Heaven Sent (17 page)

West Palm Beach, Florida

M
artin Cole leaned in closer to hear what his father was saying, his deeply tanned, golden brown face darkening with the rush of blood from the twin emotions of rage and fear. Samuel Cole’s garbled telephone message,
David’s in trouble
, had sent him racing up from Fort Lauderdale to West Palm Beach, exceeding the state’s speed limit by more than twenty miles.

He stared at his father’s deeply lined forehead. “Does my mother know about this?”

Samuel raised a partially withered right hand, waving it slowly. “No. I can’t tell her,” he replied slowly. “I don’t want any of the women to know.”

Martin nodded, wondering how his mother and sisters would react to the news that David Cole was being held hostage in Costa Rica by a madman. His midnight
gaze shifted to the vaulted ceiling of the loggia of his childhood West Palm Beach home. Closing his eyes, he recalled the madness sweeping through the Cole family nine years before. There had been another kidnapping—that of his own daughter.

Ten-year-old Regina Cole had been kidnapped from her grandparents’ home by a man who needed the money to pay off his gambling debts. Regina was rescued, unharmed, but not without the lingering effects of a fear of close, dark spaces. For six long, anxious days the child had been locked in a closet. Her captors let her out only to eat and to relieve herself.

What had pained Martin most was that his own father had been indirectly responsible for his daughter’s captivity. He’d contracted with a hit man to kill Martin’s wife. When his many attempts were thwarted the hit man decided to take the child. What the kidnapper wanted was an exchange: the mother for the daughter.

It had taken years before Martin’s heart softened enough to forgive Samuel Cole for his loathsome behavior. An adulterous affair with a young woman more than forty years before had left the elder Cole with enough guilt to swallow him whole, and he’d confused Martin’s wife with the woman he’d seduced.

The affair resulted in a son, a son Samuel refused to accept or acknowledge; a son who hated his father as much as his father hated him; a son who finally forgave his father, but only when the older man begged forgiveness as he lay dangerously ill.

It had taken the Cole family forty years to reconcile; forty years to sweep away the remnants of their dirty family secrets, only to be faced with another crisis now. However, this crisis did not start from within. It was from an outsider with a vendetta.

Martin combed his fingers through his steely-gray, curly hair before his gaze shifted to his father’s face. The stroke had aged Samuel, making him appear much older than seventy-seven. It had taken the healthy color from his sienna-brown face, the shine from his once-thick white hair, and most of all his vibrant spirit. The bluster that had made Samuel Claridge Cole one of the most feared African-American businessmen was gone. His quick mind, his business acumen, and his uncanny instinct for turning a profit in a failing enterprise had also vanished. He appeared to be a broken man who lived each day to interact with his children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren.

However, age was more than kind to Martin Diaz Cole. At forty-nine he was a man in his prime. His tall, large body bore no evidence of softening. Laps in a pool, twice daily, helped him retain the muscle he’d acquired in his mid-twenties. He’d married at thirty-nine, fathered three children, and spent his time managing his own investments with his half brother.

Lacing his fingers together, he smiled at his father. “I’ll take over, Dad. I’ll call the governor’s office and Senator Epstein and Velasquez.”

Samuel nodded slowly. “You do that. But there’s someone else I want involved.”

“Who?”

“Joshua.”

A slight frown creased Martin’s forehead. “He’s retired, Dad. He no longer has security clearance. You can’t ask him to leave his family and go back into intelligence again.”

Sighing heavily and pressing his head back against the chaise cushion, Samuel closed his eyes. “I’m not
asking him to come out of retirement. I just want him to help his brother.”

Martin stared at his father, seeing a glimpse of what had made him who he’d been. He recognized the determination of a half-dozen men, and he recognized that Samuel would do anything to protect his family, including going outside of the law.

“I’ll call him.” Rising to his feet, he leaned over and kissed his father’s withered right cheek.

Martin returned to his car without stopping to see his mother. He could not see or talk to Marguerite Cole without lying to her. He’d never lied to her, and he did not want to begin now, not with her youngest child’s life at risk.

He picked up a cellular phone and dialed his half-brother’s residence in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, he counted off the rings and the seconds.

“Hello,” came a deep male voice.

“Josh.” There was obvious relief in Martin’s voice.

“What’s up, Buddy?”

“Can you talk?”

There was a noticeable pause. “What’s going on?”

“Can you talk?” Martin repeated.

