Loe raamatut: «Not Without The Truth»

Pain was her only constant

For days, she couldn’t move without wanting to scream. When the aches started to ease, the fever began. She lost track of time, the edge between darkness and day blurring until she no longer knew or cared if the sun or the moon shone.

The hut where she lay was thatched and a mosquito net covered the space above her. There was nothing in the room but her bed and a small table beside it. In contrast, a window opening to the right framed a scene that looked more like a Gauguin painting than any place she’d ever been.

A woman came in several times a day and checked on her. Sometimes in the middle of the night—or maybe the middle of the day, she wasn’t sure which—a man came, too. He was lean and gaunt with sunken eyes that frightened her. He never spoke. He did nothing but look at her.

She didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t know who she was.

Dear Reader,

Machu Picchu is a magical place. Set high in the mountains of Peru, near the city of Cuzco, these ancient ruins provide a glimpse into the world of the Incas. The city sprawls over five square miles and was built sometime in the 1400s, providing a home to over a thousand people. Cuzco was seized in 1534 by the conquering Spanish armies but Machu Picchu itself was not discovered until 1911 by Yale’s Hiram Bingham.

I had the opportunity to visit Machu Picchu a few years ago. The buildings are incredible with intricate stonework and classic design, but even more impressive is the serenity the site seems to exude. The minute I began to climb the first set of terraced stairs (there are over three thousand steps at Machu Picchu!) I felt an eerie kind of calm. I was excited about being there but underneath that eagerness to explore, I experienced an emotion that has stayed with me ever since. I wished then (and even more so now) that I could have bottled that reaction.

A believer in reincarnation might attribute my response to the idea that I had lived there in another life. I don’t know how to explain it but I do know that I experienced something unique during that trip. The vision of those mountains rising from the early-morning mist is one I cherish. While I took some liberties with geography (Rojo and Qunico exist only in my imagination), the magic of Machu Picchu is definitely real.

Lauren Stanley goes to Peru to uncover her past. The tragic death of her mother has haunted her for years and Lauren returns to gain the understanding that has eluded her since childhood. Once there, Lauren meets not truth, but danger. Her life is saved only through the intervention of Armando Torres. Armando’s a man of irony—he’s a dedicated physician but when called to duty, his healing skills take a turn in the opposite direction. Together they must solve the mystery of Lauren’s past.

One day I’d like to return to the ruins of Machu Picchu. They deserve more time than I had when I visited. Until then, I’ll continue to read about this glorious place and study the culture of the Indians who once had the privilege of living there. I hope I’ve piqued your interest in it as well.

Kay David

Not Without the Truth
Kay David

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Karen.

Thanks for all your help and expertise. It’s a joy to work with

someone who understands the need for special places where

ideas can turn into stories and naps are always encouraged.

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

PROLOGUE

Christmas Eve, 1989

U.S. Embassy

Lima, Peru

LAUREN WAS SUPPOSED to be asleep by 9:00 p.m., but Lauren seldom followed the rules, especially dumb ones. It was Christmas eve, she’d complained to everyone who would listen. Who went to bed at nine on Christmas eve?

Ten-year-old girls do, her mother had said, at least those who wanted to find presents under the tree in the morning.

Margaret Stanley had tried to appear stern and serious, but Lauren had heard the softness behind her words. They both knew that despite Lauren’s behavior, her Christmas was going to be a good one. Six months ago, her mom had been appointed consul for Peru and she felt guilty for making Lauren and her dad leave their home in Dallas to come halfway around the world. Lauren had seen the stack of presents her mom had already wrapped.

Lauren played along, though. After her mom kissed her good-night and turned out the lamp, she closed her eyes and waited ten minutes, then she climbed from bed. Sneaking into the hallway, she peered up and down both ways before running to the iron railing that lined the upper gallery.

A crowd of glittering guests filled the huge reception area below, but as if he’d planned it, Daniel Cunningham, her mother’s attaché, stood directly beneath where Lauren kneeled. His tuxedo was pressed, his shoes shone and he’d spiked his blond hair for the party. The style made him look even taller than he was and, gripping the black balusters, Lauren stared through the bars and sighed.

