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 Cassidy while Cassidy had been held hostage in the camp. Cassidy said that the woman had faced down Rafael, so obviously she had some kind of power, Amy just wasn’t sure what kind or why.
Amy decided her best course of action would be to start with the local police. She notified Anna that she had some errands to run, and Anna had offered her the jeep and given her a list of supplies to pick up while she was in town. Thirty teeth-rattling minutes later, she parked in front of the police station. She’d not bothered to ask for directions since the town was small, and she figured she could find the building on her own.
Sure enough, a short tour up and down the streets had familiarized her with the layout of the town, and she’d had no trouble locating the police station. Although the town was small, it had a good number of officers on the force to fight the drug-smuggling trade that was popular along the one thousand miles of coastland where Tefe and other cities connected to the Amazon.
Amy climbed out of the jeep and slammed the door. She walked up the three wooden steps that led to the front door of the police station and pushed her way inside. Standing in the entrance, she scanned the place, taking in the details. She could see several metal desks, telephones, an open door leading to the cells in the back. Then she spotted the Missing posters on the wall next to the Wanted Persons. And there was her mother—thirty years ago, listed as a missing person. Amy felt her heart clench, nausea swirled and she fought it down. The black-and-white picture was grainy and faded, but Amy had no doubt who the young girl was. Sold into prostitution at the age of fifteen. By Amy’s uncle, Raphael Morales. Anger bubbled unexpectedly inside Amy.
“What a legacy you two left,” she spat.
“Excuse me?” a voice asked in heavily accented English.
Amy whirled around and found herself staring at a uniform. She let her eyes travel up…and up. The man before her stood at least six feet five inches tall. Stepping back, she swallowed hard and somehow managed a smile.
She held out a hand. “Hello, I’m Amy Graham. I’m new to Tefe and
