“Catch the ball, dude.” He passed the basketball to the guy on his right and watched the man shoot a perfect, net-only basket. He whooped and thumped the guy on the back. “Now, that’s what I call shooting!”
Another flash.
The jungle, betrayal, fire. “Get out now!” The words ripped through his headphone. He looked back at the frightened eyes of the small child. “Come on, little one, we’ve got to go.” He gripped the small hand tight and pulled. The explosion rocked him, he lost his grip. “No!”
Another flash.
“Gabe, look out!” He pulled the trigger. The man stopped in shock, looked at the stain spreading across his chest, then staggered, fell forward and was still. Hard to breathe. Singed flesh stung his nose. Then…nothing.
Juan stumbled on with each clip of memory. He’d make sure Amy was safe, then examine what he’d just remembered. Excitement rippled through him. He was remembering. Oh, God, please let me remember.
Amy let Juan lead her back down the path; he hurried and she stumbled along behind him. The river rushed beside them. Juan kept looking over his shoulder.
“You think someone’s there?” she gasped between steps. “Why would someone be watching us?”
Juan glanced back again, “I’m not sure anyone is. But those darts didn’t come from nowhere, so I’m just going to be a little paranoid until we can figure that out.”
Amy, seeing his point, kept up the pace. Juan turned back one more time to look at her and before Amy could warn him, he ran into a low-hanging branch. It snagged his shirt and held on. Juan grunted, jerked away. The shirt ripped leaving a gaping hole and Amy gasped; her hands flying up to cover her mouth.
“I’m all right,” he reassured her. “It didn’t get much of me, just ruined a perfectly good shirt.”
Amy stared at the gap left by the torn garment. She couldn’t take her eyes from the exposed skin.
Juan saw her staring and flushed. “I know. It’s not pretty, is it?”
His puckered, tortured skin looked angry, shouting its fury at the devastation the fire had left behind. Amy realized he thought she was horrified by the scars, and she was, but that was only secondary in her mind. It was the birthmark over the lower part of his abdomen twining its way around to his back that had her transfixed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her fingers. She dropped her hands from her mouth to reach out as though to touch him, pulling back at the last second. Shock still shuddered through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
He glanced around behind her, then reached out and cupped her chin with his good hand, free of scars or ugly reminders. “Hey, it’s all right. Every time I see them, I just tell myself it’s better than the alternative.” Again he looked around, studied the bushes, the trees, but nothing moved. And still, Amy stared at him.
Tears leaked down her cheeks to mingle with the sweat already there. He shifted and through her fog, she sensed he’d become uncomfortable with her stare. “Do they repulse you?”
Amy jerked. “No, no, of course not. I’ve actually seen worse.”
“Then, come on. Let’s get on back. I don’t think anyone is there, but…” He took her hand again and tugged.
Amy followed mindlessly, still in a state of utter disbelief, danger forgotten. How many times had she seen that birthmark as she swam in the pool at the McKnight estate? It looked like a belt, complete with the buckle right above his navel. Only it stopped short under his ribs on the left side of his torso. How often had she teased him about having to get a tattoo so that he could finish what nature had started? She remembered how he’d laughed when she’d bought him a pair of suspenders to go with his “belt” the Christmas she’d been seventeen and he’d been home on leave from the Navy.
Hysteria bubbled to the surface. Emotions ran rampant, her heart thudded in her ears. She had to find a phone, get in contact with his family. She had to tell them their prayers had been answered, that she’d found their missing son and brother. She’d found Micah McKnight.
Three days later, Amy finished up her lunch and tossed her napkin on the tray. Exhaustion swamped her and sleep eluded her. She’d called every number she had for every member of the McKnight family several times over, including her best friend, Cassidy, Micah’s sister. No answer. They were all on an extended cruise, apparently out of cell phone range.
And there was no way she was leaving that kind of information on voice mail. So, while she’d absorbed and processed the fact that Micah McKnight was alive and well—at least for the most part—she still wrestled with what to do now. Did she tell him she knew who he was? And that her mother had been the one to betray him, the one who’d caused all of his misery?
That Amy’s eagerness to help at the orphanage had been influenced, in part, by her devastation when she’d learned of her mother’s illegal activities? Activities which included murder, human trafficking and the kidnapping of Amy’s best friend, Cassidy McKnight, who had travelled to this very orphanage to take custody of a child left in her care.
Did she tell him her mother had been so blinded by greed, so desperate to find a way to stop Cassidy’s father, the ambassador to Brazil, from continuing his work against human trafficking that she’d planned Cassidy’s kidnapping, then hired her own brother, Amy’s uncle Rafael, to finish the job after Cassidy escaped the kidnappers?
She shuddered at that thought. Oh no, no way was she taking on that responsibility. Uh-uh. You wouldn’t ask me to do that, would You, God? Please don’t ask me to do that.
Amy choked back a sob and decided she needed a distraction. Not only had she been thinking about Micah nonstop ever since their dash through the jungle, she’d been thinking about the fact that she had family somewhere in this country. Could she find them? And if she were to go on a search for relatives, where did she start?
Thinking it through, she decided she could start with the names she had. As far as where, she knew that her mother’s picture had been on the wall of the police station as recently as two years ago. It could still be there. If so, she could ask questions. Juanita Morales, Amy’s mother, had been born in the slums of Brazil and sold into prostitution by her older brother. She’d finally managed to escape to the United States, where she’d studied how the rich lived and learned well. She’d changed her name, married a senator and life was good.
Unfortunately, it had been when she’d found out her husband was broke that she’d turned to a life of crime, a life she was intimately familiar with—human trafficking. Only a few months ago, Amy had learned the truth of her mother’s background after she’d discovered incriminating information on her mother’s computer, implicating her in Micah McKnight’s disappearance. Through a fluke, while on a mission here in Tefe, Brazil, Micah had discovered the woman’s true identity and e-mailed a copy of the wanted poster to Amy’s father. Before the man had a chance to open the e-mail, her mother had confiscated it and set her evil plan in motion. She’d set Micah up to die, betraying two teams of SEALs, one of them Micah’s team.
Amy shuddered at the memories. Oh, Lord, help me. I have to tell him I know him. But first I need to talk to Lucas. I need to make sure it’s okay medically to tell him. So until Lucas comes back to the orphanage, help me get in touch with his family members—and continue to help me find mine.
Thinking about what she had to go on, Amy considered her options. She had two names—well, three, really, if she counted her mother. Rafael Morales, her uncle, Juanita Morales, her mother, and a woman named Maria. The latter was the woman who’d looked after