Okay, so he was old—at least twenty, maybe even twenty-five—and he worked for her mom, but he was so cool! Lauren had had a major crush on Daniel from the minute they’d arrived.

Normally her mom would have had a cow over Lauren’s thing for Daniel but she’d overheard her parents talking, and her mom had admitted she was giving Lauren a pass because Daniel had managed to distract her. Lauren had bawled for days when she’d found out she was going to have to leave all her friends. Knowing there was no chance, she’d even begged to stay with her grandparents instead of moving. “We’re a family,” her mother had said. “And that means we stick together.” Lauren had been really, really bummed. Until she’d spotted Daniel.

Daniel liked her, too. He treated her like she was a real person, not just some stupid kid who’d didn’t have a choice about where she lived. He’d even taken the time to explain to her why it was important she and her dad be there. Her mother was an important person, Daniel had said solemnly, one of only three consuls who worked directly for the ambassador. The people of Peru saw the entire family as representatives of the United States. Daniel made her think she counted, something her mother never had the time to do.

Her mother came into view. She’d let Lauren pick out her dress for tonight, and it’d been no surprise which one she’d selected. The red beaded gown was Lauren’s favorite and it fit her mom perfectly, the crystals shimmering and shining as she walked among her guests. She looked like a movie star. They didn’t always get along, but her mom was really pretty neat and she was definitely awesome-looking.

In contrast, her father bobbed behind her like the little boat Lauren had played with in the bathtub when she was younger. He had on a tux like the other men, but the similarities stopped there. He wasn’t elegant or even handsome and he sure didn’t seem to be having a good time. Maybe his glasses made him look that way. More likely, it was his frown. Her father was a child psychiatrist and, back home, he’d taught other doctors at a fancy medical center how to treat crazy kids. He hadn’t ever been a fun kind of dad, but since they’d come to South America, he’d stopped smiling completely. She’d even heard him yell at her mom once, something he’d never done in Dallas. Tonight he looked more uptight than usual.

He pretended he didn’t see Lauren. He was angry at her, too, because she’d been such a toot about moving.

Her eyes searched the mob again. Daniel had moved closer to the dining room and another man, dressed in black, was standing beside him. She looked at Daniel but her gaze kept returning to the man with him. He was shorter than Daniel and Latin, his jacket filled out with muscles that Daniel could only dream of having. His black hair was long and slicked back and as she watched, he smoothed it, a gleam of gold on his wrist catching her attention. He looked kinda rough—like those drug lords on TV—and out of place next to the blond attaché.

Lauren edged closer to the wrought iron so she could see better and when she did so, Daniel looked up, the white flash of her nightgown obviously drawing his notice. He smiled at her and lifted his glass as if in a salute. She wagged her fingers back at him, her heart doing a funny skipping thing inside her chest.

The man at Daniel’s side raised his eyes, too. Lauren glanced in his direction, then something weird seemed to happen and she couldn’t look away.

He was younger than she’d first thought, but his eyes didn’t match the rest of him. Instead, they were like the old man’s on the corner, the one who sold newspapers. He was about a hundred and he never seemed happy, not even when Lauren’s dad gave him twice as big a tip as he should. Lauren’s delight in being acknowledged by Daniel changed into confusion. The man scared her. Speaking to Daniel but keeping his eyes on hers, the stranger gestured. She had no idea who he was since she’d never seen him before, but she knew one thing: she didn’t think she’d ever forget him.

Suddenly it seemed like a good time for Lauren to go.

She jumped up, her gown billowing around her legs as she ran, laughter and music from downstairs chasing her back to the private living quarters of the embassy. Her pulse racing as fast as her feet, she found herself in her mother’s closet, the familiar scent of her perfume reassuring. Lauren sat down on the floor behind the louvered doors and prayed for the jittery feeling to leave.

She kept telling herself she wasn’t afraid, until she fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams full of men with golden eyes. When she woke up to loud voices, it took her a moment to remember where she was. The conversation came to her in snatches.

“Dammit, Margaret, you don’t understand…. Big mistake if you think… Lots of money to be made….”

