“Isabel, I want you to meet somebody.”

Eli was standing in the doorway looking at her.

“Okay.” She smiled and tried to see around him. Maybe he had a new partner, although why he’d have Isabel come all the way over here for that—

“Come here, Susie-Q,” Eli said, reaching behind his back. He tugged a small child into view by the hand—a little girl so beautiful it made Isabel’s eyes sting. She looked at Eli for an explanation.

“She’s deaf and doesn’t speak, Isabel, but she showed up at the orphanage yesterday with nothing but the clothes on her back and one shoe. And this.”

He lifted his other hand to show her a sealed plastic bag containing a closed switchblade knife.

THE TEXAS GATEKEEPERS:

Protecting the borders…and the women they love.

ELIZABETH WHITE

As a teenager growing up in north Mississippi, Elizabeth White often relieved the tedium of history and science classes by losing herself in a romance novel hidden behind a textbook. Inevitably she began to write stories of her own. Torn between her two loves—music and literature—she chose to pursue a career as a piano and voice teacher.

Along the way Beth married her own Prince Charming and followed him through seminary into church ministry. During a season of staying home with two babies, she rediscovered her love for writing romantic stories with a Christian worldview. A previously unmined streak of God-given determination carried her through the process of learning how to turn funny mushy stuff into a publishable novel. Her first novella saw print in the banner year 2000.

Beth now lives on the Alabama Gulf Coast with her husband, two high-maintenance teenagers and a Boston terrier named Angel. She plays flute and pennywhistle in a church orchestra, teaches second-grade Sunday school, paints portraits in chalk pastel and—of course—reads everything she can get her hands on. Creating stories of faith, where two people fall in love with each other and Jesus, is her passion and source of personal spiritual growth. She is always thrilled to hear from readers c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, or visit her on the Web at www.elizabethwhite.net.

Sounds of Silence
Elizabeth White

MILLS & BOON

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The Lord protects the foreigners among us. He cares for the orphans and widows, but He frustrates the plans of the wicked.

—Psalms 146:9

This book is dedicated to the missions ministry

of First Baptist North Mobile. Keep on

serving and sharing the Good News!

I’m grateful for my critique partners—

Scott, Tammy and Sheri—and my editor,

Diane Dietz. You make me a better writer.

Thanks as well to several people who lent their expertise as I researched details for this book. Glenda Perkins, teacher of hearing impaired students in Mobile County Public Schools, read the manuscript and gave great suggestions. ATF agent and former Border Patrol Agent Michael Knoll answered about a million questions with great patience and clarity. Cena Goff helped with nursing issues, and Ken Foster—firefighter extraordinaire—answered questions regarding, well, fires. Susan Howell answered a couple of horse questions. All mistakes are mine.

My friend and fellow author Jane Myers Perrine

helped once more with Spanish translation.

Thanks for your time, señora.

I would never have been able to give this book

the richness of detail it deserved, without observing

and interviewing several of God’s choice servants

who minister on the Texas/Mexico border.

Rosie, Aurora, Pastor Pablo, Dennis, Terry and

others involved with Texas River Ministries—

I pray for you regularly. Thank you for letting

me share Christ in your corner of the world.

Dear Reader,

Last year I eagerly accepted a spot in the van during my church’s annual trek to south Texas. I knew I was going to set my next book there and could simultaneously research and “do ministry.” I didn’t know it was going to change my heart.

The poverty, heat and dust were no surprise. But I also found warm hearts, bright smiles and the universal language of kinship in Christ. I discovered how richly blessed we are in the U.S. and that sharing my faith brings unspeakable joy.

Visiting Mexico prepared me to write Sounds of Silence, as I tried to put myself inside the skin of people not like me. How would it feel to be a traumatized, hearing-impaired orphan? What would it be like to violently lose your husband and then fall in love with a man in his same profession? Going to Mexico helped me to see that all of us experience seasons of deep need and loneliness—and that those in Christ have something to share, whether you’re a Spanish-speaking child or a Texas construction worker or an Alabama housewife.

Much of this story is filled with the starkness of the Mexican hills and border slums. But often in the greatest deprivation, God reveals Himself to be our true and faithful refuge. I encourage you to go to His Word, the Bible, to find strength and encouragement. If you have questions or if you have something to share with me, I would love to hear from you via my Web site, www.elizabethwhite.net. Or you may write to me at Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the story! Stay tuned for On Wings of Deliverance, the third book in the Texas Gatekeepers series.

Blessings,

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Prologue

Ciudad Acuña, Mexico

Mercedes woke up when something nudged her in the ribs. By the reddish light coming through the beaded curtain, she could see her sister Lupe’s slender feet in scarlet high-heeled sandals. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Lupe had on a black leather miniskirt and a white blouse that glowed like neon in the dark storeroom. She’d let Mercedes try on the skirt yesterday, but it had reached to her knees. Laughing and showing all her beautiful white teeth, Lupe had clipped the waistband with a clothespin so that Mercedes could walk in it without tripping.

One day she would be beautiful, too, and men would buy her presents like the earrings that dangled against Lupe’s neck.

But not Pablo. She’d stay away from that bad hombre. He was handsome, with slick black hair and nice teeth, but he was mean. He gave Lupe a white powder that made her silly. Pablo had also given Lupe the black scab that cut across one of her fine eyebrows, and the bruises on her back.

Mercedes gasped when Lupe reached down and yanked her to her feet. She could tell Lupe was upset, moving her red lips in patterns too sloppy to follow, without trying to sign with her hands. Repeating herself, she shook Mercedes so hard her head snapped back.

No! Mercedes signed, jerking out of Lupe’s hands. That hurts.

Lupe’s kittenish face crumpled, tears streaking her makeup and leaving black mascara tracks under her eyes.

Get out, Lupe signed. Danger.

Mercedes shook her head. I don’t want to—

Lupe suddenly shoved Mercedes to the floor and glanced at the doorway. The beads swung as something bumped against them. Lupe’s face wrinkled in panic, and her lips moved—“Run!”

