Authors: Rochelle Alers
S
erena Morris took a back staircase up to her mother’s bedroom. Heaviness weighed on her narrow shoulders like a leaded blanket. She had felt so helpless once she realized there was nothing she could do to change her brother’s mind. Her letters were returned and her calls went unanswered. It was as if Gabriel Vega had divorced his family.
His eyes—she would never forget the vacant, haunted look in his dark eyes when their gazes met across the space in the Florida courtroom. His glance was furtive before he turned his head and stared ahead while pleading innocent to the formal charges of drug trafficking and murder. When he was led out of the courtroom he refused to meet her gaze again.
She and Gabe were only four years apart, yet she’d always felt much older. When her mother had come
home from the hospital with the baby, she held her arms out and said firmly, “Mine.”
Juanita Morris-Vega had glanced at her beaming husband, then placed the sleeping, three-day-old infant boy in his half sister’s outstretched arms. The little girl and boy, who uncannily shared the same birthday, bonded instantly, and over the years had become inseparable.
Marking her way down the cool, wide hallway, Serena realized she had almost forgotten how beautiful the house in Limón was. A white, two-story, stucco structure built on a hill overlooking the lush rain forest, it claimed expansive hallways, arched entrances, highly waxed mahogany floors, and whitewashed walls. It was a home designed in the manner of a spacious Spanish
hacienda
. She had once called the house home, but now her one-bedroom apartment in a teeming New York City neighborhood was home.
Her stepfather had named the house
La Montaña
. Her mother much preferred their smaller residence in San José because of the capital city’s cooler temperatures. Serena never tired of coming to
La Montaña
. She was never bothered by the heat.
Knocking lightly on the solid mahogany door, she pushed it open. The lengthening morning shadows shrouded the petite figure of Juanita Vega reclining on a massive, antique four-poster bed. Moving closer, Serena watched for movement which would indicate that her mother was awake.
“Mother?” she whispered.
Juanita sat up and stared at her daughter as if she were an apparition. “Serena!” There was no mistaking the elation in her voice.
Seconds later Serena found herself in her mother’s embrace, inhaling the familiar fragrance of Joy. Her
mother had worn the perfume since the first time Raul had given it to her, after the birth of Gabriel.
“I knew you would come. I prayed you’d come,” Juanita said softly.
“I couldn’t stay away, Mother. You need me and I need you.”
Juanita pulled back and stared at a face so much like her own. Her daughter claimed a perfectly round face with large eyes that barely slanted upward at the corners. Her hair and eyes were an exact match: a warm brown with gold highlights. As she smiled, her gaze inched over Serena’s short, pert nose and full, pouting mouth.
It was hard to believe that her oldest child was thirty years old, because everything about her appearance was so delicately and delightfully young. Perhaps if she secured her crinkling hair in a severe chignon it would detract from her youthful appearance, but she doubted it. Her daughter had inherited her dominant genes. At fifty-eight, Juanita could easily pass for a woman in her early forties.
Serena stared back at her mother, noting the evidence of strain on her delicate face. Her eyes were swollen from what she knew had been constant weeping, and her cheekbones were more pronounced, indicating that she had lost weight she could not afford to lose. Juanita Vega was an inch shorter than her own five-foot-four inches, and weighed no more than one hundred ten pounds. She estimated that the older woman’s weight now hovered closer to one hundred.
“You’ve lost weight, Mother.” A disapproving frown accompanied the accusation.
Juanita closed her eyes. “I can’t eat or sleep. The thought that my son is accused of being a murderer
haunts me day and night. I can believe anything except that he murdered someone.”
“Gabe must not have known about the drugs being on that boat, and the story about him shooting that DEA agent with his own gun is preposterous. Law enforcement people are trained to apprehend and subdue a suspect, not let themselves be overpowered so that their own lives are at risk.”
“That doesn’t change the charge of murder,” Juanita argued, her eyes filling with tears.
“No, it doesn’t,” Serena acknowledged, “but something tells me that Gabe will not be found guilty of any of the charges.”
“Right now I’m not as confident as you are.” She dabbed her eyes with an embroidered linen handkerchief. “What I can’t understand is what he was doing hanging around with the son of a drug lord.”
“You know he and Guillermo Barranda are friends. Ex-college roommates.”