Lauren started to call out but the argument held her back. Peeking through the slats in the door, she could see a pair of men’s shoes and the hem of her mother’s red gown. The man kinda sounded like Daniel but not really. Daniel never used bad words like dammit and his voice was higher than this man’s.

“…not in the foreign service for money. I love my country….”

Lauren teased her mom sometimes and called her General Mother. No matter what, she stayed the same, strong, brave, no-nonsense. She was acting that way now. Taking a step toward the closet door, her mother spoke without hesitation.

“You aren’t going to get away with this. I found out and others will, too.”

“They won’t if you aren’t talking.”

The man had come nearer, too, but Lauren still couldn’t tell if it was Daniel or not. He sounded really scary and she thought about the stranger she’d seen beside Daniel. The man with the bracelet. Lauren heard him pull something from his pocket.

Her mother’s gasp turned Lauren’s stomach inside out. She gripped a handful of carpet, her mouth going dry.

Her mother spoke slowly and calmly, just like she did when she was trying to explain something to Lauren. “Don’t be stupid. That’s not going to help things.”

“I can see how you’d feel that way,” the man said. “But I disagree.”

A muffled pop followed.

Lauren scrambled backward so fast she almost hit the wall. Squeezing her eyes shut, she curled into a tiny ball and wedged herself as far as she could into the darkness where she tried not to think about what that noise meant. Part of her understood but a desperate sense of survival kept her silent. Over the ringing in her ears, she thought she heard the bedroom door open and close but she couldn’t tell for sure, especially when she heard the sound again a few minutes later. Rocking back and forth, she moaned softly.

Five minutes passed. Maybe five hours.

Her mother always preached that procrastination only made things worse but something told Lauren “worse” was already on the other side of the closet door. She waited for as long as she dared, then she forced herself to move. She had to find out what had happened. Crawling on all fours like the baby she wished she still was, she reached the front of the closet and pushed the doors open.

Her mother lay on the floor, a red stain the color of her dress soaking the rug by her head.

A man bent over her, two fingers pressed to her throat. He wore black from head to toe, including a mask that completely covered his face.

Through the eye holes, the man’s startled gaze met Lauren’s. He jerked his hand away from her mother’s neck, a gold glint at his wrist catching Lauren’s attention.

For one long second, she was frozen. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t talk, she couldn’t even breathe. The man went still, too.

Lauren didn’t understand what happened next but she knew the moment would never leave her. She could hear his heartbeat, she realized with shock, and the quick intake of breath that he took filled her lungs. He sensed the connection as well and his gaze came alive.

They stared at each other another two seconds, then he pivoted and dashed to the nearest window. Lauren closed her eyes and began to scream.

CHAPTER ONE

Summer 2005

Near Machu Picchu

THE ROPE BRIDGE SWUNG LAZILY in the bright Peruvian sun. Every so often, a loose strand of hemp would free itself and float on the warm breeze before drifting away. Most of the strings fell to the river thirty feet below where the water rolled over the rocks in an easy rhythm. No hurry, the gentle rippling sound seemed to say, no rush.

On either side of the precarious walkway, scarlet macaws preened in the warmth, their iridescent feathers flashing against the thick green foliage like priceless jewels. The birds’ exotic calls filled the air, along with the perfume from the nearby balsam trees.

Pausing on the edge of the gorge, Lauren Stanley studied the tranquil scene spread out before her. For as far as she could see, serenity and beauty lay. Breathing deeply, she tried to trap the essence of the moment and transfer its peace to a spot inside herself.

She failed.

All Lauren could feel was the fright that had her nailed to one spot. Big spiders and heights, tight spots and snakes. Lauren’s list of fears was a long one and there were some things on it she couldn’t even name. Despite their numbers, she’d managed to face most of them because she was too stubborn to give up on something just because it was difficult. The perfect example of that was right ahead of her. Seeing the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu would have been a straight-forward journey, but she’d had to come to the lesser ruins first, even though it had meant hacking a path through the jungle and crossing remote bridges like the one she was staring at now.

A second passed and then another one. Finally, she managed to break her paralysis. Opening her eyes, she lifted her hands and stared at them. They trembled violently, as did her body.

