Rogue Diamond

Rogue Diamond

By Mary Tate Engels

Published by Mary Tate Engels
,
all rights reserved.

Copyright 2011
, Mary Tate Engels

Cover by www.digitaldonna.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold or given away.

PROLOGUE

Email from
Hermo
si
llo, Mexico

To: Carol W

From: Alex J

Subject: baby girl

Hi
Carol,

I just had a baby tonight! No, I haven't been keeping a secr
et from you. Actually, my house
keeper gave birth, but I almost feel as if I did. Anyway, I'm exhausted and exhilarated and far too excited to sleep right now. If the Mexican telephone system were more reliable, I'd call you, even though it's past midnight.

When the univer
si
ty sent Teresa to be my housekeeper a few months ago, no one knew she was pregnant. By the time I found out, I didn't have the heart to dismiss her. She's a good worker and needs the job desperately because she doesn't hav
e a husband. She talks about go
ing back to the St
ates with me as if it were para
dise. I've been so busy with my own job that I didn't give a second thought to how and where she would have this baby, just assuming she would go to the hospital. Imagine my surprise this afternoon when she asked me to send for the midwife
.
She was quite calm. I was a nervous wreck!

I'm sure I was slightly incoherent. I only remember saying "Don't you dare have that baby here, Teresa! You go to the hospital where you belong!" She just smiled and said, "No, senorita, in my room. Don't worry.
Please call Consuela
."

And sure enough, with
Consuela
attending, she had
a baby girl
! We
sweated through ten hours of la
bor. I guess that's not too bad for a first baby. My God, Carol, Teresa is only a child herself, only eighteen! I tried to remember what the speaker from the Lamaze Method said, but it escaped me. I chanted things like "Breathe deeply," and "Try to relax," which, I'm sure, weren't highly appreciated a
t the time. My biggest contribu
tions were to keep cool towels on her head and let her squeeze the hell out of my hand. By the time the baby's
head appeared, we were all cry
ing and laughing at the same time!

I will never, ever, forget the sound of her first squeaky cry! There are no words to describe what I was feeling at that moment.

Mother and d
aughter are doing fine.
Consuela
has completed her duty successfully. But la gringa as
si
stant is going to have a tall glass of wine! Little did I realize when I accepted this Mexican as
si
g
nment that I would become so in
volved in . . . life. Tonight, I've witnessed the awesome beginning!

A new Godmother, Alex

P.S. The baby's name is Jennifer Teresa Alexis Portillo,
which is about as big as she is
and she's absolutely beautiful.

CHAPTER ONE

A million times a
fter the accident, Alexis recon
structed the scene in her mind and attempted to place everyone and everything in the correct sequence of events. But it did no good. She couldn't visual
ize the moment of Jenni's disap
pearance.

She recalled every detail except the crucial one.

The sultry air was redolent with scents typical of
a Mexican marketplace. Charcoal
grill
s with
corn on the cob
,
fajitas,
and
barbecued beef, only added to the steamy street. The strong aroma of garlic clashed with the perfumed fragrance of flowers. She walked past crates of live chickens and turned her nose away from the pungent odor of damp feathers. And the air smelled like rain. It was unseasonably hot
and humid
for April.

She remembered the noise that day. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual medley of sounds—the lilting Spanish phrases of vendors hawking their war
es, children giggling, the occa
si
onal braying of a bored donkey.

Alex touched Teresa's shoulder in order to get
her attention. "I wish it would rain enough to cool things down, but not tonight. I want this party to be perfect."

"
S
í
, senorita
." Teresa grinned and shrugged. "So what can we do about it? If it rains, it rains. Do you want mangos for the fruit tray?"

Alex envied Teresa's nonchalant attitude. "Mangos? Ah, yes! My consuming pas
si
on! Be sure to get enough for all the guests."

"I'll get them." Teresa began to sort through the yellowish orb
s and Alex watched, holding lit
tle Jenni's small hand tightly.

She heard the whining of tires but had no time to think, to react to the car that headed straight for them! She screamed at Teresa and tried to shield Jenni.

Jenni! Would she ever see the child again?

A green, partially rusted car appeared out of nowhere and rammed people and wagons in the open-air marketplace. The vehicle finally stopped when it crashed into a light post. The disaster replayed again and again in Alex's mind, sometimes in slow motion. She could see the events as they happened, the events that changed the direction of her life forever.

