juan is special. Why don’t you stick with him as much as possible? When he’s sleeping peacefully, you can work with some of the children. But I think it would really help him to have someone here.”

Amy looked back at the poor man. “What’s so special about him?”

“He’s an amnesiac. The most we could figure out is that he survived some horrific fire, got conked on the head, woke up from an eleven-month coma and can’t remember a thing about himself.”

Amy gasped. “That’s awful.”

“No kidding. The whole time he was in the coma, Dr. Bennett, our mission doctor, worked with him tirelessly. Physical therapy, daily massages, turning him almost hourly so he wouldn’t get bedsores. He became the staff’s special project. Dr. Bennett even found someone to cover for him at the mission and moved into the hospital for the duration. A plastic surgeon buddy from the U.S. flew in to do some skin grafts. Thankfully, the burns on his face weren’t as bad as originally believed, so the grafts were mostly successful. The scars will continue to fade with time, although they’ll never be completely gone. His torso took the brunt of the burns. When he finally woke up, Juan had to learn how to walk again, feed himself, toilet himself. Everything. Daily, he went through a strenuous workout regimen with weights. I’ve never seen anyone so determined to get better. It’s absolutely amazing he’s come this far in a year and a half. In fact, they’ve posted more flyers around the town asking if anyone recognizes him now. He looks a lot different than he did a year ago.”

“Juan—John? As in John Doe? And you don’t know where he’s from?”

“No. We know he’s an American simply because of his accent. But he speaks perfect Portuguese. He actually woke up speaking that and didn’t realize he could speak English until one day an American tourist was in the bed next to him. Lucas walked in on them carrying on a conversation in English.”

“Why didn’t they fly him back to America if they knew he was American?”

“Where would they fly him to? America’s a pretty big country. Lucas figured if he kept him here, someone might come looking for him.”

“So, how did he end up in the hospital?”

“He just showed up on the doorstep one day as close to death as you can get without actually dying. Someone had to have helped him get there, but obviously wanted to remain anonymous. Lucas answered the knock on the door, found him and immediately got to work on him. If it wasn’t for Lucas…”

A scruffy, red-tinged beard covered most of the lower part of Juan’s face, the part that could still grow hair. There were a few bald patches. She wondered what color his eyes were. “How long has he been this sick?”

“Almost three days. The dengue-fever outbreak hit him hard. It doesn’t help that his lungs were weak to begin with. He had inhaled a lot of smoke from the fire and was on oxygen for a long time. Now this upper-respiratory thing. Lucas said his breathing’s okay right now, but if he gets worse, we’ll have to put him on oxygen. In addition, he often has awful nightmares. They plague him, but he can’t remember what they are when he wakes up. I wish we had a good psychiatrist that could help him, but out here, there’s really not anyone. Dr. Bennett offered to fly one in for him, but Juan refused.” Anna sighed, folded her papers to stick into the pocket of her white lab coat. “I’ll be back. I’ve got to check on the little ones.”

Amy grabbed the wet cloth once again. The medication seemed to be working; he was calmer, resting better, although he still frowned in his sleep. Dipping the cloth, she wrung it out as she studied his face.

He looked familiar, yet she knew she’d never seen him before. She swiped the rag across his forehead, down his scarred left arm to his hand. No ring, not even a line across his finger. Raised welts, healed burns, crisscrossed the back of his hand. She turned it over. His palm was free of scars, but calloused from hard work. She ran the cloth back up to his neck over features that shouted strength, determination and stubbornness. Those traits had obviously served him well, kept him alive. Now she would do what she could to make him comfortable and pray for his healing.

She was back.

Juan coughed, but the burning, smothering sensation had disappeared. He felt sweaty and cool. Terror suddenly struck him. How long had he been asleep? Would he be able to move? Afraid to try, he wondered how much of his life he’d lost this time. What if he had to start all over again?

That familiar feminine voice washed over him, soothing him, compelling him to come out of the darkness that pressed onto him. “Hey there, Juan. We need you to wake up and start eating something.”

A cool cloth on his forehead brought some relief.

When she bent over him, Juan got a whiff of lavender soap, a scent that he’d come to associate with her presence. Often he knew she was there even before she spoke. Mustering all of his nerve, he pried open eyes that wanted to stay shut—and looked full into her compassionate blue gaze. A messy, dark blond pony tail trailed over her right shoulder, soft tendrils escaping to frame her face. Smooth skin devoid of makeup stretched tight over delicate, high cheekbones.

A face to match the voice that brought him comfort. His nurse? He clenched his fist and breathed a sigh of relief. His muscles worked this time. He was okay. Memory came back; part of it, anyway. Dengue. Upper-respiratory infection. Fever, cough.

She smiled revealing perfectly straight white teeth. “Glad you’re back with us. Would you like a drink of water?”

Juan let her smile wrap itself around his heart. “Please,” he rasped.

Something rattled behind him, and she spoke again. “We’ve got ice water. Romero got the freezer working again and the new one arrived two days ago. Your fever is down, but just take a few tiny sips of the water, okay? Your body needs to recover.”

“Yeah, I’m having flashes of déjà vu.” He cleared his throat, used a shaky hand to place the cup against dry lips and sipped. “Thank you.”

The effort exhausted him. Great. Back to square one. “What’s your name?”

“Amy.”

Pretty lady, pretty name. “Nice to meet you, Amy, I’m Juan. So, when can I get up and get back to my rooms?”

Amy shrugged. “As soon as you feel like you can, I suppose. I suggest you stay put for a couple more days.”

Staying put wasn’t an option. Juan had had enough of being sick and lying flat on his back. He shifted, groaned and sat up. Dizziness assailed him. He gasped at how weak he felt and flopped back onto the pillow.

Amy smiled a knowing, I-told-you-so smile, but said nothing. Juan grimaced and said, “I think I’ll take a nap.”

“I think that’s a splendid idea.” She reached out a steady hand to feel his forehead and Juan fell asleep to the touch of Amy’s fingers trailing down his cheek.

Two days later, Amy took on the job of opening the cardboard boxes filled with medications that lay scattered around her feet. They’d arrived compliments of Lucas Bennett, who’d come from the medical mission to make the delivery and check on patients.

She thought about everything as she stocked the medicine carts. She’d had little sleep in the time she’d been here, but that didn’t seem to matter. Especially when it came to Juan. He’d become as special to her as Anna had said he was. From feeding him to provide much needed nourishment; to calling on Romero, the orphanage handyman turned do-what-needs-to-be-done man to help with Juan’s basic needs; to the act of fluffing his pillow; she did it all. These were the kind of giving, selfless acts that gave her more satisfaction than purchasing a painting for six figures ever had.

Shaking her head over her past and the things she used to consider important, she thanked God for showing her the true meaning of worth, love and service. That serving Him was all that mattered. She just wished she could get over the guilt that accompanied every thought of what her mother had done and the deaths she’d caused, including that of Amy’s friend, Micah McKnight. Tears always accompanied thoughts of Micah. He’d been on a SEAL mission in this very jungle, killed on the mission her mother had managed to gain information about. Her mother had then betrayed Micah.

