Heaven Sent (8 page)

“It is. Raul is my stepfather.”

David continued to stare at the woman who was the most exotic female he had ever met. The color of her flesh, the blend of her brown and reddish curling hair, and the perfection of her round face and features transfixed him as no other woman had. Her nearness and her fragrant skin heated him until his body reacted violently with a swift rushing desire. He was grateful to be sitting as he placed both hands in his lap.

“How old were you when he married your mother?”

“Two. My father died before I was born.”

He examined her closed expression as she stared out the French doors. David did not know how, but he felt what she was feeling, and it was sadness, sadness that was heavy and haunting, knowing all was not right in the Cordero-Vega household. He remembered her tirade about her brother dying.

“Where’s your brother, Serena?”

She jumped, startled, even though David’s question was spoken softly, caressingly, and what she wanted to do was cry. Gabriel, her brother, the other half of her, was locked away from her. She couldn’t hold him or
comfort him. Was he treated harshly? Did he get enough to eat? Was he protected from the hardened prisoners who had made incarceration a way of life?

“He’s in Florida,” she began in a quiet voice.

“Where in Florida?”

Serena did not answer right away as she struggled to bring her fragile emotions under control. “He’s in a federal prison,” she whispered.

“On what charges?”

Turning her head, she stared up at David. Leaning forward, he stared down at her. David Cole was a stranger, yet she felt as if she had known him for years. Her interaction with him had been impersonal since he had taken refuge in her parents’ home, but for some unknown reason she wanted to pour her heart out to him.

Glancing away, she said, “Murder and drug trafficking.”

David slumped against the high back of the comfortable armchair. He was a Floridian, and he knew the laws in Florida were harsh and punitive when it came to murder and drugs. Who had her brother been involved with? Was he also an American?

“What happened, Serena?”

She did not answer, could not. Her vocal chords constricted, not permitting her to speak. Closing her eyes, she could see Gabriel’s closed expression as he stood in the Florida courtroom while the federal prosecutor read the charges against him.

“He’s been charged with smuggling, and killing a DEA agent.” Her tone was flat, emotionless. Each time she had to repeat those charges she felt as if someone had pierced her heart with a sharp instrument, allowing the blood to flow unchecked.

“Who was he involved with?”

Her head came up quickly at the same time she rose to her feet. “He wasn’t involved with anyone,” she snapped angrily. “He went on a sailing trip with a group of college friends. Their boat was intercepted by the Coast Guard and DEA—”

“Was he with Guillermo Barranda?” David interrupted.

She went completely still, her eyes widening in shock. “How did you know that?”

“I’m from Florida,” he explained, speaking English for the first time since Serena had come into the bedroom. “The media coverage of the drug bust and the death of a DEA agent was paramount for about a week. The only name I remembered was Guillermo Barranda. The rumor is that his father heads the largest drug cartel in South America.” A frown furrowed his forehead. “What was your brother doing with someone like Barranda?”

“They were college roommates.”

David grunted, shaking his head. “Someone should’ve told him to change roommates.”

“Since when do you blame children for the sins of their parents?” she shot back angrily.

Her words slapped David as if she had physically struck him. He had no right to judge the younger Barranda. There were enough skeletons in his own family closet to rattle for several generations. There was a time when the Coles were rife with alienation and bitterness for more years than he could count. It was only within the past five years that things had changed and his parents, brothers, and sisters had reconciled with one another.

Lowering his right foot and using the armrests, he
pushed to his feet, swaying before he righted himself. “You’re right, Serena.
I
of all people should be the last to judge someone else for what his father has done,” he replied cryptically.

Standing, she stared at the middle of his hair-matted chest rather than meet his gaze; she had heard rumors about her stepfather—nasty rumors about his abuse of the powers of his office—and had always forgiven him because of his passion for the country of his birth. She and her mother had never permitted themselves to become involved with the political machinations that controlled Raul Vega and turned him into a nationalistic zealot.

Nodding, she said, “The adage is true—those who live in glass houses should not throw stones.”

He flashed a slow, sensual smile. “Amen.”

Serena wound an arm around his waist, feeling the heat from his body seep into her own through the red silk dress. The natural fragrance of his masculine skin was hypnotic and cloying.

They made their way slowly across the room to the bed. David sat down hard, breathing heavily. The effort it had taken for him to get out of bed and make it over the chair had drained his strength. He had been prepared to spend the night on the chair if Serena hadn’t returned.