She turned to peer through the curtain.

Mercedes was pretty scared, but curiosity won over fear. Better to keep an eye on things than to run away like one of the chickens behind Hector’s bar. She crept toward Lupe on her hands and knees, feeling odd, thumping vibrations through the tile floor.

Kneeling beside her sister, Mercedes blinked against the sudden light of the neon signs above the bar. As her eyes adjusted, she scanned the scene. In the center of the room, surrounded by empty tables—it must be close to daybreak if there were no customers—two men were fighting. One was Pablo, dressed in tight black trousers and a black silk shirt. A sneer curved one side of his handsome mouth. He had both fists knotted at the throat of a tall, skinny Americano man whom Mercedes had seen a couple of times. She didn’t know the white man’s name, but figured he was rich. He gave Lupe money for soft drinks and cigarettes, and he’d bought her the black leather skirt.

Mercedes sucked in a gasp. The gringo was about to stick a pearl-handled switchblade into Pablo’s gut.

Then the fight quickly ended when Pablo reached down and yanked the knife from the other man. Twisting it, he thrust upward. The gringo sagged as Pablo stepped away.

Lupe grabbed Mercedes, who watched in horror as Pablo calmly wiped the knife clean and folded it shut. But as he stooped to lift the victim’s body under the arms, the knife slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. Cursing, Pablo dragged the body outside, leaving the door open.

Shuddering as if she might fall apart, Lupe pulled Mercedes to her feet. Run! Danger! Lupe signed. Through the hole. I’ll be right there. She tried to shove Mercedes toward the back wall of the tiny room.

Mercedes started to obey, but when Lupe darted into the empty barroom, she followed. She watched through the beads as her sister snatched up the knife with the tail of her blouse. Nearly mowing Mercedes down on the way back, Lupe grabbed her by the arm and shook her roughly. Go through the hole! she signed. Hurry!

Frightened by the knife still clutched in Lupe’s other hand, Mercedes started to cry. Come with me, she signed. I’m scared.

Lupe calmed a bit, and Mercedes could see she was thinking hard. Getting down on her hands and knees, Lupe reached under the cot and found a plastic grocery sack. She dropped the knife in it and knotted the handles. I’m right behind you, she signed. Go!

Mercedes nodded. Maybe it would be all right.

Taking a deep breath, she scrambled under the bench against the wall, which was made out of a splintery two-by-four and a couple of cinder blocks. Behind the bench was a loose flap in the tar paper wall, which she used in the middle of the night when she needed to visit the outhouse.

She was about to go through the flap, when she felt heavy thumping footsteps against the floor. Pablo. He was coming. Peeking from under the bench, she saw his expensive shoes and Lupe’s red sandals. They were grappling hard, almost like a crazy kind of dance.

Mercedes’s heart jumped when the bag holding the knife fell to the floor right in front of her face. Without stopping to think she grabbed it and pulled it toward her. Obviously Lupe didn’t want Pablo to have it.

She should leave now. But what about Lupe? Was there anything she could do to help her sister? Flattening herself against the floor, she looked up and saw Lupe’s trembling knees, the flashing jewels in her ears. And Pablo’s evil face, contorted in rage. He had Lupe by the neck, choking her.

A wrenching silent scream tore her throat muscles.

Pablo flung Lupe to the floor just as Mercedes dove for the opening in the wall. She wriggled through head first, and had made it out to the waist before she felt Pablo toss the board aside.

She crawled madly, gashed her knee on a loose nail, and the pain stopped her.

Mistake. Pablo grabbed her heel.

She jerked her foot out of his fingers, pulling off her shoe, and shoved her hands hard against the wall. She burst into the open night air, tumbled down the rocky hill, and sat up when she reached the bottom.

Bruised and panting, she scrambled to her feet clutching the bag with the knife in it. Pablo would come after her, but it was a moonless night, and she knew the alleys of the colony better than he did. She had hidden herself many times when necessary.

She knew a place to hide that he’d never think of.

Mercedes took off running toward the hill where the Americans had built that big tin building last summer. She dodged from building to building, zigzagging so that Pablo couldn’t follow her.

Looking up, she saw the cross on the church at the top of the hill. Funny that it glowed so brightly, as if it were lit from within. No other light anywhere. The shape of the cross eased her fear.

She’d be safe when she got there.

Chapter One

Eli Carmichael was doing the Chicken Dance in a Mexican orphanage when God got his attention.

Encircled by children, he spun around with little Dulce Garcia clinging to his back. Despite two noisy floor fans, sweat was dripping off his nose and his T-shirt stuck to his chest. It was about 10:00 a.m. on this Cinco de Mayo morning, and impressive drafts of sunshine poured through the open windows onto the concrete floor. Had to be around a hundred and twelve degrees in here.

Even courting heat exhaustion, Eli knew what he’d seen: a mop of long black hair and two big dark eyes peeking around the doorway of the half wall between the dining hall and the chapel. As an experienced Border Patrol agent, he was used to noticing details. Furtive movements. Odd sounds and smells.

Eli blinked when he came around again. The little girl had disappeared.

The children dissolved in giggles as Dulce pointed over Eli’s shoulder at his younger brother Owen, who was in the kitchen flirting with the pretty young housemother, Bernadette Malone, better known as Benny.

“O-wen! O-wen! O-wen!” the children chanted, clapping and stomping in unison. Eli grinned, set Dulce down and headed toward the kitchen.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” But Owen good-naturedly allowed himself to be dragged into the game. As the children held hands and skipped, Eli watched his brother execute a barely recognizable Macarena.

“Who’s that little girl hiding back in the chapel?” Reaching around Benny, who was drying dishes in front of the sink, he snagged a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

“What little girl?”

“About this high.” Eli measured at his waist. “Long black hair and big brown eyes.”

Benny gave him an amused look. “You just described every girl in the room.”

“I didn’t get a good look at her. She ducked when she caught me looking at her.”

Benny turned to count the children. “Ten,” she finished aloud. “They’re all right there, Eli.”