Her mother. A woman so evil it scared her. She slapped the last of the medication into the cart with a thud, her breathing quickening with thoughts of the past. She would not turn out like her mother, she vowed on a daily basis. Amy would try her best to do everything in her power, with God’s help, to make a difference in this world for the better. She’d started with revealing her mother’s criminal activities, which resulted in saving Cassidy McKnight’s life; unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about Cassidy’s brother, Micah. He was dead, his body never recovered. Now she was spending time helping here to make amends.

Amy swung away, hating the direction of her thoughts, yet unable to send them down a different path. Needing a distraction, she set out to find Juan to see if he needed anything. Her feet led her over to his curtained-off area. Absently she noted some retreating footfalls to her right. Pulling the curtain aside, she stopped and stared, shock and horror ripping through her. A pillow covered Juan’s face, indentations from someone’s grip fading as the foam slowly returned to its original shape. In the blink of an eye, she propelled herself to Juan’s side and yanked the pillow from him.

“Lucas! Help!” she hollered even as she leaned over to check Juan’s breathing. His lips had a blue tinge, his chest was still. Without a second thought, she pinched his nose, tilted his head back, placed her mouth over his and blew.

She came up for air, then leaned over him and blew again. And again.

More footfalls sounded behind her, this time running toward her, not away.

“What is it?” Lucas demanded.

On her next breath, without bothering to turn, she said, “He’s not breathing.”

Then she went down to force air into his lungs, once more pleading with God to make him breathe. Finally, with her next puff of life-giving air, Juan gasped, choked…and pulled in his own breath.

“Oh, thank You, Jesus.” Amy slumped to the floor, shaking, trying to control her adrenaline rush and subsequent reactions while Lucas took over, checking Juan’s vitals. He slipped an oxygen mask over Juan’s face, cranking the knob to its highest level. Lucas patted his cheek. “Come on, man, open your eyes. Talk to me.”

Juan’s eyes flickered, opened and stared. He blinked. “What happened?” he mumbled around the mask.

Amy, still quivering, placed her fingers over her mouth, her gaze bouncing between Lucas and Juan to the pillow she’d tossed aside. “Someone tried to kill him,” she whispered.

Lucas’s eyes shot wide. He dropped the oxygen line and stared at her. “What?”

Juan’s eyebrows dipped to the bridge of his nose as he processed her statement. She explained, “He must have been sleeping pretty deep. I came to check on him and found—” she gulped “—that pillow over his face. I pulled it off, hollering for you. He wasn’t breathing so I started CPR.”

“Did you see anyone?” Lucas asked. Juan watched them, not saying anything as he continued to suck in the oxygen—and the conversation. His color was better. Keeping her eyes on Juan but answering Lucas’s question, she shook her head. “No, but I heard someone running away. If I hadn’t come to check on him when I did…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“I’ll give the chief of police a call and have him send someone out here to take a statement.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t hold out hope for many results, though. David Ruibero’s a good man, but there’s only so much he can do with what he’s got to work with.”

Yeah, she knew how the justice system worked out here. Slower than Christmas two years away. “Well, we’ll just have to keep a real close eye on him until he’s able to take care of things himself.” She glanced down at the man who’d fallen back asleep, his body traumatized by the recent event. She was sure he’d want details when he woke up.

Lucas went to make the call.

TWO

Two weeks later, Amy still shuddered when she thought about coming upon Juan’s lifeless form, the pillow cutting of his air. She felt sure she would carry that vision to her grave.

They’d informed the policeman who’d come to the orphanage to take a statement from Amy and Lucas about what they’d seen and heard. The officer had even packed up the pillowcase to see if his limited forensics department could find anything but didn’t offer much encouragement, just as Lucas had warned.

Then Amy had filled Anna and Juan in on exactly what had happened. Juan had been puzzled, unable to comprehend why someone would want to kill him, but determined to find out once he gained his strength back.

Anna and Amy had taken turns keeping a vigilant eye on him until he’d grown strong enough to walk out of the gymnasium under his own power. Fortunately, nothing else had happened during that time.

Amy had also grown to care for Salvador Orozco and his little sister, Carlita, who, thankfully, had escaped the illness.

She’d gotten more of Salvador’s story from Anna. Anna had explained Salvador was part of the kitchen staff and cleaning crew. When their family had been killed almost three years ago, he and his sister, Carlita, had lived on the streets before arriving on the doorstep of the orphanage about four months ago. Salvador had explained that he had trouble finding work that would allow him to bring Carlita along. There was no one he could leave her with, so they’d lived on what they could rummage, beg and steal. Only now he needed to leave her so he could find a way to provide for her. They couldn’t live on the streets indefinitely.

Had the orphanage not provided him a job, he would have had to leave his only remaining family member behind. Anna had taken pity on the siblings, believing that being separated from Salvador would do Carlita further psychological damage. So, Salvador stayed and worked, cared for his sister and seemed to form a special attachment to Juan who had taken the young man under his wing.

When Juan asked about the siblings, concerned about their health, she told him, “Salvador and Carlita escaped the illness and everyone else is recovering nicely. Dr. Bennett did an outstanding job setting up the temporary hospital. Everyone has worked tirelessly, rotating just for sleeping and eating, so all the hard work and dedication is finally paying off, thank goodness. You’re getting better.”

Salvador’s obvious anxiety about Juan’s recuperation had him constantly at Juan’s side. His continued insistence on exposing himself to illness exasperated her. “Salvador, you need to get out of here,” she’d said.

“Is he going to die?”

“He’ll be fine, it’s just going to take a little while for his body to heal.”

And Salvador would leave, only to return later in the day to ask, “Is he going to die?” Amy would assure him that Juan was not going to die. She finally left the young man alone. If he got sick, he got sick. He was already exposed, so it was really too late to worry about it now.

Now, almost everyone was on the road to recovery allowing her a little time to herself. She folded the last towel and placed it in the linen closet. Sharing a bathroom with three other relief workers wasn’t exactly on her list of favorite things to do, but she was adjusting. For the first time in her life, she felt she was doing something that really mattered, something that was going to last longer than herself. She was making a difference.

Thank You, God. Keep using me, please. Thank You for allowing me to be here. You know how important it is for me to do this. I know I can never truly make right all the wrongs my mother’s done, especially for the McKnight family. Because of her, Micah’s dead. God, I feel so guilty, yet I know it’s not my fault. I’m not the one who betrayed him, set him up to die, but it still hurts. So, thank You again for this opportunity to help. To make a difference, even if it is for just one person.

Immediately her thoughts went to Juan. She’d wondered what color his eyes were. When he’d opened them, she’d been stunned. His eyes were a blue-gray that seemed to see right into her very soul. They seemed so familiar, as if she should remember seeing those eyes somewhere before. Finally, she decided that it wasn’t necessarily the color of his eyes, but the man behind them.

Stubborn as a mule, he continued to insist that he was strong enough to try to get up. Each time she told him no. Each time, he insisted on trying. So, lips tight, she would sponge the sweat from his face and glare at him as he worked to get up. Although, lately, she had to admit that the last couple of times he’d gotten up, he’d actually stayed up awhile. Definitely an improvement.

A knock sounded on her door. “Come on in.”

Anna stuck her head in. “Good morning.”

Pulling her hair up into her functional ponytail, she mumbled around the rubber band she’d stuck in her mouth, “Morning. What brings you here so bright and early?”

“We had a new kid show up on our doorstep this morning.”