Behind her, Joaquin, the guide she’d hired, said something encouraging. At least, that’s how she interpreted it. He spoke almost no Spanish and they’d had to make do between his Quechuan and sign language. She looked over her shoulder and the young man made a go-ahead motion with his hand. She faced forward once more and eased her right foot out.

The bridge was made of three ropes, two that acted as handrails and one Lauren would have to balance on as she walked across. They were lashed together with extra fibers at gaping intervals. The woven strand beneath her boot was probably two inches in diameter, maybe three at the most. She had forty feet to go and there was no other way to get to the other side.

She knew she shouldn’t, but Lauren glanced down. The space beneath her seemed to widen and the green cliffs on either side shifted accordingly. A sickening dizziness swamped her.

I can’t do this. She shut her eyes again. I can’t do this. What was I thinking? Why did I come here? Am I crazy or what?

The questions were rhetorical because she knew the answer to each. She’d come back to Peru because she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life living in fear. She refused to. She’d spent enough time there and she was ready to move on. She had a great career ahead of her and nothing but opportunity. All she had to do was conquer the final frontier—her past. And she probably was nuts, but that had never stopped her.

Enough thinking, it was time to go. Lifting her left foot, Lauren carefully placed it in front of her right. She was near enough to the metal rings that held the ropes steady that the bridge stayed immobile under her shifting weight and her confidence took a step forward as well.

She continued, blanking her mind to anything but reaching the other side. Measure by measure. Heartbeat by heartbeat. Breath by breath.

She was halfway across when the rope’s tension seemed to change. Gripping the side ropes tightly, she told herself she was imagining things. Then the birds became quiet.

Turning her head slowly—it seemed to take a year—she glanced behind her. Joaquin was gone, the platform where the guide had been waiting now empty.

She puzzled over his disappearance. Maybe he’d slipped behind the foliage for a moment’s privacy…. Maybe he’d sat down on the forest floor to wait for his turn to cross…. Maybe he’d gone back to his village and left her to her own devices…. She couldn’t reverse her steps so she looked the way she’d been heading and tried to calm her concerns.

Then the rope bucked.

It steadied almost instantly and she sucked in a gasp of relief but before she could exhale, the cables went completely slack.

She screamed in terror as air replaced the support at her feet. The rope swung wildly and, burdened with her weight, headed for the rocks in front of her. If she held on, she’d slam into the side of the cliff.

The rough hemp burned through her palms, peeling the flesh from her fingers and setting them on fire with pain. The overhang zoomed closer. A tree branch, reaching out from the precipice as if to help, scraped her cheek instead.

A thousand different scenarios careered through her head but she knew she only had one choice. She held on until the last possible moment, but she finally opened her hands and let go.

She shrieked all the way down and hit the water with a splash. There was silence after that. When the last echo died, the birds resumed their calls.

“HOW YOU DOING? Seen any ruins lately?”

Meredith Santera spoke in a casual way but Armando Torres wasn’t fooled by her tone. Meredith wasn’t a woman who telephoned just to chitchat. Her intensity never abated and she remained focused at all times. On occasion, she pretended otherwise, but in reality, she never let up.

“Why do you wake me in the middle of the night to ask how I feel?” A native of Argentina, Armando’s accent became more obvious. “I think you have something other than my welfare on your mind.”

A pause came over the line before she answered. “How come you say so little but understand so much?”

He made a sound of dismissal. “If you listened more and spoke less, you would hear what I hear. I have no special skills.”

“I disagree, which is exactly why I’ve called you.”

He waited in silence.

“I had an interesting conversation yesterday,” she began.

Armando heard the sound of shuffling papers and he imagined Meredith sitting at her desk in Miami. She’d moved there after she’d left the CIA and started the Operatives. At the beginning, there had been four of them—Meredith, Armando and two others, Stratton O’Neil and Jonathan Cruz—but in the past few years, some changes had come about.

Stratton had been the first to leave. Following a job that had gone tragically wrong, he’d moved to L.A. to escape his past and disengage from life. His plan had been foiled when he’d taken one last job then had fallen in love. Cruz had been next. He was teaching at Langley now and he, too, had a new wife. She happened to be Meredith’s best friend. Cruz had married her after he’d rescued her and her son from the drug kingpin who was the child’s father.