“I guess I was mistaken.” But he knew he wasn’t. Something fearful in those eyes made him ease back into the dining hall.

Skirting his brother and the circle of children, Eli slipped down the side of the Quonsetlike building. He ducked below the chest-high partition, beyond which rows of old-fashioned wooden theater seats faced a homemade lectern.

There was not much to steal here at Los Niños de Cristos Orphanage, but Eli didn’t like the fact that Benny and the children were vulnerable to intruders. Like many areas along the border, the crowded colony around the orphanage lacked sanitation, clean water and law enforcement. It was full of unsupervised children whose parents worked in the American-owned factories on the outskirts of the city. Teenaged boys ran in packs, stealing anything that wasn’t tied down.

The children’s singing and the roar of the fans covered any noise his sneakers might have made as he approached. At the doorway of the partition, Eli quickly stepped around the wall.

She cowered under the folding table against the wall, both hands covering her face, knees drawn up under her chin. Honey-colored forearms were mottled with bruises, one knee gashed open. Dried blood ran down that leg into a blue flowered tennis shoe. The other foot was bare, the toes scraped and the sole black with dirt.

He’d seen it a hundred times and never got used to it. Eli shut his eyes to get himself together before he acted.

Lord, give me Your strength and wisdom. This little one’s Yours. Help me not to scare her.

He got down on one knee. Except for a rhythmic shuddering, she didn’t move. He waited, taking in more details. She wore a pair of baggy purple gym shorts with a pink halter top. A string of multicolored plastic beads encircled one skinny wrist. Her fingers were delicate, perfectly formed. She was small, about the size of Eli’s five-year-old neighbor, Danilo Valenzuela.

The boy’s mother, Isabel, would melt if she saw this one.

After a moment of watching the little girl, his heart splintering into painful shards, Eli reached out a cautious hand. Ready to grab her when she bolted, he touched her bare foot.

As expected, the hands came down, but the expression on that flowerlike face struck him like a fist in the stomach. The eyes were fearless, narrowed in challenge, leaving Eli measured and found wanting. The tender mouth squared to reveal a set of clenched white baby teeth, missing the two upper front ones.

Which told him she was around seven years old.

He had no idea what he expected her to do, but it certainly wasn’t to reach behind her and flick open a pearl-handled switchblade knife.

Eli froze.

“Hey, sweetie, I’m Eli,” he said hoarsely in Spanish. “I’m not gonna hurt you. What’s your name?”

She continued to stare at him with fierce concentration, right in the eyes.

He smiled and dropped his gaze to the knife. There was dried blood on it. “Where’d you get that, baby? You need to give it to me before you cut yourself.”

Her knuckles whitened. He could hear her breath hissing between her teeth.

“Is that how you hurt your knee?” He turned his hand palm-up. “Come on…”

The knife shook in her fist. Eli looked up to find dark eyes, the color of sunflower centers, focused on his mouth. Her lips began to tremble.

“Thank You, Jesus,” Eli whispered when he felt the heavy coolness of the knife handle in his palm. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

She shrugged and knuckled her eyes.

Helpless, he looked around. If he went to get Benny, his little housebreaker might vanish. Absently he closed the knife and stuck it in the pocket of his jeans. He was on his own.

“We’re playing a game over there.” He tipped his head in the direction of the children’s laughter. “Wanna play?”

Big Eyes shook her head. But she leaned toward Eli.

“Okay, then we’ll just watch.” He extended his hand again, curling the fingers upward. “Come on.”

There was a long pause. To Eli’s relief, she laid her dirty little hand in his and let him help her out from under the table. She craned her neck looking up at him, and he smiled, but her expression remained serious.

Now what?

Isabel Valenzuela knew trouble when she saw it coming.

It had knocked on her door with alarming regularity since the day her son made his noisy entrance into the world. Five trips to the Del Rio Hospital ER and a standing appointment with the kindergarten teacher at Bethany Christian school had left her with no illusions about her parenting skills.

And when Eli Carmichael walked around the side of her house in full Border Patrol uniform at ten o’clock on a Monday morning, she knew she was in for it.

Mean Green. Big Trouble.

“Hey, Isabel, where’s Danilo?” Eli braced both hands on the endpost of the clothesline as if he had all day.

“He’s in school.” She continued to peg tiny spider-web-design briefs on the line. “What’s he done now?”

Eli gave her one of his slow grins, and Isabel suddenly wished she’d done more than twist her hair into a knot and stick a pencil in it this morning. Which was ridiculous. This was just Eli.

“He hasn’t done anything,” Eli said. “That I know of. I just need you to come with me to the station.” When Isabel’s eyes widened, he added hastily, “I need a favor. Nothing to do with Danilo.”

She frowned. As one of her late husband’s colleagues, Eli had for over a year taken it upon himself to help her and Danilo whenever they needed a man’s hand. He lived in an apartment down the street, and he was single, unattached and apparently lonely. So she’d humored him, letting him mow her grass and take Danilo fishing. Occasionally she baked him a plate of brownies in return.

That was it. Had he suddenly decided to change the game plan?

“Come with you to the station,” she repeated, stalling. “I’m pretty busy.” She kicked a bare foot at the wicker basket full of clothes.

“I’ll help.” Before Isabel could protest, he’d grabbed a couple of clothespins out of the cloth bag hanging on the line and reached into the basket.

Isabel worked beside Eli in silence for a full minute before she couldn’t stand it any longer. “So what do you need me at the station for?” She hadn’t been there since a week after Rico died, when she’d gone to pick up the stuff from his desk and locker.

Eli stopped whistling and looked at her over the top of a pale blue sheet. It was just about the color of his eyes. “I’m gonna let you take a look for yourself.” He leaned in to sniff the sheet. “This smell reminds me of my grandma’s house. She always let me hang clothes with her.”

“Bleach,” Isabel said. “I wondered why a single man would be so good at this.”

“See, you never know about people,” he said obscurely. “You had any bites on the house lately?”