Sadness shifted through her. She pulled the band from her mouth and wrapped it around the mass she held. “Oh. What happened this time?”

“I’m not sure.” Anna planted herself on the bed. “He’s not saying a whole lot. Just that his father died a couple of years ago and he has no other family. His name is Jonathas and he’s seventeen years old. He’s asking for a place to stay until he can find some work. I told him the rules, and he agreed to abide by them.”

“Does he like construction? We could use some more workers to help with our new wing.” Amy realized with a start she was using words such as we and our in conjunction with the orphanage. In such a short time, she already felt she belonged.

Anna’s eye’s brightened. “That’s true. I’ll ask him. Thanks for thinking of it.”

“Not a problem.”

Anna wiggled her eyebrows. “I have another reason for being here. He came looking for you.”

“Who?” Amy asked, tongue in cheek. She knew exactly who he was.

“You know who.”

“I’ll be sure to find him shortly,” she promised, turning away to hide the blush creeping up her neck. But still, tenderness filled Amy. Over the last few weeks, she’d come to care for the quiet, sometimes angry man—in spite of the fact that he drove her crazy with his stubborn independence.

“I told him you would be looking forward to having lunch with him.”

“Anna!” Amy was fiery red at this point. She tossed the towel at her friend, smacking her in the face with it. Then the two women burst out laughing. It felt good. Thank you, Lord, for laughter and friends in unexpected places.

Juan gripped the twenty-pound weight in his left arm, the weaker of the two, and hefted. Sweat dripped, his elbow dug into the thigh muscle right above his knee and he groaned. But he curled his arm up for a final count of twenty-five. He huffed, letting his arm drop. The weight clanked to the mat.

“Good job, there.”

Juan looked up to see Lucas watching him with a concerned expression. “Hey,” he grunted.

“You’re pushing it a bit, aren’t you?” Lucas asked.

Juan sucked in a deep breath. “Yep. Have to.” In the weight room, off the now-empty gymnasium, he gave it his all, determined to regain his strength—again. The room had only been finished a week before the illness had started. The window stood open behind him, pulling out the smell of fresh wood and paint, replacing it with the muggy, humid air of the jungle. With his right hand, he massaged his quivering left bicep. “I can’t let a little virus set me back on all the progress I’ve made.”

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to pull or rupture something and undo all my hard work.” Lucas’s tone was dry, sarcastic.

Juan felt his laughter spurt in spite of himself. “Your hard work?”

Lucas strolled over to sit beside him on the bench. “Yeah, man. I didn’t save your hide just to let you kill yourself, you know.”

Juan felt the smile pulling the corner of his mouth. During the past year, the only thing that had kept him sane had been Lucas’s dry sense of humor and sarcastic wit. He grabbed a scratchy towel and dried his face. “You know, I’ve never asked, and you’ve never said, but why did you fight so hard to save me? Anna told me how you sacrificed, gave up sleep, sometimes food, to spend hours trying to wake me up. Doing what needed to be done with my joints and muscles, to keep them from atrophying.” Juan dropped the towel and looked his friend in the eye. “Why?”

Lucas shrugged, looked away. “Because.”

“Because?”

“You were fighting too hard to live. How could I let you die?”

Juan had a feeling there was more to the story. “You know, Lucas, you’re a real private person, and I respect that, but can’t you give me a little more?”

Lucas sighed. “Chalk it up to a personal tragedy I didn’t want to see happen again. My brother died in a fire—and I was too late to save him.”

“Is that why you’re so angry at God?”

“Partly.”

“Do you believe in Him?”

Pursing his lips, Lucas nodded. “Yeah, I believe in Him.”

That was all Juan was going to get from the man, he could tell. He changed the subject. “What do you think about the new nurse, Amy?”

Lucas cut his eyes to Juan, and Juan felt a flush start up his cheeks. To hide it, he leaned over to pick up the weight he’d just recently dropped. This time, he used his right hand.

“Why? You like her?”

Juan heard the smile in the doctor’s question and couldn’t help the snicker that escaped. “Do I like her?”

Lucas laughed. “I could set you up, you know.”

“I don’t want to be set up,” Juan protested. “I just wondered what you thought about her.”

“She’s pretty,” Lucas admitted.

“I can see that,” Juan muttered, easily picturing her straight, perfectly cut blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes. The dimples in each cheek made his insides curl every time she flashed him a genuine smile. “I mean, what do think of her? Her personality? Her character? Would she be interested in someone who’ll have…who can’t…” He trailed off, embarrassed to express his thoughts even to his best friend.

Lucas became serious. “Someone who’ll have scars the rest of his life and can’t remember who he is?” Lucas finished the sentence for him.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, focusing on curling the weight so he didn’t have to look at Lucas.

“Well, I’ve only been around her for a few weeks, but I would say that she’s the real deal. She’s genuine, compassionate, great with kids…and she’s hurting—maybe, healing. Sometimes her eyes are sad. But, she doesn’t let it interfere with what she wants to get accomplished.” Lucas punched him in the arm lightly. “I also think she’s probably as stubborn as you are. She doesn’t take no for an answer, or have you already noticed that?”

Juan snorted. “I’ve noticed.”

“I figured you had. I’m also pretty sure she’s a Christian.”

“Why do you say that?” Juan looked up, startled. His friend never discussed religion. Avoided the topic as if it would contaminate him to even enter a discussion about God. Of course, Juan wasn’t exactly sure what he, himself, thought about God and, not for the first time, wished he could remember. And yet he found himself praying more and more.

“She reads her Bible every morning out on the dock.” The main orphanage building sat back away from one of the freshwater lakes scattered throughout the Amazon. Recently, a long dock had been added to allow swimming during the times it was safe and to provide easier river access. While Tefe was a small city with roads, water travel was still a necessity. Two new boats with outboard motors rocked gently, tied securely to the gleaming dock. Three canoes, the most common mode of travel, were banked on the shore.

Juan blinked. “She does?” He’d not known that. No wonder he couldn’t find her this morning. Not that he’d been specifically looking for her. Okay, yes, he had. He’d just refused to acknowledge his disappointment when she hadn’t come in to breakfast while he’d been there.

Whoosh.

Juan jumped as something flew past his cheek. “What…?” He turned swiftly, and when he did, it threw him off balance. He landed on his rear.

Another soft, almost soundless, whoosh hissed by him.

“Get down!” Lucas yelled.

Juan wanted to say, I am down, but instead rolled to his right. Thwap! Something hit the mat beside him.

“What is it?” he hollered.

“Someone’s shooting darts through the window,” Lucas gasped as he grabbed Juan’s arm. “Get your back against the wall. Don’t be a target.”

Juan panted, grunted, his muscles still quivering from his workout; his body still recovering from the virus. But he pushed himself against the wall and waited. He wanted to propel himself through the window and tackle the shooter. The urge was so strong, he shook with the effort to force himself still. But as he did, a flash of memory surfaced.

We’ve got a traitor. Get out, get out!

The explosion rocked him. Searing heat scorched the left side of his face. The child cried. They’d been betrayed, set up, sold out.

“Juan! Juan!”

Juan blinked, blinked again. Focused on Lucas. He was saying something, but Juan couldn’t grasp the words. “What?”

“It’s stopped. I’m going to try to find out who it was.”

“I’m coming with you.”

As they started for the door, Amy walked in.