She raised his legs and eased them onto the bed as he lay down. Pulling a sheet up to his waist, she smiled at him. “Dr. Rivera wants you ambulatory. He’s sending over a cane to help you keep your balance. We’ll start you with taking your meals out of bed. It may take a few days, but as soon as the swelling in your ankle lessens you’ll be able to shower by yourself.”

This news pleased him. “Thank you.”

Serena stared at David. It was the first time since he was brought into
La Montaña
that he’d shown any measure of humility. “You’re welcome.” Patting his muscled shoulder, she flashed her winning smile. “Sleep well.”

David closed his eyes, a smile curving his lips. He still could see Serena, smell her, hear the sound of her throaty voice, and savor the gentle touch of her healing hands. She was his special angel, sent from heaven to give him back his life, and what he wanted to do when he left Costa Rica was take her with him. He never thought that perhaps it was gratitude that drew him to her, because he knew it wasn’t. It was something else; something he could not quite identify. Not yet.

June 16

S
erena woke as the sun pierced the dark cover of night. Streaks of lavender, mauve, and pale blue had crisscrossed the heavens by the time she had splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, slipped into a sports bra, T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes, and secured her hair atop her head with an elastic headband. The warm rays filtered over her exposed flesh the moment she stepped out onto the veranda. Instinctively she knew she had only another hour before the tropical heat made it virtually impossible for her to jog her daily three miles.

Making her way out of her bedroom, she noticed a black leather garment bag and matching, oversized Pullman outside the door to David’s bedroom. She assumed someone had found his luggage and delivered it
to
La Montaña
. She would speak to Rodrigo after she returned from her jog.

Rodrigo, along with Luz Maria, was responsible for the day-to-day operation of
La Montaña
. Luz Maria oversaw the kitchen and every aspect of the interior of the large house, while Rodrigo saw to the exterior. He kept the automobiles in working order and made certain the landscaping crew maintained the grounds, greenhouse, and the aviary. He was silent, inconspicuous, and very efficient.

She stretched vigorously, loosening up before she half-walked and half-jogged down the path to the beach. A blue-gray haze hung over the nearby rain forest like a heavy shroud. The raucous sounds of birds filled the air, their differing cries blending like an orchestra warming up before the start of their staged performance.

This was the Costa Rica Serena loved: the heat, the cries of the birds, the clear, blue-green of the Caribbean, the thick, lush world of the rain forest, and the majestic splendor of
La Montaña
rising above the unspoiled perfection of a land not yet defiled by overpopulation or pollution.

Inhaling the cloying fragrance of flowers growing without boundaries, she could understand her stepfather’s fervent passion for protecting the land of his birth. It truly was a Garden of Eden. A garden he did not want debauched by the destructive waste that usually accompanied greed and avarice—all in the name of progress.

Dampness lathered her arms and legs long before she reached the beach and began a smooth, rhythmic run along the pristine, white sand. She had run less than a quarter of a mile when she saw tracks and a large turtle that had apparently come ashore to lay and
bury hundreds of eggs in the sand before returning to the sea.

The heat from the rising sun was oppressive, stealing precious breath from her lungs, and she knew it would be impossible to run more than a mile before passing out or becoming dehydrated. Stopping, she rested her hands on her hips and inhaled thick, hot air. She had jogged less than half a mile. She did not know how long she would stay in Costa Rica before returning to the States, but she knew that jogging every day was not possible. Her running the marathon was contingent on her logging a minimum of twenty miles a week, and she knew she was going to have to train differently if she were to remain in Costa Rica beyond a month.

Instead of running, she walked back to
La Montaña
. Limón was fully awake with the steady hum of cars and trucks traversing the paved roads as its citizens prepared for a day of work. As she neared the house she saw Rodrigo driving away, and wondered whether he was going to pick up her parents. She had wanted to call her mother, but decided to wait. She was certain that if Juanita had encouraging news she would’ve called her immediately.

Walking into the coolness of the house, Serena made her way up the back staircase to her bedroom. Glancing at the bags outside David Cole’s door, she noticed the quality of the leather and the monogrammed
DCC
emblazoned on gold along the sides of the Pullman and garment bag.

There were so many questions about David that she wanted answered. If his family was as prominent and wealthy as Leandro had hinted, why hadn’t she heard of them? And where had he learned to speak flawless Spanish?