He was talking about the For Sale sign in her front yard. Isabel beamed at him. “The agent called this morning. She’s bringing a couple by this afternoon. Sounds promising.”

Eli pursed his lips. “Oh.”

“I really need to sell,” Isabel reminded him. “I want to get settled in San Antonio before Danilo starts first grade. Wouldn’t be good to move him in the middle of the school year.”

“Yeah, I know.” He still didn’t sound particularly happy. “Maybe you should consider staying here.”

“Eli, we’ve been over this. My parents are dying to have us back in San’tone. Danilo’s their only grandson. Besides—” she pinned a washcloth with vicious energy “—the memories in this house are getting to me. Everywhere I look I see…” She hid behind the sheet, embarrassed to inflict such personal angst on a guy who was, after all, just a neighbor. It had been a year and a half since Rico died. Time to move on.

To her astonishment, Eli pushed the sheet aside and ducked under the line. He stood less than a foot away, tall and masculine in that crisp green uniform that reminded her so achingly of Rico. Then Eli took off his hat, revealing curly, sun-streaked hair and those sky-colored eyes. Isabel looked away.

This man wasn’t at all like Rico. Rico had been the life of any party, talking and joking and introducing anything that breathed to his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Eli, she knew, was only thirty or so, but seemed older. Quiet, almost taciturn. She got the feeling he was afraid of her, which in turn made her very uncomfortable.

“Isabel,” he said. She looked up at him and flinched at the sorrow in those piercing eyes. “I’d bring him back if I could.”

“I know you would.” She lifted her shoulders. “But he’s gone, and Danilo needs his grandpa. I’ve just got to get away from here.”

He sighed. “I guess I can understand that.” He set his hat back on his head. “Are you ready to go now?”

“Soon as I find my shoes and lock up the house.”

Isabel set the empty basket against her hip and picked her way through the backyard, skirting Danilo’s sand pile, which was littered with dump trucks, plastic buckets and bent spoons confiscated from her kitchen.

As she entered the small laundry room off the kitchen, she fretted anew at the sad state of the screen door and back step. She’d bought paint with last week’s alterations money, but it was going to be a while before she had time to deal with it. Five bridesmaid dresses, all to be fitted and hemmed by next Friday, hung in her spare bedroom closet. Plus there was the puppet stage curtain she’d agreed to make for Bible School.

Painting and rescreening a door, as important as it was, would have to wait. Maybe the people who came this afternoon wouldn’t look too closely.

Isabel left Eli fiddling with the back door light fixture—which Danilo had somehow broken with the baseball bat his grandpa gave him for his birthday—and went in search of her flowered flip-flops. If she had to be a matronly widow, at least she didn’t have to look like one. On the way past her bedroom mirror, she remembered the pencil in her hair.

Good grief. Quickly she loosened the shoulder-length black mass and ran a brush through it. Lipstick? Sure, why not. Pink to match her shoes. She grimaced at her plain white blouse and denim capris, but decided not to change. Pathetic when a trip to the local Border Patrol station became a social outing.

Wondering why in the world Eli needed her there, she nearly ran head-on into him as she reentered the kitchen.

“Oops.” He steadied her with big warm hands on her shoulders. “I came in to test the light switch, and thought I’d check your fire alarm battery while I was in here.”

Isabel caught her breath. He’d never been inside her house before. She was careful about appearances. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m ready, so we’d better go. I have to pick up Danilo at noon.”

“Okay.” He quickly let her shoulders go, then turned to open the kitchen door for her. “You need a new battery, by the way.”

Isabel pulled herself together as she entered the Border Patrol station. For some reason, it helped to stay close to Eli. He put a hand on her elbow as if sensing her discomfort, held the door for her and seated her in his office.

The Border Patrol community had been her family since the day Rico had moved her to Del Rio as an eighteen-year-old bride. She’d met her husband when she was a junior in high school and Rico a sophomore at UT San Antonio. Her parents had begged her to finish her own education, but because Rico could talk the paint off the walls—a trait their son shared—they’d eventually caved in and given their blessing to the wedding.

And, oh, how happy she and Rico had been! Isabel had quickly adjusted to the desertlike climate and learned to laugh at the idea of landscaping with cactus, mesquite and rocks. They’d found a little evangelical church that suited both their backgrounds and gave Rico an outlet for his love of music. Rico’s partner, Jack Torres, had been a tough nut to crack, but eventually even he couldn’t resist Rico’s insouciant conviction that Christ was the answer to every need. Jack became a believer and literally spent most waking moments in Isabel’s living room, learning to be a disciple.

Now, watching Eli disappear into the dispatch room, Isabel twisted her wedding rings and tried to remember those good times. It wasn’t healthy to dwell on the tragedy that had mown her down like a freight train.

The train had also run over Eli, whose father had been the one responsible for the events that affected all their lives. But he didn’t let it send him into depression. From what she could tell, Eli plowed right on, never looking back. Isabel often wondered what it would take to shake him up.

“Isabel, I want you to meet somebody.” Eli was standing in the doorway looking at her.

She jumped, afraid in a crazy sort of way that he’d been reading her thoughts. How silly. “Okay.” She smiled and tried to see around him. Maybe he had a new partner, although why he’d have Isabel come all the way over here for that—

“Come here, Susie-Q,” Eli said, reaching behind his back. He tugged a small child into view and held her by the hand—a little girl with long, black braids and big, dark brown eyes, appearing to be about six or seven. Hispanic, judging by the golden-brown skin, and so beautiful it made Isabel’s eyes sting.

Isabel looked at Eli for explanation.

He cleared his throat. “She’s deaf and doesn’t speak, Isabel. We can’t get her to tell us her name or where she came from or anything. She showed up at the orphanage yesterday with nothing but the clothes on her back and one shoe. And this.” He lifted his other hand to show her a sealed plastic bag containing a closed switchblade knife.

Isabel took a sharp breath. “Benny didn’t know her?”

