The Searchers. Kay David

Eighteen years later

      THE EMERALD WEIGHED at least fifty carats, probably more.

      Hefting the uncut stone in his hand, Shepard Reyes turned to the window as his helicopter rose into the air. A cloud of fine, black dust, stirred by the spinning rotors, enveloped them, then the chopper gained altitude and escaped the choking darkness. Shepard put his hand against the bulletproof glass and stared into the open pit a hundred feet below.

      The Muzo mine was the oldest, largest and most productive emerald mine in the world. And the Reyes family had owned it since the conquistadores had come to Colombia.

      He’d seen the cuts across the mountain’s top thousands of times but Shepard always had to look. He’d spent years learning the Muzo’s secrets and no one else in the family knew the mine as he did, including his brother, Javier, who was in charge of the family business.

      The pilot set his headings for Bogota and seconds later the mine was gone, lost in the mountain mist. Dropping the stone into his briefcase, Shepard wished the problem he’d learned of this morning would be as easy to leave behind, but his gut told him it wasn’t going to go away. At least not until he made it do so.

      The peasant woman had come to his office early, before the miners changed shifts. Her name had meant nothing to him, but he’d politely shaken her hand and directed her to sit. He was frequently approached by the wives or mothers of the men who worked in the mine to settle some kind of dispute or fix some problem they’d gotten into. They knew who the real jefe was; they expected Shepard to help and he did. That’s how things were done in Colombia.

      She’d perched on the edge of the chair and refused his offer of coffee. Waiting for her to speak, he’d put her age somewhere between thirty and fifty—she wore the exhausted look of someone who worked hard…and never stopped. But her clothes were clean, and she had an appealing way about her even though she was clearly uncomfortable sitting before him.

      “What can I do for you, señora?” he’d finally prompted.

      She looked down at the floor and spoke softly. “You have already done more than I could ever ask for,” she answered. “I came here today to do something for you.”

      “I’m sure you owe me nothing, but please tell me how I’ve helped you. I’d like to hear your story.”

      “I have a son who is five,” she said. “He couldn’t run like the other children and he’d get tired very quickly.” With an expression of distress, she put her hand on her chest. “I took him to one of the clinics you opened, and the doctors in Bogota, they operated on his córazon…” Her smile transformed her face. “You saved my child’s life, so I wanted to thank you.”

      “I’m glad the doctors could help.”

      And he was. For years, the miners had suffered conditions no one should have to endure. Neither Javier nor their father, Eduard, had thought their workers needed anything more so Shepard had put up his own money to build and staff the small hospital.

      “I want to pay you back, señor.”

      “You owe me nothing.” Shepard looked at the files on his desk. Javier’s name was on the letterhead, but it was Shepard who did all the work, and it was piling up, even as they spoke. “The clinic is free. No one pays for anything.”

      “I don’t have money to give you.”

      “And that’s fine—”

      “I have something else, though.”

      “It isn’t necessary—”

      “I have a secret.” She ignored his attempt to stop her. “You should have been told about this years ago, but…” She dropped her eyes to her lap and knit her fingers together then looked up at him again. “But I didn’t have the courage. Now I must tell you.”

      Her words intrigued him, despite the work he had calling to him. “Go on.”

      “Something happened in my village a long time ago and you need to know about it.”

      With a sudden uneasiness, Shepard stood and came closer to where she sat, taking the other chair in front of his desk.

      “My niece had a child.” She studied Shepard’s face. “He had your look about the eyes, but that’s it. He resembled his father more.”

      “His father?” Shepard’s gut tightened. “And that would be…?”

      “Your brother, of course.”

      Shepard closed his expression and rose. He’d been fooled, but she’d seemed sincere, unlike the others who’d approached him in the past. “I don’t handle Señor Javier’s affairs,” he said coldly. “If you want help for the boy, go to him, not me.”

      “You don’t understand—”

      “I understand perfectly, señora.” Shepard returned to the other side of his desk. “You are not the first to come here and ask for money, believe me.”

      She stood up, as well. “I’m not asking for money and I’m not talking about Señor Javier. The boy’s father was Señor Renaldo.”

      His hand on the back of his leather chair, Shepard froze. “Renaldo is dead.”

      “I know that. But he wasn’t dead eighteen years ago. He and my niece were lovers and they had a child. He was born the day his father died.”

      “Your niece…?”

      “Was Maya Vega.”

      He sat down abruptly.

      Maya Vega.

      Shepard had never met her but Renaldo had been infatuated with the girl, describing her in detail, telling Shepard how she’d shared his ways. There would always be a place for women like her in the FARC, he’d bragged. The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known to everyone as FARC, believed in equality for all, be they women…or mining scions.

      Shepard had come to hate the unknown Maya Vega. In his mind, she represented everything that had been wrong with Renaldo: the recklessness, the irresponsibility, the wild way he had chosen to live. At some point, Shepard had managed to force his animosity into indifference, but hearing her name now, he felt that earlier anger return.

      He put his reaction aside and spoke carefully. “If Maya Vega is your niece, then your husband would be…”

      The woman held his stare. There was neither apology nor blame in her eyes—only an empty acceptance that said she’d lived a life with few choices. “Segundo Alvarez was mi esposo.”

      Nodding slowly, Shepard rejected his automatic response to this name, as well. He’d hated the uncle as much, if not more, than the girl. He calculated the boy’s age, realizing he’d be eighteen now. There had been rumors at one time of a child after Renaldo’s death but Shepard had had no luck tracking their source or the Vega woman down. The thought prompted a question.

      “Did Maya Vega send you here?”

      “No. Maya left many years ago, after being told that her baby was stillborn. That was a lie. I don’t know where she is now, but I wanted you to know about your nephew.”

      If the woman’s story was true, Shepard’s parents would be beside themselves. Despite his rejection of his family Renaldo had been the favorite son, and his parents had forgiven all his misdeeds. They’d be overjoyed.

      Javier would have a completely different reaction.

      “Stay here,” Shepard had commanded, rising from his chair. “I’m going to open the safe and get some cash for you then I want to hear more about this.”

      When he’d returned, the woman was gone.

      Shepard stared out the helicopter’s window and cursed softly. What in the hell was he supposed to do now?

      Houston, Texas