She forgot everything about David as she stripped off her clothes and stood under the cool spray of a shower while she washed her hair and her body.

A quarter of an hour later she walked into David’s bedroom, hair billowing around her head and face in a sensual cloud of red-brown curls. She had applied an oil-based lotion to the damp strands where they crinkled in soft, loose ringlets.

David turned to stare at Serena the moment he detected the fragrance of her perfume. It wasn’t the same as the one she wore the night before. The last time he saw her she was wearing the red silk dress, but this morning she wore a pair of khaki shorts with an oversize T-shirt. Again, he was transfixed by the perfection of her legs.

“Good morning.”

They shared a smile. They had spoken in unison.

“Good morning, David.”

His smile widened. “Good morning, Serena.” Pushing himself up, he supported his upper body on his elbows. “Can you help me to the bathroom?”

She arched an eyebrow, returning his winning smile. “Of course.”

Slipping an arm under his knees, she swung his legs around until his feet touched the floor. Moving to his right side, she provided the extra support he needed when he gingerly placed his weight on his injured foot. They made it to the bathroom and she helped him over to the commode.

“I know,” he began as she opened her mouth. “I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

“You learn quickly. I like that,” she teased.

I like you
, David said silently as he stared at her retreating figure. And he did. He had awakened early and
he lay in bed thinking about Serena. She yelled at him and bullied him, and these were traits he did not like in a woman. The women he found himself involved with were typically submissive and compliant. They did not challenge him or issue demands. And he usually told them from the onset that he could not promise more than he was able to give at the time, and most knew he had no intention of marrying or fathering children. Some accepted his stance, while many did not. As a result he had had very few serious relationships that continued beyond two years.

It was said that men usually married women much like their mothers, and David had come to the realization that he was looking for a woman like his mother. Marguerite Cole was quiet and extremely tolerant. She had permitted her much more effusive husband to see to her every need and desire, while she concentrated on nurturing her children and safeguarding her household. Any issues aside from her home and children she left to Samuel Claridge Cole. What he didn’t understand was his attraction to Serena, because she was
not
like his mother.

When he had reluctantly left his world of music behind and assumed control of ColeDiz International, Ltd., David found, much to his chagrin, that he took to business like a duck to water. It was less than a year after he’d become CEO that he realized that he was a much more astute businessman than a natural musician. Music was a passion he worked hard at, while business came naturally. What he wanted to do was conclude the sale of the banana plantation and return to the States.

He did not know why, but when he left Costa Rica he did not want to leave Serena Morris behind. He wanted her to return with him.

She assisted him as he washed his face and brushed his teeth. It frustrated him that he was unable to perform the mundane tasks of maintaining the most basic of hygienic functions without help. His head throbbed painfully as he hobbled back to the bedroom and fell across the bed, wondering how long it would take before the pain vanished, along with the accompanying weakness.

Serena observed David’s closed eyes and clenched teeth. He was putting up a brave front while suffering silently in pain. She realized whoever had assaulted him probably intended serious injury, or death. But who, she wondered, wanted him dead? And for what reason?

“I’ll bring you something to eat,” she informed him softly. Giving him a lingering stare, she turned and walked out of the room.

The dull pain that radiated along the left side of his face would not permit him to nod or speak. He did not want anything to eat. What he wanted was for the pain to go away—for good.

Serena walked through the narrow hallway at the rear of the house that led to the kitchen. Instinctively she utilized the rear of the house to gain access to the kitchen. She realized it was something she and Gabriel did as children on many occasions. When their parents entertained guests in the living room or formal dining room, they had sometimes left their beds and cajoled Luz Maria into giving them samples of the fancy concoctions she had prepared for the elegantly attired visitors.

There were times when she’d spent more time with Luz Maria than she had with her own mother. She loved the fragrant aromas wafting from the large pots on the massive stove and broiling meat in the oven. The cook
taught her to bake her own bread, cure meats, and prepare a dish of perfectly steamed white rice whose grains shimmered with the olive oil used during its cooking process.

Built-in shelves along the kitchen walls claimed jars filled with dried herbs and spices grown in
La Montaña’s
greenhouse. Luz Maria had been given her own section in the structure where she carefully tended the medicinal plants she used to counteract fever, pain, boils, and a plethora of infections and ailments.