Running a fragile hand over her face, Juanita shook her head. “Of all of the people to form a friendship with, he had to find the spawn of the most ruthless man in the Western Hemisphere. I should’ve listened to Raul—”
“Don’t say it, Mother,” Serena interrupted. “It’s too late to say what you should’ve said or done. Gabe wanted to go to an American college, and he did. And if he hadn’t, who’s to say that he wouldn’t have met Guillermo Barranda at another time or another place? Poppa made certain that he has the best defense attorney in the state of Florida, and it’s only a matter of time before Gabe will come back home.” She prayed silently that she was right.
Smiling, she pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead. “I’m here now, and it’s my turn to take care of you.”
Stiffening in Serena’s embrace, Juanita held her breath before letting it out slowly. “How long do you intend to stay?”
“I’ve taken a three-month leave of absence.”
Juanita pulled back and stared at her daughter, knowing that Serena had waged a long and bitter battle for a promotion as nursing supervisor at a prestigious New York City hospital. Now, a week after obtaining the job title, she had taken a leave of absence.
Holding up her hand Serena said softly, “Don’t say anything. I know what I’m doing.
Mi familia
comes before my career.”
La familia
. It was something Juanita had come to cherish as she had matured. Her husband and her children were her only earthly treasures.
The roles reversed themselves as Serena sat on the bed with Juanita, holding her gently to her heart and easing the pain her mother had carried for the past two weeks.
David Cole lay across the large bed in his hotel room waiting for the telephone call which would inform him that Raul Vega would meet with him. Their prearranged meeting for four o’clock that afternoon had been canceled, and the delay had not improved his disposition.
Two weeks—fourteen—days was all he’d allowed himself to negotiate and close on the sale of the banana plantation.
Resting his head on folded arms, he closed his eyes. Only now that he lay on the bed did he realize how exhausted he was. Eating rich foods, drinking alcoholic concoctions, and dancing until dawn had taken its toll. His head was throbbing and his mouth was unnaturally dry.
There were times when he’d engaged in two- to three-day binges of nonstop performing, drinking, and dancing, collapsing only when his debilitated body refused to remain in an upright position.
Now that he was experiencing the lingering effects of the prior night’s carnival-like reveling he wondered if he really did miss his former lifestyle. A slow, crooked smile creased his sun-browned face as deep dimples winked boyishly in each of his lean cheeks. “I do,” he whispered to the silent space. And he did.
He’d barely drifted off to sleep before the telephone on the bedside table rang loudly.
Picking up before the second ring, David spoke into the receiver. “Cole.”
“Señor Cole, I’ve been instructed to take you to Señor Vega. He has offered you the hospitality of his home for your stay in Costa Rica.”
As he registered the unfamiliar male voice a slight frown creased David’s forehead. “Tell Señor Vega that I thank him for his generosity, but I prefer the hospitality of my own hotel suite.” He did not want to give Vega the advantage of home court. As it was,
he
was a foreigner in the man’s country.
“But, Señor Cole, he insists.”
“And I insist on remaining at my hotel.”
“I’ll tell Señor Vega.”
“You do just that,” David countered angrily before hanging up.
Swinging his trousered legs over the side of the bed, he stood up. Going back to sleep was impossible after the phone call. Raul Cordero-Vega had become his nemesis. He was willing to sell the banana plantation—at a sizable loss if necessary—and still Vega continued to harass him. The Interior Minister would never see
or treat him as an equal. David did not care anymore. Vega would come to him, on his terms, or he would let the bananas fall off the trees and rot where they lay.
Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it off and flung it on a chair in the opulently decorated bedroom. Minutes later his trousers and underwear followed. He would shower, change clothes, then order something to eat from room service.
Making his way into the bathroom, he turned on and adjusted the water temperature in the shower stall until it was a refreshing lukewarm. Standing under the spray of the water was invigorating. It rained down on his liberally gray-streaked black hair, plastering the short strands to his scalp. Turning his face up to the force of water coming from the showerhead, he closed his eyes. He waited a full minute, opened his eyes, then adjusted the water temperature, letting it run cold until icy, stinging fingers massaged his body.
He felt the chill, then a surge of warmth, but when he turned to his right it was too late. The figure of a man stood at his side, arm raised above his head.