Eli shook his head. “Owen and I took some food over there for Cinco de Mayo, and stayed to play for a bit.” He smiled down at the little girl, who was staring at her feet. Apparently somebody had given her a pair of sandals. They were too big, and had rubbed a blister on one foot. Eli jiggled her hand until she looked up at him with sober trust. “When I caught her hanging around, she like to’ve spitted me with the knife. Didn’t you, Little Bit?”

Isabel watched the little girl’s lips curl upward ever so slightly. She seemed to understand she was being teased. There was extreme intelligence behind those dark chocolate eyes. “So what’s she doing here? She’s Mexican, I presume.”

“Kind of a convoluted story.” Eli leaned against the door frame. “I left her there with Benny, but I took the knife. This morning, Bryan Hatcher’s body was found on the riverbank.”

Isabel gasped. “Pam and Rand’s son?” Pam was a member of their church, her husband a well-to-do rancher with friends in the state legislature. Both were well-respected in the community.

“Yep.” Eli showed Isabel the knife’s beautiful pearl handle. It had a raised gold initial “H” near one end. “Here’s where things get weird. This is Bryan’s knife, and it’s got his blood on it. But it had been handled so much, the only distinguishable fingerprints on it were his and Mercedes. Coroner says he couldn’t have killed himself.” Eli grimaced. “The biggest question, though, is how this little lady got hold of it.”

“Oh, Eli.” Swallowing, Isabel looked at the little girl, whose downcast eyes fanned long black lashes onto cheeks the color of damask roses. Instantly her heart ached to hold this little one who’d no doubt been exposed to some terrifying events.

“Yeah.” Eli’s jaw worked as he gently squeezed the girl’s hand. “Hatcher’s been suspected of smuggling activity, and we’ve been watching him. We’re working with DEA, Mexican police and Del Rio Homicide. I’ve been put in charge of protecting her, because we think she may be a witness. If she is, the murderer’s looking for her. My supervisor pulled some strings with our immigration guys, and on the Mexican side, too, so I could bring her across the border.”

Eli paused after having made possibly the longest speech Isabel had ever heard him make. Something in the way he held her eyes, the protective clasp of his big hand around the little girl’s tiny one—

Isabel frowned. “What does all this have to do with me?”

“Sh-she needs a p-place to stay.”

Isabel’s gaze flew to the little girl, who let go of Eli’s hand to crouch down and study the pink silk pansies on Isabel’s sandals with such innocent pleasure that Isabel closed her eyes.

But the image wouldn’t fade. In that moment, her life underwent one of the irreversible changes she’d experienced only three times before. The first had been the Vacation Bible School when she’d given her heart to Jesus. The second, the night Rico asked her to marry him; the third, Danilo’s birth.

She had to force herself not to run from the room. “Eli, why me?”

Chapter Two

Mortified that under pressure he’d relapsed into his childhood speech impediment, Eli tried to come up with an answer to Isabel’s question. One that wouldn’t make him sound crazy.

The Holy Spirit told me it should be you.

And, if he were gut-level honest, one big reason was the excuse to see Isabel every day.

“We can’t spare an agent to stay with her twenty-four/seven,” he finally said. “But there’s a little stipend in the budget, and I thought you could use the money—”

“Eli, I’m trying to sell my house,” Isabel said, as if she were explaining something to her son. “Danilo and I could be leaving Del Rio any day now. Then you’d be right back where you started.”

Eli tried to gauge the depth of her protest. Her expression was troubled, but he could tell she was distracted by the child’s fascination with the flowers on her shoes.

See, that was the thing. A little girl needed a woman to care for her. A woman with an innate sense of beauty. A woman of grace and tact and spiritual wholeness, even when life crushed her.

“Okay, that’s a good point,” he said. “But maybe we’ll nail Bryan’s murderer soon, and we won’t have to deal with that.”

Isabel sighed. “There’s another problem. I speak Spanish, but I don’t know any sign language.”

“She reads lips pretty well.” Eli bent down to rest his hand on the little girl’s head. When she looked up at him, he said carefully, “¿Flores?”

She gave him a wide smile and reverently touched one of the flowers on Isabel’s shoes.

Eli winked at Isabel. “See?”

Isabel’s smooth brow knit. “If she can do that, why can’t she communicate with you? What happened when you asked her name?”

“Try it.” Eli was curious to see if his instincts were correct.

Isabel rested her elbows on her knees, so that her face was close to the child’s. “Isabel,” she said, touching her own chest. She put a teasing finger on the little girl’s nose. “¿Como te llama?”

The child beamed and flattened Isabel’s hand. With her finger she traced a large letter M, then looked up at Isabel to see if she comprehended. When Isabel nodded, the girl finished spelling the name Mercedes.

Eli stared at Isabel dumbfounded. “Well I’ll be…. Her name’s Mercedes.”

“You mean she hadn’t told you that?” Isabel sat up.

“She hasn’t told us anything,” Eli said. “We’ve given her pencil and paper, asked her stuff, but…nothing. It’s weird, because you can tell she comprehends what you’re asking. Then she just gets this blank look and refuses to answer.”

Isabel smiled at Mercedes, who settled cross-legged on the floor and leaned against Isabel’s knee. “What else do you want to know?”

“Where she came from. Who her parents are. How she got that knife.”

“I suppose I could ask.” Isabel traced a gentle finger down the little girl’s crooked part. “Why do you think she told me her name?”

Eli couldn’t help wondering the same thing. His supervisor had brought in a deaf interpreter and a social worker this morning, but Mercedes had given the woman the same blank look she gave everyone else.

There was some connection with Isabel that Eli couldn’t explain. He shrugged. “Maybe you look like her mother. Who knows? Listen, Isabel—” He crouched on one knee. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d take Mercedes home with you tonight. Like I said, there’s even a little stipend money in the budget. You could talk to her some more, try to get her to talk back.”

Isabel bit her lip. Eli could see conflicting emotions chase across her expressive face, and he knew the money had nothing to do with it. In fact, he was probably going to have to make her take compensation. Mercedes had obviously grabbed a piece of Isabel’s tender heart.