Luz Maria Hernando glanced up when Serena walked into the kitchen. Her dark gaze softened as she studied the woman she’d watched flower into a natural beauty. Since she hadn’t married or had children, she’d secretly claimed Serena as her own. And the younger woman could have been her daughter because there was a marked resemblance between them: similar coloring and curly hair. At fifty-two, Luz Maria was ten pounds heavier than she had been at twenty-two, yet her body retained a slender firmness that still turned many a male head.

“
¡Buenos días!
, Doña Maria.”

“
¡Buenos días!, Princesa
. How is your guest?” she continued in English.

“He’s better, but still in some pain.”

“A lot of pain?”

Serena shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe it comes and goes.”

Luz Maria smiled. “I’ll fix him a different tea. It will take away the pain and not make him sleep so much.”

Serena watched as the cook walked over to a shelf and selected a jar with a length of yellow yarn tied around its neck. She smiled. Luz Maria had chosen to identify her herbs with colored yarn.

Sitting down on a tall stool near the thick, mahogany table, she studied Luz Maria as she spilled the contents of the jar onto the table and counted out four leaves. Crushing the leaves with her fingertips, she placed them in a small piece of cheesecloth, tied it with a length of thin, white cord, and put the bundle in a large ceramic mug. Ladling hot water from a large, simmering pot on the stove, she poured it over the cheesecloth, permitting the leaves to steep.

“He is young?” Luz Maria asked without taking her gaze from the steaming cup.

Serena smiled, studying the dark head streaked with shimmering strands of silver. “Yes, Doña Maria, he is young.”

Luz Maria glanced up, smiling. “He is married?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. Seeing the knowing smile curving the cook’s mouth, Serena leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Shifting an eyebrow, Luz Maria stopped smiling, and her expression grew serious. “Do you really want to know,
Chica?
” she questioned, using her stepfather’s term of endearment. “Do you really want to know what’s in your future?”

There were rumors that Luz Maria Hernando could tell one’s future, but Serena had always shied away from such superstition. She felt knowing one’s future could not prevent whatever was destined to happen.

Shaking her head, she said, “No.”

“I’ll respect your wishes, but one thing I’ll say is that the young man you’re taking care of will be a part of your future.”

A rush of blood heated her face. She did not want
David Cole in her life. The fact was that she did not want any man in her life—now or in the future.

“What about Gabriel? What is going to happen to him?” Her scathing tone mirrored her fear and frustration for her brother.

Luz Maria’s smooth, dusky-brown face creased into a sudden smile. Her novena had been answered. “Gabriel is safe.”

“Safe from whom?”

“Safe from himself, and those who seek to take his life.”

Slipping off the stool, Serena curved her arms around the older woman, inhaling the differing smells clinging to her body. She savored the fragrance of cloves, mint, and bergamot, while Luz Maria’s large, dark eyes narrowed in a smile. The blending of her African, Native Indian, and Spanish blood made for a seductive attractiveness that made Serena wonder why some man hadn’t claimed Luz Maria for his wife.

“Thank you, Doña Maria.” The woman had never lied to her.

“You want to know about your brother’s future, yet you hesitate to know your own.”

“Maybe before I leave Costa Rica again I’ll ask that you tell me.”

“You won’t have to ask,
Chica
. I
will
tell you whether you ask me or not, because you will need to know what to do.”

Serena pondered her cryptic statement as a chill raced down her spine, causing her to shiver noticeably.
Bruja
, she said to herself. Luz Maria had been called a witch by many of the people connected with
La Montaña
, but it was only now that she was inclined to believe them.

The iciness had not left her limbs even after she’d
carried a tray with the tea, a bowl of creamed rice cereal, and a glass of tropical fruit juice to David’s bedroom. Luz Maria’s prediction that Gabriel’s life would not end in a Florida prison cheered her, while the prophecy that her own would be inexorably entwined with David Cole’s unnerved her.

There was no doubt that she was attracted to him—only a blind woman would not be—but she wanted that attraction to be a superficial one. He was good-looking. No, she admitted, he was gorgeous. His rich, olive-brown coloring, liberally gray-flecked, black silky hair, delicate features, and dimpled smile were mesmerizing. His tall, muscular body was exquisitely formed, and his deep baritone voice was soft and melodious. The fact that he was wealthy, vain, and arrogant only added to his overall masculine appeal. In his arrogance he was very secure with who he was and what he had become.