“Yes. Vanessa and Emily went out about an hour ago. Why?”

“Raul Cordero-Vega is holding David hostage. He won’t let him go until Gabriel Vega is released from prison. His kid is charged with murder and drug trafficking, so we both know there’s no way he’s getting out.”

A long, violent stream of profanity burned the wires as Martin listened to his brother’s virulent tirade. “I should’ve eliminated Vega before I retired. The army
traced that cache of weapons stolen from Fort Sam Houston to Vega, but they could never prove it.”

“Are you going back in?”

“No. Vanessa threatened to leave me if I came out of retirement.” There was another pause. “We can’t afford to wait sixty days with this lunatic.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Give me time to put something together. I believe it’s time Vega and I meet. I’ll go as a businessman, even though I’m not certain what I’m going to be selling.”

Martin’s features softened with his trademark dimpled smile. “Thanks, Josh.”

“Remember, Buddy, he’s my brother, too.”

“I’m going back to Ford Lauderdale. Call me there.”

“Do M.J. or the girls know about this?”

“No. Sammy says they don’t need to know.”

“He’s right. I’ll be in touch.”

Martin heard the dial tone when Joshua ended the connection. He turned on the ignition in his car, his mind filled with details of what lay ahead for the Cole family, and as he left the local road for the highway south he prayed they would be able to rescue David before sixty days elapsed.

Puerto Limón, Costa Rica

D
avid stared at the space where Serena had been. A muscle flicked angrily at his jaw, eliciting a dull throbbing along the left side of his face. He welcomed the pain, as it aroused anger rather than compliance. There was no way he was going to remain at
La Montaña
for sixty days to await his fate, like a calf fattened for slaughter.

He returned to his bedroom, opened the closet, and retrieved his empty garment bag. Running his fingers along a hidden seam, he found the invisible opening and withdrew his passport and a slim billfold filled with credit cards and Costa Rican currency in large denominations. Letting out his breath, he sighed in relief. At least he could leave the country without being detained
at customs. He returned the passport and the billfold to their hidden compartment and closed the closet door.

Running a hand over his close-cut hair, he made his way over to the armchair, sat down, and elevated his right foot. Most of the swelling in his toes and instep was gone, leaving only a noticeable puffiness and discoloration around the ankle. It would take a while before he would be able to put full pressure on the foot. He’d managed to walk unaided, but with an obvious limp, and he knew he was going nowhere without being in peak physical condition.

He thought of the U.S. ambassador’s reluctance to intervene in the release of Gabriel Vega. David doubted whether he would be as reluctant to become involved for an American citizen. He had to solicit Raul’s aid to contact the ambassador again, this time persuading the man to come to Puerto Limón. It would be ironic if his last trip to Costa Rica would be for the purpose of negotiating on Raul Cordero-Vega’s behalf rather than for ColeDiz International Ltd. Both of them would emerge winners. Vega would get his son back and rid himself of the Coles, while David would divest ColeDiz of its remaining Costa Rican enterprise
and
claim a woman and a love that promised forever.

He also mentally catalogued what he would need if he planned to leave
La Montaña
without notifying his host of his departure, refusing to acknowledge his fate if legal arbitration failed.

Serena lay on her bed, recognizing an emotion she hadn’t felt in twelve years—a restless waiting.

Then she had been waiting to return to the country of her birth. She had applied to several universities in the States with nursing programs, and within weeks of
mailing off the applications she checked the mail daily. It took months before the first response came, and then the others followed in rapid succession. Every school she had applied to had accepted her. Her joy was shortlived when she had to select which school and where. In the end she’d decided on New York. It was close enough for her to see two sets of grandparents in Ohio during the holidays and school recesses.

Peering up at the mosquito netting draped over the four-poster bed, she recalled the joyous occasion when she graduated from nursing school at the top of her class. Her grandparents flew in for the celebration, along with her parents and brother. Gabe fell in love with the land of his mother’s and sister’s birth, and confided to Serena that he also wanted to attend college in the United States.

Her smile faded when she thought of how her brother’s life had been turned upside down. She did not and could not believe Gabe was involved in drugs or murder. Her very straightlaced brother did not smoke, drink, or swear, and she, too, wondered on occasion why he’d taken up with Guillermo Barranda.