“Amy!”

She jumped. “What? What’s wrong?”

Juan gripped her forearms. “Did you see anyone outside the window? Running from the gym?”

“No. Why?”

“Someone was using us for target practice. Thank goodness for lousy aim.” He looked at the two darts embedded in the wooden wall and the one in the mat on the floor.

Lucas said, “Come on, let’s take a look around.”

“I want to help. Which way should I go?” Amy asked.

Juan shook his head. “No way. This guy was trying to do some damage. I don’t want you wandering around alone looking for him. In fact, why don’t you head back to the main building and let Anna know what’s going on. Call the police and have them send someone over. We’ll look for our shooter.”

Amy bit her lip, hesitated. “Okay.” She turned and headed for the building.

Juan and Lucas split up, although Juan wondered what he’d do if he caught the guy. His overworked muscles told him he sure didn’t have the strength for a fight.

Amy ran to the main building, told Anna what had happened, then decided to go back to the gym to see for herself what was going on. Entering the gymnasium through the side door, she made her way down the main hall to the weight room. She looked inside—and stopped abruptly. “Jonathas, what are you doing in here?”

The teen looked up, startled. “I was looking for Juan. He said he was going to work out some, then come over and help with the new wing. When he didn’t show up, I came looking for him.” He gestured to the wall. “What happened here?”

Amy looked at the three holes—two in the wall and one in the mat. The darts were gone. She said, “Someone tried to use darts to shoot Lucas and Juan.” She blinked and asked Jonathas, “What happened to the darts? They were still there a few minutes ago.”

Jonathas shrugged. “I don’t know. I just got here and this is what I found when I walked in. Why would someone try to hurt either of them?”

“Good question,” Juan answered from behind. Amy spun around and came nose to chest with the man. She stepped back, flustered. Juan frowned down at her and said, “I thought you were going back to the main building.”

Why did she feel guilty? “I did, but then I decided to come here and just…see…whatever. I don’t know what I expected to find. Something.”

“Where are the darts?” Lucas asked, frowning.

Amy shrugged. “I have no idea. They were gone when I got here. Jonathas came looking for you and said they were gone when he got here, too.”

Lucas growled. “Should have collected and bagged those before going on our wild-goose chase. The guy probably watched us leave, then rounded the corner, came in here and pulled his evidence.” He raked a hand through his sandy blond hair. Dark eyes glittered with frustration under his brows.

Juan stomped over to the wall, studying the hole. “You think anything was on the tips of those darts?”

Lucas looked startled. “What? Like poison?”

“Yeah.”

Amy swallowed hard. Poison? And why did Juan all of a sudden look extremely familiar? Seeing just the right side of his face, in profile, without the scars, he reminded her of someone. The way he tilted his head, the quirk of his lips. She racked her brain but couldn’t pull a name from it.

Juan looked at Lucas. “You got a pocketknife on you?”

Lucas handed it over. “What are you doing?”

“Well, if there was poison on the tips of those things, some of the residue would be left in this wood.” He flicked the knife open. “Now, I just need a plastic Baggie.”

Amy bit back surprised laughter. Plastic Baggie? He’d sounded so…professional up to that point. She moved to the first-aid kit that hung on the wall.

“Here,” she said pulling out the Brazilian version of the Ziploc bag. “Your plastic Baggie.”

Juan smiled his thanks and his eyes glinted. He’d seen her humor and appreciated it.

With the knife, he scraped around the hole left by the dart and caught the shavings in the plastic bag. “Could I have two more?”

Amy shook off her thoughts; told herself it wasn’t important and complied. “What do you need two more for?”

Juan explained as he worked. “Well, there were three different darts. I want samples from the three different holes. I’m just curious. If there was something like poison on the tips, was it all the same or was there something different on each one—or something on one, but not the others?” He exchanged the second bag for the third. This time, he used the knife to cut a patch around the hole in the mat and then placed the entire specimen in the bag.

Once all three were filled, sealed and labeled, he looked at Lucas. “Will the police department be able to do a better job with this than they have with finding out who I am or who tried to kill me once before?”

He sounded bitter, and Amy’s heart ached for him. Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know. Leave me some of the shavings and I’ll look at them under a microscope. We’ll give the rest to the police and hope for the best. If they don’t come up with anything, I can have everything shipped to the States for examination. I have some friends on the police force in South Carolina.”

Amy got two more bags, and the men worked on preserving some of the samples. Jonathas watched the proceedings in silence. Finally, everything that could be done was done. Amy looked at Juan and asked, “How do you know so much about evidence collection? What are you? A forensics guy or something?”

THREE

How do you know so much about evidence collection?

The question tormented him. How did he know what to do? The work felt natural, second nature, as if he’d done it before. He closed his eyes and searched his brain. Then he groaned with frustration. Why couldn’t he remember?

He’d had CAT scans, MRIs, everything. Lucas had donated both of the extremely expensive machines to the hospital—and used them on Juan. Nothing showed up as permanent damage. In fact, his last scan showed his brain had fully recovered from his head trauma.

And yet—he couldn’t remember.

God, are you there? I honestly believe I can say I believe in You. So, can you help me? Please?

He opened his eyes and looked at Amy, who stood waiting for an answer to her question. He wished he had one to give. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Amy’s eyes conveyed sympathy and she turned to Jonathas. “Well, guess that’s it for the excitement around here. Anyone ready for something to eat?”

Jonathas flashed a rare smile. “Always.” He headed toward the cafeteria located off the side of the main building.

Amy saw Salvador and Carlita walking with several other children. She waved and smiled. Salvador waved back; Carlita stuck a finger in her mouth, but at least she didn’t turn away this time. In fact, she even offered Amy a shy smile. Progress.

Lucas said, “I’ll call the police and talk to the chief, see if he wants to come out here. My guess is he’ll just tell me to bring him the evidence. There’s a small lab here in Tefe. Any big stuff has to be sent to Manaus or São Paulo.”

He headed off, and Juan turned to Amy. “Walk with me along the river? I’m not very hungry right now. My appetite is still trying to work its way back to normal.”

She smiled. “Sure.”

They headed down the path that led to the river and he asked, “What are you doing here, Amy?”

Juan watched her hesitate, her delicate brows drawing together into a frown. “What do you mean?”

He wanted to ask her all about herself, her background, find out what made her tick. The sadness he sometimes saw flicker in her eyes told him she had a depth to her that he was interested in trying to discover. What had happened in her life to shadow her beautiful eyes? “Just, why here? Why this orphanage? You’re very passionate about helping. More so than the average person.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m just curious as to why.”

She kept walking, turning her head as she thought. He wished she hadn’t, he wanted to see her face. Finally, she said, “Because of my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Mmm, hmm. Because of her, I want to spread goodness, kindness, compassion, everything good you can think of. I want to be a part of it, helping others, telling them about Christ.”

Was she for real? “That’s—admirable.”

Amy ducked her head self-consciously. “Well, I don’t know about that. It’s just how I feel right now. The decision I’ve made. And I hope God honors it.”

“God, huh?”

She nodded, looked up at him. “Yes, God. Why?”