David moved quickly, but not quickly enough. A huge fist cradling a small object came down alongside his temple. He felt blinding heat explode over his left eye before everything faded as he slumped lifelessly to the floor of the shower stall, his right leg twisted awkwardly under his body.
The man, who stood more than half a foot taller than David Cole’s six-foot-two and outweighed him by more than sixty pounds, leaned over and turned off the water. Bending down, he lifted David effortlessly from the floor of the shower stall as if he weighed no more than a small child. Returning to the bedroom, he laid the inert
body on the bed, wrapped him in a sheet, then zipped him into a ventilated body bag.
Two other men gathered everything belonging to David Cole. Within minutes the lifeless man, his luggage, and his captors rode a freight elevator to the basement and made their way out of the hotel to an awaiting van. The encroaching darkness shadowed their movements, and if anyone saw them they would be identified as hotel staff, because their coveralls bore the name and insignia of the Hotel L’Ambiance.
David Claridge Cole was on his way to Puerto Limón—reclining.
Puerto Limón, Costa Rica
R
odrigo knocked on the door to his boss’s study, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. The abduction had not gone well. Señor Cole was now in Limon, but he doubted whether Raul Cordero-Vega would be pleased with the man’s condition.
“
Sí
,” Raul barked behind the door.
Rodrigo pushed it open and stepped into the room. Raul sat in the dark, his back to the door. The only light coming into the large room was from a full moon.
“There is a problem, Señor.”
“What kind of a problem?” Raul asked, not turning around.
“He has arrived.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s—he’s in the van, Señor.”
“In the van where?”
“Along the road leading to
La Montaña
. We had a flat tire.”
“Did you walk here, Rodrigo?” Raul’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“
Sí
, Señor Vega.”
“Señor Cole is younger and stronger than you are, Rodrigo. There should not be a problem for him to make it up the road.”
“
Pero—
”
“But what?” Raul still did not stir from his sitting position.
“He has been injured.”
Raul stiffened, but did not stand. “Injured how?”
“A head wound, Señor Vega.”
“How serious?”
“He needs a doctor.”
The chair clattered noisily to the floor as Raul sprang to his feet. “Fools and idiots! I’m surrounded by complete idiots! I don’t care how you do it, but get him up to the house, then go get the doctor! And let me remind you that if he dies—”
“
Sí
, Señor Vega,” Rodrigo said quickly as he closed the door softly, shutting out the sound of his boss’s ranting.
Raul walked over to the sliding French doors leading out to the gallery, and stared into the silvery moonlight. Rodrigo and the men he had hired to abduct David Cole had bungled it. Shaking his head slowly, he prayed that the American wasn’t seriously injured. He needed a live body to trade for a live body. David Cole would be of no use to him dead.
Forty-five minutes had elapsed when Rodrigo knocked on the door and informed Raul that David Cole was at
La Montaña
.
“He is in the bedroom at the back of the house,” Rodrigo said softly. “The doctor is on his way.”
“Have someone get rid of the van and pay the men so much money that they’ll forget their own mother’s names if they are questioned by anyone,” Raul ordered.
Rodrigo nodded, backed out of the room, and closed the door. He had managed to redeem himself.
Raul crossed the room and opened the door. His footsteps were muffled by the carpeted runner along the length of the wide hallway as he took the back staircase to the room which was to become David Cole’s prison cell. A cell much better than the one where Gabriel now resided.
He did not realize how rapidly his heart was pumping when he stepped into the bedroom and stared at the motionless body of the arrogant young man who had openly insulted him during their last encounter.
Soft, golden light shone on David’s handsome face, but it wasn’t until he stood over the prone figure that Raul saw the damage to the left side of his face. His eye was swollen shut and the blood pooling in his ear had drained out onto the pillow cradling his head.
Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Raul turned quickly and left the room. Minutes later, he knocked on the door of his stepdaughter’s bedroom. He had ordered her not to return to Costa Rica, but was thankful that she had disobeyed him.
“
Chica
, I need you.” His voice came out in a harsh whisper. He didn’t want to wake up his wife, who was now resting comfortably in a room at the opposite end of the hallway.
Serena laid aside the book she’d been reading and scrambled from her bed when she heard her father’s voice, pushing her arms into the sleeves of a silken robe.
Not bothering to put on her slippers, she opened the door and found him pacing back and forth.
“What’s the matter, Poppa?”