The younger Barranda’s reputation of throwing wild parties at his off-campus residence with unlimited supplies of women and liquor was well documented in the Dade County vicinity. Serena had questioned her brother about his intense social activities when she met him in Florida during a three-day holiday weekend. Gabriel confessed that he had fallen in love with a girl who was the sister of a close associate of Barranda. She’d smiled and warned her brother to think with his head and not his heart. Gabe flashed his sensual smile and ducked his head, nodding.

But what was she doing now, if not thinking with
her heart and not her head, when it came to David Cole? She had compromised her professional ethics by sleeping with him, because he
was
her patient. Even if David hadn’t been her patient, she’d never slept with a man she’d known only three days. Perhaps if Luz Maria hadn’t predicted she would marry David, then she would have resisted him.

No
, the silent voice crooned in her head. There was no doubt that she’d been attracted to David Cole from the moment she glanced at him; and she could not deny the powerful, invisible force that drew her to him whenever they occupied the same space. Within days the force had pulled her into him, so that she did not know where he began and she ended. In or out of bed, they had become one.

The soft chiming of the telephone interrupted her musings. Reaching over, she picked up the receiver. “
Hola
.”

“Hola, Amiga.”

“Evelyn!” Serena screamed. “How did you know I was back?”

“I had to hear it secondhand, Miss Morris. And you know I hate secondhand news.”

Serena’s large eyes sparkled with excitement. “Are you calling from San José?”

“I’m here in Limón at my mother’s.”

“Give me time to change my clothes and I’ll—”

“Stay where you are,
Amiga
. I’m coming to
La Montaña
. I have something to show you.
Adiós
.”

Serena heard the sound of the dial tone as her high school friend hung up abruptly. Replacing the receiver on its cradle, she propelled herself off the bed. She met Evelyn Perez when they both were ten, and they had become fast friends. As they approached adolescence
they made up stories about finding the perfect man, marrying him, and settling down to have a beautiful home filled with lots of babies.

Evelyn had married her high school sweetheart a month following their graduation, but hadn’t had any children.

She combed her hair, securing the curly strands in a single plait, slipped into a sarong style cotton skirt in a vibrant, sun-gold and black print and a gold tank top. The color emphasized the rich, warm, brown undertones of her flawless complexion.

The black ballet slippers on her feet muffled the sound of her footsteps as she descended the staircase just as the front doorbell chimed melodiously. “I’ll get it, Isabel,” Serena said to the petite, dark-skinned, silent woman who came to
La Montaña
three times a week to clean and maintain the routines Juanita had set up for the smooth management of her household.

Her delicate jaw dropped when she opened the door and stared at a grinning Evelyn holding a tiny infant in her arms. “You did it!”

Evelyn Perez-Comacho handed Serena her daughter. “Meet Señorita Serena Lupe Consuela Comacho.”

Serena’s eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them back before they could fall on the sleeping baby girl. “You kept your promise to name your daughter after me.”

“I always keep my promises,
Amiga
.”

Cradling the child to her breast, Serena stepped aside. “Come in out of the heat.”

Evelyn moved past her childhood friend and into the cool magnificence of
La Montaña
. She had always admired the house, even as it was being erected, not realizing
she would spend many nights under its roof once she formed a close friendship with Serena Morris.

“Everything about
La Montaña
is still beautiful,” Evelyn stated, her dark gaze sweeping around the enormous space before passing to linger on the curving staircase.

Serena nodded in stunned silence. The warmth and slight weight of the child she cradled to her breast garnered all of her attention.

“How old is she?”

“Three months.”

Serena glanced briefly at her friend before returning her attention to the baby. “Why didn’t you call me to let me know that you were pregnant?”

“It was touch and go at first. I spent the first four months of my pregnancy in bed, because of spotting. As it was, she was six weeks early.”

“Come and sit down. We have so much to talk about.” She led Evelyn to the area off the living room and both women sat on the love seat. Evelyn placed a large, quilted bag down on a side table.

Serena stared at the sleeping child in her arms, marveling at how much the tiny girl resembled her father. An undertone of deep rose pink shone through the delicate, pale skin covering her dewy, soft face. She removed the tiny, white cotton eyelet hat, smiling at the tufts of black curling hair covering the small, round head.

“She’s just like Francisco. You’d think I had nothing to do with helping to create this baby,” Evelyn said solemnly.

“She’s beautiful, Evelyn.” Raising her head, she stared at her friend. Evelyn was beautiful. Tall and slender, she claimed a dark brown coloring that she’d
inherited from her Jamaican ancestors, while her thick, jet-black hair was styled to flatter her attractive features. Large dark eyes framed by thick lashes and a full, lush mouth arrested one’s attention immediately.