Juan stuck his hands into his pockets and scuffed the mud path. “I wish I knew what I thought about Him. I mean, I listen to the speaker in the little chapel every Sunday, but…”

“Yes, I like him. We’re fortunate he’s willing to come out here each week. And he’s definitely on target when he talks about the Bible. But what do you think? About God?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I believe there is a God. But at this point, I can’t remember if I ever…” He felt weird having this conversation, but good at the same time. She listened in a way that made him want to keep talking. “You know. Asked him for forgiveness. Did the whole salvation thing. Sometimes I talk to Him like He’s my best friend. Other times I wonder if I’m talking to air. Do you think He holds that against me?”

“I know what you mean. And, of course He doesn’t hold that against you. I finally came to not only understand, but accept, that He loves me, regardless of the things I’ve done. In spite of my family, and just simply because He created me, He loves me. I used to wonder if He was up there in His great big Heaven, looking down on me, ready to catch me doing something wrong so He could zap me.” A dimple peeked up at him as she gave a cheeky grin. “Thank goodness that’s not the case. I’d have been zapped a long time ago.” The grin faded, her eyes turned sad. “He just wants to love me—and just wants me to believe that, which I do, even though I don’t understand unconditional love. I just know I’m grateful for it.” She gave a sad little laugh that matched the look in her eyes, and Juan felt it seep into the cracks of his hurting soul.

Amy moved, stepping over the trunk of a small tree to use it as a seat. Juan settled himself beside her and looked up to see the sun sprinkling light between the huge canopy leaves above him. The forest was alive, never still, always moving. He’d come to love it…and hate it, for it was here that he’d lost himself. And sometimes it was extremely hard to hold on to the hope that he would one day remember.

Changing the subject, he asked, “So what do you think about the place? The kids, the staff?”

She took the hint. “I love it here. I can’t believe all the good going on here in what seems to be the middle of nowhere. I have peace knowing I made the right decision in coming. I wasn’t sure at first, but when Anna called to ask for my help—” she shrugged “—I couldn’t say no.”

He gazed off into the distance and murmured, “Well, I’m sure glad you’re here. I just wish I knew how I got here, what I was doing before the fire, who I’ve left…” He glanced back down at her. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you while I was so sick.” He swallowed hard; her beauty moved him. Not just the outward, but what she was on the inside. Compassionate, caring…all the things Lucas had mentioned. “Thank-you seems kind of inadequate after all you did for me, not just medically, but emotionally, too. Your being there helped tremendously.” Juan gave a small self-deprecating laugh. “It’s hard to admit, but I really felt alone. I’ve felt that way for a long time. I mean, Lucas has been great, but…” He shrugged, unable to fully find the words to share his thoughts.

Amy reached over and placed a compassionate hand on his forearm. “Keep talking to God. He’s there and He hears you. Come join me in the morning at the end of the dock. I go there to be alone with God, but wouldn’t mind your company.” She smiled. “And in the meantime, you’re doing some great stuff around here. I hear you got Salvador playing baseball and laughing. That’s an accomplishment. You’ve obviously made a huge impact on him. He came to your bedside just about every day to watch over you. He kept asking me if you were going to die.” She glanced up at him with a shy smile. “I’m very glad you didn’t.”

He gave in to the desire to wrap an arm around her shoulders for a quick squeeze. “Thanks.”

Letting his arm drop, he changed the topic. “I wish we could do something to help Carlita. She needs a special kind of help that’s not readily available here.”

They stood, brushed themselves off and started walking along the river’s edge, through the path worn from many trips for water. Amy mused, “In the States, there’s a child psychologist on every corner. But here…”

“We could offer to fly her to America for help.”

Amy shrugged. “True, but…”

The trees rustled more so than usual, distracting her from finishing her sentence. Juan stopped. He wasn’t terribly worried, but a stray jaguar had been known to attack the unwary tourist who wandered into its territory. And sometimes two-legged beasts often roamed looking for prey. It paid to be cautious. He scanned the area, senses on alert, wary, watchful.

“What is it?” Amy whispered, catching his suddenly intense mood.

“I don’t think it’s anything, but let’s get back to the orphanage. I’m starting to get hungry.” He wasn’t about to scare her with the jaguar theory—or take a chance that it was something even more dangerous. Better just to get away now. He took her hand and turned around to head back when a memory flashed.

“Catch the ball, dude.” He passed the basketball to the guy on his right and watched the man shoot a perfect, net-only basket. He whooped and thumped the guy on the back. “Now, that’s what I call shooting!”

Another flash.

The jungle, betrayal, fire. “Get out now!” The words ripped through his headphone. He looked back at the frightened eyes of the small child. “Come on, little one, we’ve got to go.” He gripped the small hand tight and pulled. The explosion rocked him, he lost his grip. “No!”

Another flash.

“Gabe, look out!” He pulled the trigger. The man stopped in shock, looked at the stain spreading across his chest, then staggered, fell forward and was still. Hard to breathe. Singed flesh stung his nose. Then…nothing.

Juan stumbled on with each clip of memory. He’d make sure Amy was safe, then examine what he’d just remembered. Excitement rippled through him. He was remembering. Oh, God, please let me remember.

Amy let Juan lead her back down the path; he hurried and she stumbled along behind him. The river rushed beside them. Juan kept looking over his shoulder.

“You think someone’s there?” she gasped between steps. “Why would someone be watching us?”

Juan glanced back again, “I’m not sure anyone is. But those darts didn’t come from nowhere, so I’m just going to be a little paranoid until we can figure that out.”

Amy, seeing his point, kept up the pace. Juan turned back one more time to look at her and before Amy could warn him, he ran into a low-hanging branch. It snagged his shirt and held on. Juan grunted, jerked away. The shirt ripped leaving a gaping hole and Amy gasped; her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“I’m all right,” he reassured her. “It didn’t get much of me, just ruined a perfectly good shirt.”

Amy stared at the gap left by the torn garment. She couldn’t take her eyes from the exposed skin.

Juan saw her staring and flushed. “I know. It’s not pretty, is it?”

His puckered, tortured skin looked angry, shouting its fury at the devastation the fire had left behind. Amy realized he thought she was horrified by the scars, and she was, but that was only secondary in her mind. It was the birthmark over the lower part of his abdomen twining its way around to his back that had her transfixed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her fingers. She dropped her hands from her mouth to reach out as though to touch him, pulling back at the last second. Shock still shuddered through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

He glanced around behind her, then reached out and cupped her chin with his good hand, free of scars or ugly reminders. “Hey, it’s all right. Every time I see them, I just tell myself it’s better than the alternative.” Again he looked around, studied the bushes, the trees, but nothing moved. And still, Amy stared at him.

Tears leaked down her cheeks to mingle with the sweat already there. He shifted and through her fog, she sensed he’d become uncomfortable with her stare. “Do they repulse you?”

Amy jerked. “No, no, of course not. I’ve actually seen worse.”

“Then, come on. Let’s get on back. I don’t think anyone is there, but…” He took her hand again and tugged.

Amy followed mindlessly, still in a state of utter disbelief, danger forgotten. How many times had she seen that birthmark as she swam in the pool at the McKnight estate? It looked like a belt, complete with the buckle right above his navel. Only it stopped short under his ribs on the left side of his torso. How often had she teased him about having to get a tattoo so that he could finish what nature had started? She remembered how he’d laughed when she’d bought him a pair of suspenders to go with his “belt” the Christmas she’d been seventeen and he’d been home on leave from the Navy.