Raul grabbed her hand. “Someone is injured and he needs immediate medical assistance.”
As they raced along the hallway, Serena’s pulse quickened. “Where is his injury?”
“His head.”
Raul watched Serena move into the bedroom where David lay motionless on a large four-poster bed. Turning a switch on a lamp, she flooded the space with more light.
Holding the lamp aloft, she stared at the face of the man sprawled on the bed. She didn’t notice the sensual perfection of his generous mouth, the arching curve of jet-black eyebrows, and the stubborn set of a strong chin. But she did see that his nose seemed too long and too delicate for his arresting face. Thick black lashes lay on his high cheekbones like brushes of silk, while the hair covering his scalp reminded her of the shimmering feathers on the wings of a large gray and black bird. And just for a brief moment she wondered what color his eyes were. Would they be as dark as his hair, or would they be a compelling lighter contrast to his sun-browned, olive skin?
She sat down on the side of the bed and picked up his hand, measuring his pulse. It fluttered weakly under her fingertips. He was still alive! Placing a hand on his forehead, she pulled it away quickly. His flesh was hot and dry.
“Hold the lamp, Poppa, while I take a better look.”
Raul moved closer and took the lamp from her. He averted his gaze as Serena’s fingers moved gently over David’s head and cheek.
“He needs a doctor,” she concluded. “He’s going to need sutures to close the wound along his temple. He also must have antibiotics to combat any infections that may have set in. His fever is probably somewhere near one-o-three.”
Raul’s hand wavered slightly. “I’ve already sent for one. Is he going to make it?”
Serena’s gaze met his. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re a nurse. You should know.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I’m a health care professional, not a miracle worker. And my professional opinion is that if the bleeding doesn’t stop, or if his body temperature continues to rise, then yes, he will die.”
“He can’t,” Raul whispered.
“I’ll stay with him and do what I can until the doctor arrives.”
Raul placed the lamp on the side table and raced out of the room. He needed to make certain Rodrigo had sent for the doctor. He had been called many things, but he was not a murderer. As much as he despised David Cole, he never would have deliberately taken his life. Besides, he needed the man alive.
Serena unwrapped the sheet covering David’s body, searching for other wounds. The golden light illuminated a perfectly formed male body that appeared to be at the peak of superior conditioning. There wasn’t an ounce of excess flesh or fat on his frame. He was lean and muscular at the same time. There was no doubt that he worked out regularly.
Her professional gaze moved slowly over the matted hair on his chest, his flat belly, and down to his long, muscular legs. Her fingers went to his right ankle. It
was swollen twice its normal size, and she hoped it was only severely sprained, not broken.
A flurry of questions swirled in her mind as she retreated to an adjoining bathroom and filled a large ceramic pitcher with cool water. Cradling the pitcher in a matching bowl, she carried them back to the bedroom. She returned to the bathroom a second time and came back with a facecloth and towel. She needed to cleanse the wound and attempt to check the bleeding.
Sitting on the side of the bed, Serena emptied half the pitcher of water into the bowl. Methodically, she wet the cloth, wrang it out, then laid it gently along the cheek of the man lying so still, so motionless, on the bed in her parents’ guest bedroom.
She repeated the motion at least a dozen times before most of the blood was washed away. Her eyebrows shifted when she finally surveyed the extent of the wound. Her diagnosis was correct: he would require sutures. The open laceration began at the sphenoid bone and ended mid-cheek; she doubted whether it would heal without leaving a noticeable scar.
David stirred restlessly as he tried surfacing from the heavy darkness holding him prisoner. His tongue felt as if it were too large for his mouth, and the pain in his head tightened like a vise. Had someone put something in his drink?
Opening his mouth several times he tried forming the words, but nothing came out. Was he mute? After several attempts he managed, “
Tengo dolor
.”
Serena placed a cool hand on his hot forehead. Even though he wasn’t fully conscious he’d spoken Spanish, and she assumed it was his native tongue.
“I know you’re in pain,” she replied in the same language. “You’ve hurt your head.” Resting the cool cloth
over his left eye, she pulled his head to her breasts, cradling him gently.
David mumbled incoherently before he retreated to a place where there was no pain. He felt himself floating, high above the ground. He floated above treetops, sailing along the wind currents with large, powerful birds.