Armando had also wondered from time to time about leaving the team. He had more work at the clinic than he could handle and it was good work, productive work. But what he did with the Operatives was important, and he wasn’t sure he could ever give it up.

Meredith’s voice brought him back. “I got a call from a doctor in Dallas by the name of J. Freeman Stanley. He’s a very well-known child psychiatrist. His expertise is in repressed memories. Does his name sound familiar?”

Armando held his breath, his past rising up from the grave where he kept it buried. “Not really,” he lied.

“You’ll remember when you hear the rest. You must be getting old.”

I am, he thought, and growing even more so as you speak. He’d never told Meredith much about his early years. Her father had helped her form the company and he’d been the one she’d trusted to choose the men. He’d known everyone’s secrets but he was gone now. All Meredith knew was that Armando had been involved with the Peruvian job. She had no idea he’d seen the girl. No one knew that, except for him and her.

“Dr. Stanley has a daughter named Lauren,” she said. “Her mother was Margaret Stanley.” Meredith paused. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember her. She was—”

“One of the consuls in Lima.” He dropped his pretense. “Christmas eve, 1989. I was sent there that night, but she was already dead before I could get to her. They said she interrupted a burglar and he killed her. I remember.”

“Finally! I was getting worried about you for a minute.”

He interrupted her, an act of discourtesy he’d normally never indulge in. “What’s wrong?”

If she noticed his shortness, she ignored it. “Lauren Stanley is twenty-six now. She’s a writer for a travel magazine called Luxury and she’s been on assignment in Peru doing an article about the ruins.”

“Luxury, eh?” Armando forced the tightness in his chest to loosen. “That sounds like a nice job. To visit rich people’s resorts and write about them.”

“It sounds good, yes, but something must have happened. About two weeks ago, she stopped checking in and her father is getting frantic.”

“How did he connect with you?”

“He didn’t. My father was still in Washington when Stanley’s wife died and Dad debriefed the doctor after he and his daughter left Peru. According to Stanley, Dad told him if there was ever anything he could do for him to call. So he did. The office forwarded the message to me. Stanley had no idea that my father was dead.”

Her voice seemed to thicken but Armando knew he was imagining the sound. Meredith’s emotions were so tightly controlled he didn’t think she even knew how to feel them anymore.

“And what does this have to do with me?”

“She’s missing. You’re there. I thought you could at least ask around—”

“She is a grown woman,” Armando said sharply. “She probably found a lover and ran off with him.”

“I hope so, but the situation’s a little more complicated than it appears. Freeman Stanley said the mother’s death left Lauren Stanley unstable and prone to depression. Considering her past, I think he has a right to be concerned. I would be if she were my daughter. So would you.”

Outside his open bedroom window, somewhere in the undergrowth beyond, Armando heard the foliage rustle and the low grunt of an animal. He didn’t try to guess what it was. The rugged mountainous terrain provided a home for many living things, as well as for some things that weren’t. The Quechuan were a superstitious lot, but not without good reason.

Meredith’s voice held her first hint of impatience. “Have you seen anything—”

“I’m not that close to Machu.”

“No, but you’re not that far and a lot of people visit those smaller ruins close to where you live, too. She could have done that.”

“It’s possible,” he said reluctantly, “but I’ve heard nothing.”

“When was the last time you went into the village?”

The clinic was located near a dot on the map called Rojo. It was located between Cuzco and the ruins of Machu Picchu. “I haven’t been to Rojo in a month,” he said. “Maybe two. I forget.”

Meredith made a tsk-tsking sound. “You’re turning into el ermitaño, Armandito….”

“A hermit is better than what they call me now.”

“The locals still think you can make yourself invisible?”

“They must,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing but el médico del fantasma could do so, I presume.”

“You need to get out more,” she remarked. “Go to Rojo for me. Be my ears and eyes. I want to call this man and help him out.”

“And if we cannot do that?”

“Then I’ll tell him that, too,” she said. “But you have to ask around first. I don’t want to lie to him either way.”