Hysteria bubbled to the surface. Emotions ran rampant, her heart thudded in her ears. She had to find a phone, get in contact with his family. She had to tell them their prayers had been answered, that she’d found their missing son and brother. She’d found Micah McKnight.

Three days later, Amy finished up her lunch and tossed her napkin on the tray. Exhaustion swamped her and sleep eluded her. She’d called every number she had for every member of the McKnight family several times over, including her best friend, Cassidy, Micah’s sister. No answer. They were all on an extended cruise, apparently out of cell phone range.

And there was no way she was leaving that kind of information on voice mail. So, while she’d absorbed and processed the fact that Micah McKnight was alive and well—at least for the most part—she still wrestled with what to do now. Did she tell him she knew who he was? And that her mother had been the one to betray him, the one who’d caused all of his misery?

That Amy’s eagerness to help at the orphanage had been influenced, in part, by her devastation when she’d learned of her mother’s illegal activities? Activities which included murder, human trafficking and the kidnapping of Amy’s best friend, Cassidy McKnight, who had travelled to this very orphanage to take custody of a child left in her care.

Did she tell him her mother had been so blinded by greed, so desperate to find a way to stop Cassidy’s father, the ambassador to Brazil, from continuing his work against human trafficking that she’d planned Cassidy’s kidnapping, then hired her own brother, Amy’s uncle Rafael, to finish the job after Cassidy escaped the kidnappers?

She shuddered at that thought. Oh no, no way was she taking on that responsibility. Uh-uh. You wouldn’t ask me to do that, would You, God? Please don’t ask me to do that.

Amy choked back a sob and decided she needed a distraction. Not only had she been thinking about Micah nonstop ever since their dash through the jungle, she’d been thinking about the fact that she had family somewhere in this country. Could she find them? And if she were to go on a search for relatives, where did she start?

Thinking it through, she decided she could start with the names she had. As far as where, she knew that her mother’s picture had been on the wall of the police station as recently as two years ago. It could still be there. If so, she could ask questions. Juanita Morales, Amy’s mother, had been born in the slums of Brazil and sold into prostitution by her older brother. She’d finally managed to escape to the United States, where she’d studied how the rich lived and learned well. She’d changed her name, married a senator and life was good.

Unfortunately, it had been when she’d found out her husband was broke that she’d turned to a life of crime, a life she was intimately familiar with—human trafficking. Only a few months ago, Amy had learned the truth of her mother’s background after she’d discovered incriminating information on her mother’s computer, implicating her in Micah McKnight’s disappearance. Through a fluke, while on a mission here in Tefe, Brazil, Micah had discovered the woman’s true identity and e-mailed a copy of the wanted poster to Amy’s father. Before the man had a chance to open the e-mail, her mother had confiscated it and set her evil plan in motion. She’d set Micah up to die, betraying two teams of SEALs, one of them Micah’s team.

Amy shuddered at the memories. Oh, Lord, help me. I have to tell him I know him. But first I need to talk to Lucas. I need to make sure it’s okay medically to tell him. So until Lucas comes back to the orphanage, help me get in touch with his family members—and continue to help me find mine.

Thinking about what she had to go on, Amy considered her options. She had two names—well, three, really, if she counted her mother. Rafael Morales, her uncle, Juanita Morales, her mother, and a woman named Maria. The latter was the woman who’d looked after Cassidy while Cassidy had been held hostage in the camp. Cassidy said that the woman had faced down Rafael, so obviously she had some kind of power, Amy just wasn’t sure what kind or why.

Amy decided her best course of action would be to start with the local police. She notified Anna that she had some errands to run, and Anna had offered her the jeep and given her a list of supplies to pick up while she was in town. Thirty teeth-rattling minutes later, she parked in front of the police station. She’d not bothered to ask for directions since the town was small, and she figured she could find the building on her own.

Sure enough, a short tour up and down the streets had familiarized her with the layout of the town, and she’d had no trouble locating the police station. Although the town was small, it had a good number of officers on the force to fight the drug-smuggling trade that was popular along the one thousand miles of coastland where Tefe and other cities connected to the Amazon.

Amy climbed out of the jeep and slammed the door. She walked up the three wooden steps that led to the front door of the police station and pushed her way inside. Standing in the entrance, she scanned the place, taking in the details. She could see several metal desks, telephones, an open door leading to the cells in the back. Then she spotted the Missing posters on the wall next to the Wanted Persons. And there was her mother—thirty years ago, listed as a missing person. Amy felt her heart clench, nausea swirled and she fought it down. The black-and-white picture was grainy and faded, but Amy had no doubt who the young girl was. Sold into prostitution at the age of fifteen. By Amy’s uncle, Raphael Morales. Anger bubbled unexpectedly inside Amy.

“What a legacy you two left,” she spat.

“Excuse me?” a voice asked in heavily accented English.

Amy whirled around and found herself staring at a uniform. She let her eyes travel up…and up. The man before her stood at least six feet five inches tall. Stepping back, she swallowed hard and somehow managed a smile.

She held out a hand. “Hello, I’m Amy Graham. I’m new to Tefe and just thought I would familiarize myself with the city.”

Black eyes narrowed, suspicion glinted, but he held out his hand and engulfed hers. In a lilting Portuguese accent, he asked, “What may I do to help you, Ms. Graham?”

Taking her hand back, Amy cleared her throat, “Please, call me Amy. I…was just looking over your posters.”

“I am David Ruibero, the chief of police for the town of Tefe. Now what kind of interest would you have in my posters?” Not a lot of people outside of the orphanage spoke English. Or Spanish. Portuguese was definitely the language to know around here. She’d had Cassidy tutor her before leaving the States and she’d listened to her language CDs on the plane, but if she had to carry on a full-fledged adult conversation, she’d be in trouble.

“That one,” she blurted. Cassidy had described Maria to perfection. The woman was wanted for harboring fugitives, rebels, murderers, slave traffickers. Amy looked for a name at the bottom of the poster, but it had faded and she couldn’t make it out. The picture, though, was pretty clear. Maria’s thick, brown face looked black in the picture; her eyes were cold stones in a face that looked as if it had been made to be wreathed in dimpled smiles. But no smiles showed here. Her lips stretched tight and flat across her face and her nose looked as if it had been broken once. But she’d protected Cassidy from her kidnappers. That told Amy that there was the possibility of goodness somewhere under all that hardness and hate. She hoped. “Who is she?”

Suspicion remained in the dark eyes, and he hesitated before answering, “Maria Morales. Why?”

Amy gasped, and the room spun. “Morales?” she squeaked.

“Here, sit down. Now, why does that name shock you?”

She slumped into the offered seat and buried her face in her hands. Would the nightmare never end? Would every member of her family that she found turn out to be evil?

David Ruibero had the appearance of a gentle giant, yet Amy wouldn’t want to cross him in a back alley. She had a feeling his softness was all a cover, that he could strike as quick as a snake. Intelligence gleamed in his black eyes. No way was she telling this man that the woman on the wall was her maternal grandmother. “Um, no reason. I think my blood sugar’s a bit low.” She brushed aside his interest in her shock and asked, “Do you know where she is? Have you found her?”

David Ruibero sat back and studied her. “You have your reasons for asking?”

