“Tell me what you want, then get the hell out of my life.”
“Fine,” Shepard replied. “As I said earlier, I’ve been given some information that I need you to confirm. It involves my brother…and you.”
Maya shrugged. “There’s nothing to confirm or deny. What happened between the two of us took place too many years ago to matter now. What is it you really want?”
“I want the truth.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “When you were a teenager, you took a lover five years your senior. He was my brother, but he was also a criminal who justified his actions in the name of revolution. In the end, he paid for his foolishness with his life.”
“He made his own choices,” she said stubbornly.
“And so did you. But there’s more to the story than that, isn’t there?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “A woman recently came into my office and told me something. A secret, she said.”
Maya’s face slowly became the color of bones.
“You know what she told me, don’t you?”
“Of course not. How could I?” She licked her lips.
“You’re lying.” Shepard leaned across the table. “And this is the time for truth. Tell me, Maya, did you have my brother’s child?”
Dear Reader,
My husband opened a fortune cookie last week and the little paper inside read, “Stop your search. What you seek is already yours.”
I love this message because everyone I know seems to be searching for something—the right relationship, the perfect job, the flawless body…. We’re all constantly looking for more than we already have, and I’m as guilty as the next person. Why do we do this?
My mother would have said we’re cursed with ambition, and in a way, she would have been correct. Most of us are ambitious and we want the best.
There’s nothing wrong with this, of course, because these searches make us better people. Sometimes, though, the treasures we seek are in our grasp and we’re blind to that reality. We don’t recognize what we already have.
There’s a corollary to this. I call it the “unexpected treasure.” This is when we search for one thing and discover another.
In this story, Maya Vega is searching for legitimacy. She wants, once and for all, to be someone others look up to. What she doesn’t realize is that she already has this respect. And Shepard’s looking for a truth that he already knows. He’s been able to deny the reality for some time, but his eyes are about to be opened in a way he can no longer ignore.
Together, Maya and Shepard begin their search, their pasts interwoven as tightly as a braid. Both come to realize the answers they already knew and then they discover something better, something they weren’t even seeking in the first place. They encounter the unexpected treasure.
In all your searches I hope you find the same success. Just remember…be open to unexpected treasures and consider the idea that whatever you’re seeking might already be yours.
Sincerely,
Kay David
The Searchers
Kay David
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
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PROLOGUE
Punto Perdido, Colombia
“YOU GO IN THERE and tell her the child is dead or por Dios, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born yourself!”
An inch away from his wife’s face, Segundo Alvarez jerked his thumb toward the room at the rear of their shack, his voice as sharp as the axe he carried every day to the emerald mines. “Tell her it’s dead then get rid of her. ¿Comprendes?”
Renita darted a look past her husband to the bedroom. Her niece was lying in a bloody mess on the bed, the midwife, Amarilla Rodriguez, still working beside her. Bringing her terrified gaze back to Segundo, Renita knew pleading for mercy was useless but she had to try.
“Segundo, por favor… She’s weak, she’s sick, she just gave birth…” Renita shook her head, her eyes filling before she could stop them. “I can’t throw her out, she’s my only family. And I can’t tell her the baby died! It’s not right to—”
Without any warning, Segundo raised his hand and backhanded her. She fell to the dirt floor with an involuntary cry, biting her lip savagely, the sharp sting of blood and pain flooding her mouth. The taste enraged her, and she glared at her husband, her hand against her face.
“How can you do this?” she screamed. “She’s just a teenager! If they find out, they’ll kill us all!”
“They won’t find out,” he said ominously. “I’m going to take care of everything.” Stepping closer, he swung his hand up and she flinched, but instead of hitting her again, he jabbed a finger toward the bedroom. “Go in there and tell her. Then make her disappear. I won’t have a puta like her under my roof! I’m a God-fearing man.”
To punctuate his order, he kicked her hard, the edge of his cheap leather boot catching her squarely in the chest. Red stars exploded in her vision but Segundo gave her no time to think about her agony. Instead, he yanked her to her feet, his grip on her elbow the single thing holding her up. His words were hot against her face, his breath fetid. “I’m warning you, Renita. You get her out of here, or I will.” His jaw tightened. “¡Esto me molesta!”
“But the baby…” she whimpered.
“I will handle the bastard and his father, too.” He squeezed her arm until his thumb met his fingers, then he shook her as a dog would a rag. “When I get back, she’d better be gone. If she isn’t, I’ll take care of her myself and you’ll like that even less.”
He released her abruptly and she fell to the floor, tiny puffs of dirt rising from his angry footsteps as he stomped out of the house. Stunned with pain and guilt, Renita wrapped her arms around her waist and struggled to recover her breath. Then she lifted her eyes and met the midwife’s gaze. Amarilla’s blank expression reflected none of Renita’s anger and helplessness. She’d seen too much in her lifetime; she knew she couldn’t change what was about to happen.
Renita buried her face in her hands and began to sob. The blood-soaked midwife turned to the bed and gently took the young girl’s hand. Compared to the women whose children she delivered, Amarilla was old, but the week before, for the very first time, she’d given birth herself and had a new daughter. She didn’t have to imagine the pain her words were about to inflict. Her rough voice held sympathy