and tears painted mucky streaks on her face. Ann brushed them aside just as the car hit a pothole and flew above the ground for several seconds before the wheels bounced back on the road.
Brandon awoke and rubbed his eyes with a balled fist. Raising his towhead, he looked around. “Are we almost there, Ann?”
“Almost, honey. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”
His young forehead creased in a frown and he sat up in the seat. “Are you crying?” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “You’re crying because Grandfather didn’t come with us, aren’t you?”
Ann bit down on her lip to force back her sobs. The attempt failed; her tears continued to flow.
At the sight of her misery, Brandon’s eyes welled with his own unshed tears. “Please don’t cry, Ann.”
The youngster’s parents had been killed in an airplane crash two years earlier. Now she would have to tell him the devastating news of his grandfather’s death. “We’ve got to try to be very brave, honey,” she managed to murmur.
As they sped over the precipitous road, Ann was gripped by panic for their safety, and despair at the thought of Clayton being dead. One question leaped continually to her mind: Why was he killed?
The bordering jungle soon engulfed the road. With only the beams of the car to cut a dim swath of light through the inky blackness, Ann eased up on the accelerator and cut her speed to almost a crawl. Nearing midnight, she halted in front of a small villa.
She jumped out of the car and yanked on a bell that hung at the gate of the tall wall surrounding the courtyard of the secluded house. As Ann waited impatiently, she cast a glance back to Brandon. He looked so small and forlorn, his round, blue eyes were wide with apprehension as they followed her every move.
Tugging impatiently at the bell cord, Ann was relieved to see a light materialize in the house. The caretakers, a local couple named Guillaume and Marie Sellier appeared at the door. The man peered through the darkness to identify whomever had awakened them at such a late hour. Recognizing Ann, he hurried to open the gate as Ann lifted Brandon out of the SUV.
After a perfunctory greeting, Guillaume looked about expectantly. “The monsieur did not accompany you, Mademoiselle Hamilton?”
Since the remote area was devoid of telephones and radio, Ann knew the couple would not have heard of Clayton’s death.
“Mister Burroughs will not be coming,” she said, fighting back her tears. Dear God! How can I explain this to them when I don’t understand any of it myself?
“Marie, will you make Brandon a sandwich and a glass of milk? He hasn’t eaten anything since morning.”
“And you, mademoiselle?”
“Nothing for me. I’m not hungry.”
When the woman departed with Brandon in tow, Ann sank down on the couch and buried her head in her hands. Her long blond hair draped in a silky curtain about her face—a symbol of the isolated despair she was feeling.
What should I do? Clayton told me to wait here for help. Should I try to get a message to the American Embassy?
She leaned back and closed her eyes. If only it would end by just waking.
“Mademoiselle.” Ann felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and opened her eyes. “I have your tea, mademoiselle.”
As if in a trance, Ann thanked the woman and accepted the offering. “Is Brandon in bed?”
“Oui, mademoiselle. The young one waits for you to come to say the good night.”
After a few sips of the hot tea, Ann rose wearily to her feet. Until this moment she hadn’t realized how exhausted she was. She patted Marie’s shoulder. “Merci, Marie. I’m sorry to have disturbed you and Guillaume at this late hour. Go to bed now. We won’t need anything else tonight.” The woman nodded and immediately disappeared.
Pausing outside of Brandon’s bedroom, Ann drew a deep breath and grasped the doorknob. Brandon sat in bed playing with a silver coin.
She’d fallen in love with the youngster from the first day the orphaned child had come to live with his grandfather. Brandon felt the same way about her, and followed her around as though she were the mother he had lost.
“So, what have you got there, sport?” she asked, gathering him into her arms.
“Grandfather gave this to me before we left. He said I should keep this coin to remember him by.” Intensity registered on his young face. “Why did he say that, Ann?”
Hugging the boy tighter, Ann forced back her tears. She couldn’t lie to him. “Honey, I have something very sad to tell you. Your grandfather…died this morning.”
The words sounded so final, as if by voicing the truth the appalling act became a reality.
Brandon remained silent. Ann was uncertain he had understood her until the youngster asked sadly, “Is Grandfather in Heaven now with Mommy and Daddy?”
“Yes, he is, sweetheart.” No why or how—just acceptance. She wished he would cry instead of sitting there looking so vulnerable. Her chest knotted with pain at the pathetic sight of the six-year-old child already conditioned to death.
Brushing back the light hair from his forehead, she pressed a kiss to his brow. “Would you like me to stay with you tonight?”
“No. I can stay alone, Ann. I’m a big boy. Grandfather said so.”
The brave but tragic announcement wrenched at her heart. She felt tears welling in her eyes. Rising to her feet, she tucked the sheet around him and then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Go to sleep now, honey. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“You go to sleep, too. And don’t cry, Ann. Grandfather’s happy now. He always told me how much he missed my daddy.”
As she was about to close the door, Ann saw Brandon open his fist and stare at the coin clutched in his hand. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
“I’ll remember you, Grandfather. I promise,” he declared fervently. Then he tucked the coin into his pajama pocket.
No longer able to contain her sadness Ann hurried down the hallway to the privacy of her bedroom.
By rote, she went through the motions of preparing herself for bed and was about to retire when the door flung open with such force that it slammed against the wall. A scream burst past her lips at the sight of a man in the doorway waving a weapon at her.
“Out. Out,” he ordered sharply, gesturing wildly with the rifle.
“Ann! Ann! Help me,” Brandon cried out from the other room.
“Oh, dear God! Brandon!” In her hurry to reach the frightened child, Ann ignored the armed man and rushed past him. Another abductor was pulling the protesting child by the arm out of his bedroom into the living room.
“Take your hands off him,” she cried, rushing to Brandon’s defense. His captor shoved her away and she fell back onto the couch.