Amy sighed. The man was too shrewd, and she knew her face was an open book. “Yes, I have my reasons. Do you mind if I don’t share them at the moment? I’m still trying to figure out…” she trailed off.

He clasped his hands in front of him. “All right. No. We haven’t found her. Don’t really expect to, to be honest. She’s part of a rebel group that is so deep in the jungle, so well armed and protected that even if we knew her exact location, we’d probably lose too many lives trying to infiltrate. An undercover operation would be the way to go, but we don’t have anyone with the skills to do that on the force…right now, anyway. If we had help from some of your Rangers or SEALs—” he shrugged “—or if one of the rebels could be bought off, that might work, but they are all extremely loyal to their cause—and each other.”

“How do I get the word out that I’m looking for her?”

For the first time since she’d met him, his eyes reflected something other than suspicion. This time, surprise mixed with wariness flashed at her. “You don’t want to do that. That, my dear American, would be very hazardous to your health.”

“Not to mention stupid.”

Amy swiveled her head to see another uniformed officer enter the room.

David said, “Ah, Roberto, how nice of you to join us. May I introduce one of the relief workers from the Amazon orphanage? This is Ms. Amy Graham. She is busy making herself familiar with our little town.”

“Busy setting herself up for trouble, if you ask me. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, lady.”

Amy flinched at the hostility in his heavily accented tone. What was his problem? Probably in his midforties, he was a short, round little man with a bald head and beady black eyes. A salt-and-pepper mustache sat neatly upon his upper lip. He spoke excellent English, too. Most natives didn’t understand American idioms. The one he’d used had rolled smoothly from his tongue.

“Trouble?” Amy arched a brow, refusing to let his attitude intimidate her.

“Yes. Why do you want to go looking for that one?”

Amy swallowed hard. How much did she dare reveal? “I…might have some information about a family member of hers.”

Roberto laughed. “Family? And how would you know about any family she might have? Her family is either dead or soon will be.”

Amy shivered and stood. He gave her the creeps, and the chief wasn’t jumping in to help, although the look he gave Roberto told her the man didn’t normally talk like this in the chief’s presence. She stood, looking back and forth between the men. “Listen, if you know how to contact her, I want to talk to her. Otherwise, never mind.” She focused on David. “Thank you for the information. I appreciate the help.” What little it had been.

Amy stepped toward the door, and Roberto slid in front of her, blocking her exit. Nervousness clenched her midsection, but she met his eyes and raised her chin, keeping silent, waiting on him.

Finally, he stepped aside. “Watch your back, senhorita. This is not a good place to make enemies. Not if you want to live very long.”

Amy sucked in a breath, acknowledged his warning—or threat—with a nod, waved goodbye to David and hurried out the door.

FOUR

Where was she? Juan wondered. He’d planned to ask Amy to eat with him, but she was nowhere to be found. So he’d found a table with Jonathas and Salvador, yet couldn’t help wondering what Amy was doing.

When she didn’t return in time for lunch, he finished up and decided to lie down for a while. He hated to admit that he needed to rest, but his body had flashed neon warnings in the form of a throbbing headache and aching muscles. When he woke up two hours later, his headache was gone and Amy still hadn’t returned. He questioned Anna, who said she’d gone into town to run a few errands. He stayed busy on the wing, waiting for her to get back.

Lucas declared it was good therapy for building his stamina back up. Now, as he worked, his eyes kept straying to the plastic-covered opening, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dark blond head or slender profile. Juan shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to fall for her. He had no idea who he was. He didn’t even have a real name.

Shrugging those thoughts off, he watched Salvador and Jonathas work together, building the opposite wall. The two had hit it off pretty well despite their age difference. The wall was coming together and the wing should be finished before too long.

He slammed the hammer onto the nail. Bam.

And the memory was there. He jerked, sat with a thump on the wooden floor. The jungle smell—wet, fresh, teeming with life. He hefted the machete and chopped another vine out of his path. Men followed. The mansion sat just ahead. The other SEALs were in the water. His job was to disarm the alarm system. Someone else listened in on everything as he monitored the mission.

“You almost done with that part of the wall?”

Juan whirled to find Romero, the orphanage’s resident handyman, standing behind him. A large dark man in a sweat-drenched white tank top, the tattoo on his left upper bicep rippled on top of bulging muscles. His tool belt hung low on his lean hips, and his white teeth flashed in the blazing sun, competing with the gleam of matching gold in his nose and ear.

The memory still spun through Juan’s mind like a movie out of control. He cleared his throat and said, “Uh, yeah. Just taking a little break.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel he kept stuffed in the back pocket of his green cargo shorts.

Why was he tramping through the jungle with a team of SEALs? Where was the mansion that he could now picture in detail? Had he been a SEAL?

“Miss Anna sent this out to you.” Romero handed Juan a plastic cup full of ice-cold lemonade. He downed it in one swallow, his mind still rippling from the memory. “Obrigado.”

“Welcome.”

Thunder rumbled, and Romero looked at the sky. “Storm’s coming.”

Juan peered up through a break in the canopy above him and eyed the restless sky that only moment ago had been cloudy but sunny. Now the clouds rolled and swirled, obliterating the sun. Thunder boomed and a flash of lightning encouraged him to hurry and put away his tools.

He called to the teens who were packing up, “Come on guys, we’re done here. Let’s get inside before we get soaked—or electrocuted.”

The young men wasted no time gathering their things, and the four of them headed for the plastic door that led to the newly renovated main building. Salvador walked beside him down the brightly lit hallway. “How’re you doing, Sal?”

Salvador’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “All right, I guess.”

“How’s Carlita? Has she spoken yet?”

Salvador took a deep breath. “She will be fine. She will speak when she is ready. Everyone just needs to stop trying to force her. She is my family. I will take care of her.”

The intensity of the young man’s words hit Juan. He studied Salvador and saw the fierce love for his sister reflected there. “Maybe you’re right, Sal. We just want to see her get better, that’s all.”

Salvador swallowed hard, visibly forcing himself to relax. “I know, Senhor Juan, I just want to help her and don’t know how, sometimes it makes me…” He broke off and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Juan’s heart ached for this brother of the young girl. So much responsibility at such a young age. He should be getting ready to graduate college, be enjoying his youth, discovering his place in the world. Instead, his family was dead and he had a little girl to raise. “I know. You’re doing a great job. Still, I wish she could see a child psychologist or some kind of counselor.”

Salvador threw his shoulders back and said, “Thank you for your concern, senhor. I think I will go see if she is ready to go to supper.”

Juan watched the young man branch off to the right to head down to the room he shared with his sister. That was one thing Juan really liked about this orphanage. They didn’t separate siblings. They kept them together as much as possible. Salvador and Carlita shared a suite with another brother and sister pair. It was a dorm-room design. Twin beds sat on opposite walls, with a bathroom in between the two rooms. There was a short wall that allowed privacy when changing clothes in the room. Each child had a chest of drawers and shared a small closet for hanging clothes. Some of the older teens even had televisions in their rooms that got certain approved channels from the satellite dish. Of course, if one wished to have living quarters separate from his or her sibling that could be arranged, too. Most orphanages had a boys’ living area and a girls’ living area.