“It might be good for Danilo to have to share me a little bit,” she murmured.

“He’s a good kid,” Eli said. “He’ll like having somebody to play with.”

Isabel tipped her head and looked him in the eyes. “You think it’ll just be for a day or two?”

“I’m sure of it,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “So you’ll do it?”

Mercedes suddenly wrapped both arms around Isabel’s legs.

Eli saw Isabel’s eyes fill as she laid a hand on the little girl’s dark, untidy head. “I’ll do it,” she sighed.

“Good.” Eli grinned. “I knew you would. There’s just one thing though.”

“I knew it.” Isabel’s beautifully marked brows drew together. “What’s the hitch?”

“It’s no big deal.” But Eli found himself unable to meet her eyes. “It’s just that we need to hide Mercedes until we find the killer.”

“No big deal,” Isabel muttered as she pulled into her driveway. “Sure, Eli. Hide an active seven-year-old in the same house with a five-year-old motormouth.” The neighbors were going to notice an extra child, and how was she going to handle grocery shopping?

Her elderly Escort shuddered to a stop, and the rear passenger door burst open. Danilo, who hadn’t stopped talking from the moment she’d picked him up in front of the gym, jumped out of the car and ran to open the door for Mercedes.

“Come on, Mercedes, I gotta show you the sandbox!” He grabbed his new friend by the hand and tugged.

Mercedes resisted, giving Isabel an apprehensive glance.

Isabel smiled, making a shooing motion. “Go ahead.”

She needed a little time to freshen the guest room, empty the closet. There was lunch to fix, too. Danilo liked peanut butter and jelly on toast. Every day. What would Mercedes like?

Probably anything, considering the poverty across the border.

As she unlocked the side door, Isabel looked up at the light fixture, which had been left on. Had it only been this morning that Eli had been here repairing it? Seemed like a lifetime of events had transpired since then.

Which just went to prove what a true marshmallow she was. Why couldn’t she just tell Eli n-o? He could have found somebody else to take Mercedes. There were lots of kindhearted women in their church. Women with more room, more money, less emotional baggage.

In a way, though, it was sort of flattering that he’d asked her. Eli was such a sweetie, and that boyish stammer did something to her resistance.

As she hung her purse in the laundry room and turned on the air conditioner window unit in the den, Isabel shook her head. And of course there was Mercedes herself. What mother could turn away a little girl who laid her head against your knee?

Isabel took a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread out of the pantry, then peeked out the kitchen window into the backyard. Beyond the clothes flapping in the breeze, she could see the children in the sandbox. Mercedes perched with fastidious femininity on the wooden side, while Danilo knelt on all fours, plowing a truck into a sand dune. His tennis shoes and socks had been abandoned outside the box. Isabel would probably have to excavate his ears and pockets before letting him in the house.

Resigned to sweeping up at least a bucket of sand, she finished putting lunch together, then went to the door.

“Danilo!” she called. “Bring Mercedes and come in for lunch.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he hollered back. Momentarily both children appeared at the door. “I don’t have to wash my hands,” Danilo announced through the screen. “I stuck ’em in Fonzie’s water bowl.”

Isabel grinned. A few weeks before Rico’s death, he had started feeding a mutt who’d wandered through their yard and made himself at home under the front porch. Big, ugly brown Fonzie—named after Rico’s favorite Happy Days character—had thoroughly weaseled his way into the family.

“Nice try.” She pointed at the sink. “Wash.” She beckoned Mercedes, who hovered outside, and rubbed her hands together. “Lavate,” she said slowly, so the little girl could read the word on her lips. Then, “Wash,” to demonstrate the English version.

Isabel loved to teach. In fact, she’d started college with the intention of earning her certificate, but getting pregnant right away had put an end to that. Rico had gotten bored with school and decided Border Patrol would suit him, so off they’d gone to the Academy at Glencoe. Since then she’d been so busy functioning as wife and mother, there hadn’t been time to think about finishing college. And after Rico’s death, she’d had all she could do to make ends meet. A talented seamstress, she’d made curtains, raised and lowered hems, sewn on buttons—boring jobs that sapped every bit of creative energy from a hobby she’d once loved.

All that was going to change, however, when she moved back to San Antonio. Her mother had promised to keep Danilo while Isabel went to college. She was going to be a teacher if it killed her.

All she had to do was sell this fixer-upper.

She gasped. She’d forgotten all about the appointment with the real estate agent this afternoon.

It was time to introduce to Danilo the concept of secrecy.

Isabel set a plate of sandwiches in the middle of her kitchen table, which served as dining room, breakfast nook, study and sewing room as the need arose. Danilo, who had long ago disdained the idea of a booster seat, hopped onto a chair with both legs folded under his bottom.

He folded his hands under his chin. “Can I say the blessing, Mommy?”

He always said the blessing, but he always asked first—a relic of the days when Rico used to take turns with him. The question never failed to tighten Isabel’s throat.

“Yes, but let’s get Mercedes situated first.” Isabel turned to find the little girl still in the laundry room, holding a pink hand towel against her cheek. After a deep, appreciative sniff, Mercedes neatly hung the towel on its rack. She smiled and circled her palm in front of her face.

“¿Bonita?” Isabel guessed, nodding. Oh, dear, how was she going to communicate with this little one? How would one say “eat?” She took a stab at it, bringing bunched fingers to her mouth.

Mercedes’s face lit. She rubbed her tummy.

Isabel laughed in relief. “Okay, I’m hungry, too,” she said in Spanish, patting her own stomach. “Come.” Offering her hand, she led Mercedes to a place at the table across from Danilo, who was now bouncing with impatience.

“Hurry, Mommy, God’s waiting.”

Smiling, Isabel sat at her end of the table near the bay window. “Let’s pray,” she said, bowing her head. Hopefully, having spent a couple of days with Benny at the orphanage, Mercedes would understand what was going on.

“Dear God, thanks for helping me write my name today.”