Armando sighed. He didn’t want to get involved, but guilt was a powerful motivator—and a heavy weight. Of all the cases in his past, why had this one come back? He’d lost more sleep over the little girl with the haunting eyes than he had over any of his other assignments.

“How would I know her?” he asked reluctantly.

“I’ll fax you a photo. She won’t be hard to miss. Believe me, if she’s anywhere around there, you’ll know. She’s gorgeous. Blond, blue eyes, thin. She looks like a supermodel.” Meredith hesitated, then corrected herself. “No, wait. Actually, that’s not quite true. She looks like her mother. Exactly like her. Do you remember her?”

“Yes.”

Oblivious to what his one-syllable answer signified, Meredith continued. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with her,” she teased. “And move back to the States like Cruz and Stratton. You could have three children and buy a big ranch in Texas. You’d make lots of money, you know.”

“I need no more money,” he said, staring out into the night. “And I don’t want a wife and three children. Or a ranch in Texas.”

Finally sensing his mood, she spoke with a serious tone. “Then what do you want, Armando? Cruz has found his place in the world and Stratton has gotten himself straightened out. They seem happy. When are you going to give up being the broody Latin and do the same?”

“I’m thrilled for them,” he said. “But I’m not sure that condition will ever find me.”

“It doesn’t just fall into your lap,” she said sharply. “You have to search for it.”

“You’re correct as usual,” he said. “But I carry too many images of death. They visit me without invitation and linger in the corners. I don’t need to look for anything more, much less happiness. “

“We’ve done a lot of good, Armando.”

“I know that. I’m still a believer, don’t worry.”

“Then concentrate on that. Otherwise, you’ll drive yourself insane.”

“Your advice is wise, Meredith, but it comes too late.” His voice went quiet and low with regret. “I’ve done things I shouldn’t have and left too many other things undone.”

They hung up without saying goodbye. A moment later, the fax on his desk rang shrilly. Armando walked to the machine and watched the picture of Lauren Stanley emerge, line by line. When the photo was complete, he continued to stare. Meredith had been correct. The little girl he’d seen had turned into a stunning woman. If she was anywhere near Rojo or even Aquas Caliente, the larger village upriver, he would have heard by now.

Picking up the fax, he crumpled it out of habit then put a match to the wad of paper. White ash fell like snow into the metal wastebasket at his feet.

He went back to bed but sleep didn’t join him.

SHE DIDN’T KNOW where she was.

Pain was her only constant. For days, she hadn’t been able to move without wanting to scream. When the aches had started to ease, the fever had begun. She’d lost track of time, the edge between darkness and day blurring until she no longer knew—or cared—if the sun or the moon shone.

The hut where she lay was thatched and a mosquito net covered the space above her. There was nothing in the room but her bed and a small table beside it. In contrast, a window opening to the right framed a scene that looked more like a Gauguin painting than any actual place she’d ever been.

A woman came in several times a day and checked on her. Sometimes in the middle of the night—or maybe the middle of the day, she wasn’t sure which—a man came, too. He was lean and gaunt with sunken eyes that frightened her. He never spoke. He did nothing but look at her.

She didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t know who she was.

THE DAY AFTER MEREDITH CALLED, Armando went into Rojo, but no one in the village had seen a gringa. He returned home and put the woman out of his mind. When Meredith called a week later, he told her he knew nothing.

“Dammit, I hate having to call Freeman Stanley and tell him that. Are you sure no one’s seen her?”

He let his silence answer the question.

“What should I do?” she asked in a worried voice.

He shook his head at her ploy. “Don’t try to pull one of your tricks on me, Meredith. You asked me to see if Lauren Stanley had been here and that is what I did. If this was a real assignment, I would stop and do anything you asked, you know that, but otherwise my days here are very full already. I have the clinic and the villages and the children. I did not join the Operatives to find missing daughters for worried daddies.”

“Stanley has called me too many times to count. He offered us a lot of money.”

“And I told you last time we spoke that I have no need of that.”

“Maybe you don’t,” she said, “but what about your clinic? When I saw you at Cruz’s wedding, you said the place continuously required new equipment and stronger drugs and more staff and better beds—”