Juan stepped inside the temporary tool storage room and set his tool belt on the shelf. The construction crew from Manaus had been hired to do most of the work with funds from donations, but Anna was very careful with the expenditures. By allowing some of the orphanage workers to help, it provided jobs for those who otherwise wouldn’t be working. And besides, construction out here in the jungle moved slowly. The intermittent storms often sent the main workers home early. But those laborers from the orphanage could wait out the storm and then go back to work.

Juan headed to his private staff room to shower and get ready for supper himself.

“Senhor?”

Juan stopped and turned. Jonathas approached him and asked, “Senhor, did you find out about the darts from the gym?”

Juan studied the young man. “No, we haven’t heard anything yet. Why?”

Jonathas shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

Was he really just wondering or was there more to it than that? After all, the darts were gone when he and Lucas arrived on the scene—and Jonathas was there. But he had a legitimate reason for being there. Juan himself had told the boy to come find him when he was ready to work on the orphanage wing. And yet…

Juan clapped Jonathas on the back and said, “I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

“Okay. See you at supper.” The boy turned back. “Oh, hey, don’t forget the picnic tomorrow.”

“What picnic?”

“The one I hear they have every year. They even have a dunking booth. Get ready to get soaked.” He disappeared around the corner.

Juan grumbled, “Oh, yeah, that picnic. Who says I’m gonna volunteer?”

The next morning, right before sunrise, Amy continued her daily tradition of her dockside quiet time. Her stomach was still in knots, and she needed some guidance. After calling the McKnight family again—and again getting no answer, she gathered her Bible and notebook and headed out, only to come across Jonathas in the jeep driving toward her. She called, “Good morning. You’re up early.”

The seventeen-year-old pulled up to a stop next to her and said, “Bom dia, senhorita. My morning routine. I am driving down to check on the cows.” The cattle meant a lot to the orphanage as they provided milk and meat. Often they were sold to raise money for other necessities that the orphanage needed in order to keep running efficiently.

Amy smiled. “You’re doing a great job, Jonathas.”

Bright white teeth flashed in the morning light. “Thank you.” He disappeared in a trail of dust, and Amy continued on to the dock. Walking to the end of the fifty-foot pier, she sat and looked out over the muddy brown water, catching glimpses of the wildlife that never ceased to amaze her. A caiman floated past. Then another. And another. Nocturnal creatures, it was still early enough for them to be out and about. They looked like alligators, their snouts skimming the top of the water.

The first time she’d had her quiet time out here, she’d had her legs hanging over the edge of the dock. Then she’d seen her early-morning companions and nearly had a coronary. Today, she didn’t even flinch. This was her favorite time of the day. The sun rose with a blend of orange, yellows and reds, first peeking above the horizon, then coming forth in its full glory to proudly display God’s handiwork. It never failed to take her breath away.

When the sun finished its climb, she pulled out her Bible and just sat without opening it. Instead, she went straight to the point. What do I do, Lord? What do I say? Should I talk to Lucas and ask him what to do? Would it do more damage to Micah—er, Juan—no, Micah, if I bring up the past and… She groaned and dropped her head in her hands.

“Problems?”

She jumped. It was Micah’s voice—but it wasn’t. It was deeper, with a rasp he didn’t used to have. Due to the damage from smoke inhalation, no doubt.

Amy turned and looked up at him, seeing the resemblance all over again. She’d noticed it in the beginning, but had never entertained the possibility that he might actually be Micah. Because Micah was dead. Only now he stood looking at her with a frown creasing his forehead.

She frowned back. “Problems? A few. God and I were just having a conversation about them. Well, actually, I was talking and He was listening.” Then she smiled. “What are you doing here so early?”

Micah sighed and dropped his head. “Looking for you. I was wondering if I could join you.”

“Sure.” Amy could see he had something on his mind. “What’s up?” She did her best to sound cheery and carefree. No need to let him see her turmoil until she could talk to Lucas and get in touch with his family. Surely one of them would see she’d tried to call and call her back. She’d gotten a satellite phone, and both Cassidy and the ambassador had the number. Hopefully, he’d check in with his office and they’d give him the message that she wanted to talk to him.

Micah sat down beside her, crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped loosely in front of him. Silent, he stared down in the muddy water.

Amy waited and inhaled his freshly showered scent. He looked good this morning, muscles gleaming in the morning sun. He had on short sleeves and didn’t seem to mind the scars prominently displayed on his left arm. Silent, she remained patient, allowing him to find the words he seemed to be searching for.

Finally, he blew out a breath and said, “I’m sorry if my scars offended you.”

Was that what he thought?

“Oh, no,” she reached out impulsively and laid a hand on his scarred left hand. “Why would you think that?”

He looked her in the eye, “Because of the way you reacted in the woods after the dart incident. You were…repulsed. And I’ve noticed you’ve been avoiding me these last few days.”

Amy caught her breath and stemmed the tears that threatened to fall. Although she had been avoiding him, it wasn’t because of his scars. She protested, “I wasn’t offended or repulsed, I…hurt for you. I can’t believe what you’ve been through. You…you’re…I wish…” She stopped, sucked in air and said, “I can’t even explain the feelings that went through me yesterday. I wish I could, but, please believe me, your scars don’t bother me. No, they’re not pretty, but they represent your strength, your courage. The fact that you can even walk shows what a fighter you are.”

A thought occurred to her, and she grabbed her Bible, flipping the pages, “Here, I want to read you something. It’s in I Samuel 16:7. The last part of the verse says, ‘The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.’”

Micah reached out and ran a finger down the page in her Bible. Softly, he asked, “And you think He’s looking at my heart?”

Amy nodded. “I know He is…and I promise, I am, too.”

Light flared in his eyes, hope, tenderness…fear. Micah stared back out over the water, clearing his throat. “Thank you. Amy, I know we haven’t known each other that long, and I’m not sure what the future holds for me, but…” He caught her eye, and Amy sucked in a breath at the look. No, no, she couldn’t let him say anything. Not yet. Not until she told him everything.

“Here,” she blurted, “this will help. Start with John.” She handed her Bible over to him. He took it reluctantly, obviously wanting to finish what he’d started to say. She stood. “I’ll just leave you and God to have a talk.”

He hefted the Bible and smiled up at her. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I need to go in and help get the little ones ready for breakfast anyway. You can give me the Bible later.”

“All right. I think maybe I will just sit here for a while—see what God has to say.”

Amy walked up the dock and turned up the path, passing the gymnasium. She looked back to see Micah sitting with the Bible in his lap. At least it was open. She whispered a prayer. “Reveal Yourself to him, Lord. Show him Your love and goodness.”

Only a few steps later, she heard a rumble in the distance and saw the jeep heading back her way, occasionally catching a glimpse of it between the trees. Jonathas must have finished with the cows early. She picked up her pace, stopped and looked back. The trees were in the way, but it looked as if the jeep had stopped on the dock. The front faced the end where Micah still sat. How strange. It just sat there, idling…no, wait, it was moving. Why would some one drive the jeep on the dock? She moved to get a better look.

Then the vehicle was rolling on the downward sloping dock, down toward the end where Micah sat. Picking up speed quickly, soon it would be right on him!

“Juan!” she screamed.

Surely, Micah would feel the vibration of the dock and look up, hear it as it got closer. Who was driving? A quick glance showed an empty driver’s seat. Horror swept over her. Sure enough, the jeep was bearing down on Micah and he had no where to go except into the river where the caimans still swam.

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