A sweet, haunting fragrance wafted in his nostrils, and he wondered how was he able to smell flowers so close to heaven. He soared higher and higher, then fell headlong toward the earth in a dizzying tailspin. He opened his mouth to scream. However, nothing came out. The ground rose up quickly to meet him, but instead of crashing he was lifted up again.
This time he felt a pair of comforting arms holding him gently and the voice of an angel telling him that he was going to be all right. She was going to take care of him. Something unknown whispered that he had died and gone to heaven.
Serena realized the man in her arms had quieted, retreating to a world of darkness and forgetfulness once again. She eased his head onto another pillow, noting that the flow of blood had slowed. Covering his body with a sheet, she turned and left the room. She needed to change her clothes before the doctor arrived.
It wasn’t until she was in her bedroom that she wondered about the man, wanting to know who he was, what had happened to him so that he’d sustained such a serious injury, and what he was doing at
La Montaña.
She quickly exchanged her bathrobe and nightgown for a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt. At the last minute she brushed and secured her curly hair off her
face with an elastic headband, displaying her round face to its most attractive advantage.
It had taken her less than ten minutes to change her clothes, but in that time the doctor had arrived and begun an extensive examination of the injuries of the man in the bed at Interior Minister Raul Cordero-Vega’s country residence.
Standing in a far corner of the bedroom next to her father, Serena stared at the incredibly young looking doctor as he checked his patient’s vital signs.
“Who is he, Poppa?” she asked Raul quietly.
“Dr. Rivera.”
“Not the doctor.”
Raul hesitated. He had to tell Serena the truth—or most of it. She would find out eventually. “His name is David Cole. He’s an American businessman.”
“What is he doing in Costa Rica?”
“He came to meet with me.”
Serena shifted a delicately arched eyebrow. “What happened to him?”
“Rodrigo found him in an abandoned van several kilometers from the house. He recognized him and brought him here.”
Her next question died on her lips as the doctor stood up and motioned for Raul.
“Señor Vega. I’d like to talk to you.” He put up a hand as Serena followed closely behind her father. “Please, Señorita, do not come any closer.”
“It’s all right, Dr. Rivera. My daughter is a nurse,” Raul explained.
Leandro Rivera’s eyes widened as he took in the petite figure beside one of Costa Rica’s most revered
government officials. He knew Vega had a son, but he hadn’t known of a daughter.
He smiled easily. “Will you assist me, Señorita Vega?”
“It’s Morris, not Vega,” she corrected quickly. “And yes, I will assist you.”
Raul missed the obvious interest in Leandro Rivera’s gaze as the young doctor stared openly at Serena. “How is he, Doctor?”
Leandro jerked his attention back to Raul. “He’s suffered a severe concussion. There’s been some trauma to the orbit opening and sphenoid bone. His right ankle is also severely bruised. I won’t know if there’s a break unless it is X-rayed. But it’s his head injury that concerns me.”
“My daughter said that he’s going to need to be sutured.”
Leandro nodded. “She’s correct. The laceration is too deep to close on its own.”
“What are his chances for surviving?”
“I wish I could be more optimistic, Señor Vega, but we’ll have to wait.”
“How long?” Raul snapped in frustration.
“We’ll have to wait to see whether he regains consciousness, and if the medication I give him will counteract the infections in his body. Even if we can break his fever, there still is the risk that he may have sustained some brain damage.”
Serena placed a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Poppa, Dr. Rivera and I will take over now. Please go and wait in your study for us to do what we have to do here.”
Raul stared at Serena, a gamut of emotions crossing his face. It was the second time that night that she’d ordered him about. The tiny girl he had taken into his
household and claimed as his own daughter had grown up into a beautiful woman who was still a stranger to him. And it was only now that he realized that he had never taken the time to get to know who Serena Morris actually was. He had called her daughter, yet had never legally adopted her. She continued to carry the name of a man who had not lived long enough to see her birth; a man whose face she only knew through old photographs, while he had bounced her on his knee, sung native Costa Rican songs to her, and nicknamed her
Chica.
He loved her, but he hadn’t given her the attention he had given his son. Gabriel was the fruit of his loins, but Serena was the delight of his heart. She was the joy in his life, because she looked so much like the woman he had fallen in love with at first sight.
He might have temporarily lost his son, but he still had a daughter. A daughter who would come to know the full extent of his love before she returned home to the United States.