“She’s my life. I wanted to conceive for so long that I had just resigned myself that I would never be a mother.”

“How is Francisco taking to fatherhood?”

Evelyn’s smile was dazzling. “He’s a little
loco
about her.”

Serena shifted a delicate eyebrow. “Only a little?”

“Okay, a lot crazy. Right now he’s in Panama City for the next six weeks with a group of archaeologists who are convening to discuss the artifacts uncovered during a dig along the border with Panama.”

“How is he dealing with the separation?”

“Not well. He calls me every night.”

Serena smiled. It appeared as if her friends were still very much in love. “Now, tell me. How did you know that I was back?”

“My cousin saw you at the
Mercado Municipal
. When did you get back?”

“Last Wednesday.”

Evelyn glanced down at the highly polished parquet floor. “I heard about your brother.” Her gaze swept back to meet Serena’s. “I know he’s innocent.”

She nodded, biting down on her lower lip before she forced a smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Let’s hope and pray that a Florida jury will find him innocent.”

“Anyone who’s met Gabriel knows that he’s the kindest—”

“It’s all right, Evelyn. You don’t have to say it.” Her expression brightened. “I’ve been rude. Let me get you
something to eat and drink.” Leaning over, she handed the sleeping baby back to her mother.

“Is there some place I can lay her? I don’t want to get into the habit of holding her while she sleeps. It doesn’t take much to spoil her.”

Serena rose to her feet and took the quilted bag. “Sure. Bring her upstairs to my bedroom.”

The two women took the staircase to the second story bedroom, walking the length of a hallway they’d traversed many times in the past. Evelyn spread a lightweight cotton blanket over the crocheted coverlet on Serena’s bed, then gently placed her daughter on the blanket. Placing pillows strategically around the baby to prevent her from rolling off onto the floor, they walked out of the room.

David sat on the armchair, drawing and then erasing pencilled notes as he worked feverishly on a composition for a guitar solo. He wanted to put all of the notes down before he went downstairs to play what he’d composed.

He could discern the distinctive sound of an acoustical guitar playing a classical Spanish flamenco rhythm with a pair of castanets as an accompaniment. He wanted another instrument, but he hadn’t decided on which one.

What he needed was a deep, moanful sound—bass violin, organ? “
Cello
,” he whispered. He would use the cello, utilizing half the tempo of the guitar. The cello would represent the low murmur of the wind, the guitar the rustle of leaves before the storm broke, and the castanets the wild, unrestrained tapping of rain against the windows. He wanted to capture in his music the sounds of the exotic, sun-drenched world of the rain forest. And
he also wanted to incorporate the peace and tranquility he’d discovered in Serena’s arms.

He heard a mournful cry, recognizing it as that of a howler monkey. When he’d first heard the eerie sound he thought it was that of a baby crying.

Forcing his thoughts back to the pad on his lap, he hummed the notes resting on, above, and below the staff of music. The crying began again, this time louder than the first time. He listened intently, sure now the crying came from a human baby. But, he wondered, where was there a baby at
La Montaña?

He put aside the pad and pencil, rose to his feet, and made his way across the bedroom. The crying grew louder as he neared the door. Moving down the hallway, he stood outside Serena’s bedroom. On her bed amid a barricade of pillows lay a tiny baby whose arms and legs flailed wildly. Its face had darkened with a rush of frantic screaming.

“Whoa, Fella,” he crooned, limping into the bedroom. “What can be so bad that you have to scream like this?”

He reached down and picked up the fretful infant, cradling it to his chest. The soft, clean smell associated with babies wrang a smile from him. The baby snuggled closer to his warmth and stopped crying. A pair of tiny, round, dark eyes stared up at his larger, darker pair.

“You look as if you’ve had a lot of experience with babies,” said a familiar female voice behind him.

Turning slowly, David smiled at Serena and a woman, he assumed was the child’s mother. “I have,” he admitted, his gaze fused with Serena’s. “I’m uncle to a horde of nieces and nephews. He was crying, so I picked him up,” he explained quickly.

“
Ella
,” the women chorused in unison. “She.”

David arched his sweeping eyebrows and flashed a sheepish, dimpled grin. “I can’t tell one from the other when they’re fully clothed,” he explained, switching to English.

“You’re welcome to change her,” Evelyn suggested in Caribbean-accented English.

“No, thank you,” he replied, handing the child to its mother.