As Danilo rambled for a couple of minutes and finally got around to thanking God for the food, Isabel couldn’t help peeking. She was surprised and pleased to see Mercedes, eyes closed and hands moving, talking quite comfortably to God in her own way.

With a jolt, she realized Mercedes had pointed to her and Danilo several times.

When was the last time she’d felt like the answer to somebody’s prayer? Father, help me to be a blessing to this little girl.

“Amen,” said Danilo, reaching for a sandwich.

“Manners,” Isabel cautioned. “Offer one to your guest first.”

Danilo blinked. “Oh, yeah.” He thrust the plate across the table. “Here, Mercedes. The one on top’s got more jelly in it. You can have it.” He looked at Isabel, who smiled in approval. She’d given up convincing him Mercedes couldn’t hear his chatter.

Mercedes timidly took the top sandwich, watching for Isabel to begin eating before she took a dainty nibble. In between bites Mercedes examined the mermaid characters on her plate and cup. Someone had given them to Isabel as a baby gift before Danilo’s birth, and she’d put them away in case she ever had a girl. It was good to have a use for the dishes.

“Nilo,” began Isabel, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Danilo’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Logan said she wouldn’t call you.”

Isabel frowned. “About what?”

“About the time-out.”

“And why were you in time-out?” Danilo hid behind his milk glass, but Isabel waited him out.

He emerged sporting a world-class milk mustache. “I’s just talking.”

“You can’t talk whenever you feel like it, Danilo. That’s disrespectful and disobedient.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.” Danilo’s big brown eyes were sorrowful. “I told Mrs. Logan I’s sorry. I was telling Josh a joke. You know, what has two knees and swims?”

Isabel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was not going to work. Nilo couldn’t not talk. How in the world was she going to keep Mercedes’s presence a secret?

She leaned her head on her hand and regarded her son. “Okay, buddy. If Mrs. Logan forgave you, then I forgive you. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s Mercedes.”

Danilo beamed at Mercedes. “Thank you for getting me a sister! She’s way more fun than Josh’s sister.”

Isabel’s mouth fell open. “She’s not your sister! She’s just going to stay with us for a couple of days while the police look for a bad man who wants to find her.”

“I won’t let any bad man get her,” Danilo declared. “I’ll put on my superhero pajamas and—”

“Honey, no. Listen, all I need you to do is not tell anybody she’s staying with us.”

“But why?”

The three-letter W word. Why, why, why. If she heard it once, she heard it forty times a day.

“Because…” Isabel laid both hands on the table on either side of her plate. “Because I said so.”

“Not even Josh?”

“Especially not Josh.”

“Not Mrs. Logan?”

Isabel firmly shook her head.

Danilo scrunched his face for a moment, then grinned. “Superheroes can’t tell anybody who they are. I like secrets.”

Relief washed through Isabel. “That’s right. It’s a secret.”

“Okay.” Danilo cut a Rico-like look at Isabel. “But can I at least pretend she’s my sister?”

Pablo Medieros reracked the hundred-eighty-pound barbell he’d been bench-pressing and sat up to wipe his chest with a towel. In his opinion, the Piedras Negras Fitness Center was of barely acceptable standards, but it was the only private gym in town. His gaze touched the dusty windowsills and ceiling fans, the frayed carpet, the spiderwebs in the corners.

When Governor Avila, his boss and first cousin, won reelection this fall, his first action would be attracting businesses to the depressed cities along the border. If he brought money here, civic improvements across the state would follow.

Of course, in Pablo’s opinion, the legal route wasn’t always the most efficient. He didn’t much care which side of the law he stepped across; after all, legality was relative.

Relative, as in family. Relative, too, depending on one’s perspective.

Smiling at his own joke, Pablo walked to the locker room and extracted his cell phone from his gym bag. He punched numbers to check his messages.

“Hey, Pablo,” came the rasping voice of Camino, one of his two employees. “We found a kid who saw the little girl you’re looking for, hiding out in the orphanage in St. Teresa Colony. I’d check it out for you, but the governor’s got me tied up with a trip to the States this week. Don’t know what you want her for, but—”

The connection disintegrated, leaving Pablo scowling.

What was the good of paying people to work for you, if they were always leaving town? On the other hand, if Avila was out of the way, Pablo would have time to do something about the mess that brat had caused.

He still couldn’t believe he’d let her get away with the knife. Rage overtook him afresh, and he kicked the door of the closest locker. Scrawny little girl-child, worse than vermin. If only he’d caught her. He’d almost had her by the foot that night.

Well, it would be easy enough to take care of her at the orphanage. He’d kept an ear to the ground via a buddy in the Acuña police department. If he could get to the girl before she turned the knife in, everything would still be all right.

He calmed himself. He would take care of her.

Mercedes stepped out of the bathtub and let the beautiful American señora—Isabel—wrap her in a big fluffy towel. With delight she curled her toes into the deep pile of the yellow rug as Isabel pulled a second towel from a cabinet under the sink, then began to briskly rub Mercedes’s hair.

She had never seen a place this clean. She had never been this clean, head to toe, and she even had her own toothbrush with a cartoon character on the handle. Danilo had shared his toothpaste, and it tasted like bubble gum.

Mercedes realized Isabel was talking to her, so she watched her lips but couldn’t quite figure out what she said. Lupe had taught Mercedes a lot of English words, but she was going to have to work hard to catch up. She didn’t want to miss anything Isabel said.

Isabel suddenly smiled and drew her close, wet hair and all, and Mercedes leaned in to feel the pulse of laughter against her cheek. Then Isabel set her away a bit, both hands cupping Mercedes’s face, and said in careful Spanish, “I’m sorry, I forgot. Let’s find you some pajamas, then we’ll comb and dry your hair.”

With the towel clutched around her, Mercedes followed Isabel into Danilo’s room and watched her dig through a small chest of drawers. Pulling out a pair of colorful briefs, Isabel frowned and glanced at Mercedes. “Boy pants,” she said with clear dissatisfaction. “We’ll ask Eli to bring you some things tomorrow.” Then she brightened. “I can make you a nightgown. With lace.” Her eyes sparkled as she made a fluttering motion with her fingers, girl to girl.

Mercedes grinned and copied the gesture.

Oh, God had sent her to a place of richness. She had been frightened when Eli put her in the little blue car and backed away, making it clear he wasn’t coming. But he’d said he would visit and bring her a doll. Mercedes didn’t care so much about a doll, but if it came with Eli, then everything would be all right.

Isabel was engulfed by darkness. Standing high atop the apex of el puente negro, the old iron railroad bridge that arched across the Rio Grande, she knew that Piedras Negras lay to the south and Eagle Pass to the north. But with the city lights extinguished, she couldn’t tell up from down, right from left.

Fear made her fingertips tingle and her stomach lurch. If she stepped an inch in any direction she would plunge into the black water. Nothing to break her fall.

Then she saw a light, two lights approaching from the American side, swinging side-to-side as if looking for something. Rico. It had to be Rico and Jack, on patrol. Illegal aliens attempted to swim across here nearly every night.

But it was late. Rico should have been home an hour ago. Anger replaced her fear. She opened her mouth to call out. If she could get Rico’s attention, he’d get her down, and they could go home. Danilo missed his daddy reading a bedtime comic book story.

Her voice wouldn’t come out. Mute, she watched the lights reach the cane at the edge of the water.

Suddenly the silence was broken by gunshots. Popping and pinging with obscene rhythm. Clang on metal, thud into wood. One of the lights collapsed, splintered by the cane, doused in the water.

Isabel teetered on the bridge, unable to scream, terrified beyond expression. Sweat poured in streams between her breasts, soaking her nightgown, and tears dripped off her chin.

Rico was gone. If she’d just been able to tell him one more time how much she loved him, maybe he would have come home on time.

Baby, I’m sorry I was angry. I loved you so much.

Now he would never come home, and she was going to have to stand on this bridge alone forever.

She woke up with a start, covered in sweat.

Eli bent down to ruffle the ears of Isabel’s dog as he walked up her front porch steps. He’d just gotten off duty and hadn’t even been home yet, but he had to find out if Mercedes had communicated anything to Isabel during the last two days.

“Sit, Fonzie,” he said, snapping his fingers. The dog slurped Eli’s fingers one more time and obeyed, one eye cocked for potential treats. “Dude, you are no Lassie,” Eli told him as he knocked on the door.

The relaxing of Isabel’s shoulders when she opened the door and scanned him from head to toe made him glad he’d changed into civilian clothes before walking down the street to her house.

She smiled. “Eli. Hi, come in.” She looked beautiful as always, but there was a tired droop to her dark eyes.

“Hope my timing’s not bad,” he said, stepping into the tiny foyer.

“No, I’m just putting the kids to bed. Danilo’s in the tub.” She pushed a wavy lock of black hair behind her ear. “Did you come to check on Mercedes?”

“Not really,” he replied, following her into the den. “I know you’re taking good care of her. I was just wondering how, uh, communication’s going.”

“It’s amazing what you can do with hand motions.” Isabel hesitated. “Sit down, would you like something to drink?” she said in a rush as she headed for the kitchen.

“No, thanks, I just ate supper.” Eli looked around and decided the leather recliner looked more comfortable than the sofa. He plopped into it with a sigh.

Isabel turned and stopped. Barefoot, dressed in a pair of white shorts and a pink knit top, she looked about fifteen years old. In a long silence, color came and went in her cheeks.

Eli swallowed. What had he done wrong? “Are you ok-k-kay, Isabel?”

She took a sudden breath. “I’m fine. I’m just—” She laughed. “Never mind. Let me just check on Danilo. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the back of the house, leaving Eli scratching his head. “Maybe I should have asked for a root beer,” he muttered.

As a series of whalelike splashes came from the bathroom, he picked up an unfinished sampler lying on the lamp table. “This precious treasure” was all it said. Eli knew nothing about sewing, but even he could see that Isabel was a gifted needlewoman. Every stitch of the elaborate border was carefully executed, and the back side of the fabric was as neat as the front.

Suddenly he was aware of Mercedes standing in the doorway. Her damp hair hung in wavy hanks around her shoulders, and she had on a pink nightie with lace edging just brushing her bare feet. He smiled as the little toes curled.

When he crooked a finger, Mercedes sidled toward him. She came as far as Isabel’s mahogany rocker and sat down, where she continued to watch Eli with sober brown eyes.

Mercedes made the sign for woman, then pretty. She pantomimed sewing and brushed her hands down the front of her gown. Clearly she was proud of the garment.

“Isabel made it for you?” he guessed aloud. “Isabel?” he repeated slowly, as she watched his lips.

Mercedes nodded, beaming, and made the sign for beautiful again.

Eli grinned. “Oh, yeah. She is.”

He’d love to know what was going on behind Mercedes’s intelligent expression. He’d been using every spare minute to study an American Sign Language book he’d checked out of the library. This would be a good time to practice.

But before he could do more than ask Mercedes how old she was, and discover that she was seven, Isabel came back into the room with Danilo riding piggyback.

“Eli!” shouted the little boy. “Let’s play baseball!”

“Maybe next time, cowboy.” Eli glanced at Isabel. “It’s already dark outside.”

“You’re on your way to bed, Nilo,” said Isabel. “Tell Eli good-night.” She held out a hand to Mercedes. “You, too, sweetie.”

Mercedes let Isabel pull her to her feet. To Eli’s astonishment, the little girl blew him a kiss before heading for the bedrooms.

Isabel’s eyes widened, too, but she leaned over to let Danilo and Eli high-five over her shoulder. The subtle, spicy scent of roses, along with the sweetness of bubblegum toothpaste, gave Eli an odd, familiar pang from his childhood that made him wish he could kick the recliner back and stay indefinitely.

He suddenly understood Isabel’s flustered behavior when he’d sat down in the recliner. It must have been Rico’s favorite place. The husband chair. The daddy chair.

Eli jumped to his feet.

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