The light post
toppled slowly against a build
ing, and it lay like a matchstick that had been carelessly dropped amid a miniature Mexican street scene. D
isplay wagons loaded with color
ful fruits, vegetabl
es, and flowers, fell like domi
noes one on top o
f another, scattering their con
tents everywhere.

Vibrant colors flashed through Alex's mind—yellow and orange and red flying in all directions. Then
along
came the green object of destruction. It all happened so fast: the green car fishtailing toward them, then the cacophony. The screams of fright, perhaps of pain. The braying of donkeys, the yelping of dogs. Rapid chattering of Spanish, all filling the chaotic Mexican marketplace, echoing in her head.

There was a moment of nothing, a blank spot in her memory. Alex later realized she must have blacked out for a brief moment. She lay sprawled on the
si
dewalk,
gathering her senses. What hap
pened?

She struggled to a
si
tting po
si
tion and her eyes fell on Teresa. That's when the inner panic flushed through every inch of her, cour
si
ng like hot liquid fire, threatening to explode in a frenzy of screaming terror.

Oblivious to her own scraped knees and elbows, Alex scrambled wildly over oranges and mangos to reach Teresa's still form. The young Mexican woman lay wit
h her head nestled tran
quilly against an adobe brick building, her eyes closed,
and her
body slack.

Alex's head reeled. They'd been walking along the street, laug
hing and talking, selecting man
gos for the p
arty. What seemed so crucial mo
ments ago now seemed ludicrous. It was like a horror movie, one you never believed because it just couldn't happen that way, certainly not to you. Yet here they were, Teresa unconscious with Alex hovering nearby, trying to retain some sense of control over her wildly racing emotions.

Teresa moaned and rolled her head away from the crumbling adobe brick. Her eyes remained closed, as if she were
asleep. And yet, her usually
tanned face had an unnatural pallor. A lump the
si
ze
of an egg marred the young wom
an's forehead, and was already turning deep blue-purple. For all the destruction and obvious harm, there was no blood. Teresa just looked like she was . . . asleep.

There was a moment of unnatural quiet while Alex tried to decide what to do. She wanted to scream, to cry, to shake Teresa awake. But she refrained, knowing instinctively none of that would help. Panic grew in
si
de Alex, fueled by pumping adrenaline and revealed in her shaking hands which cradled and caressed Teresa's face. She was careful not to move her but yearned to wake Teresa and force those eyes open, to shake some life into her.

"Teresa . . . oh, my God, Teresa!" Alex's voice was oddly high-pitched and shaky. "Teresa, can you hear me? Wake up! Please, talk to me! Teresa! Everything's going to be all right. We'll get help."

She looked
around frantically and later re
called the circle of stricken faces, all dark-skinned and dark-eyed. Before she could make an appeal for help, a man reluctantly shuffled forward from the crowd.

"How is she, senorita?" he asked in Spanish.

"She needs he
lp. Call an ambulance," Alex or
dered, also speaking in Spanish. Something clicked in
si
de and she was filled with a sense of
pseudo composure. Suddenly, her voice was sure and strong. She knew that Teresa needed help, not hysteria. That much was obvious and clear in her mind. "Quickly!"

"
Si
, senorita."

Alex turned back to Teresa's limp form and took her hand. She began to talk to the still, quiet face, muttering repeatedly in both Spanish and English, "Everything's going to be al
l right, Te
resa. Help is on its way."

Then, and Alex didn't know what took her so long to think of it, she swung her head around frantically and demanded of a woman who stood helplessly nearby, "
La nina? Donde est
a
la nina
? Where is she?"

The woman gazed over each shoulder and
shrugged back at Alex. "
Yo no se
."

"What do you mean you don't know? Get her for me! She's just a toddler!" Alex was filled with a sudden vexation. How could they stand around so ineptly when she needed as
si
stance right now? She couldn't be everywhere at once. Here lay Teresa, unconscious, and Jenni was probably scared and—"Bring me the child, por favor. This is her mother." She patted Teresa's hand and felt as utterly helpless as she ever had in her life.

A
si
ren pierced the air, and Alex shuttered with relief. The wail of a
si
ren had always been an ominous, frightening sound. But now it was welcome. It heralded the reassuring arrival of as
si
stance. The
si
ren would bring clearheaded people who would help her. And take care of Teresa.

Alex rocked back on her knees and watched as a police car screeched to a stop, dividing the crowd. Immediately, another official car pulled up behind the first one and the place swarmed with uniformed men. Most of them descended on the green car, but one approached Alex and the prone form of Teresa.

He instructed the crowd to move back and knelt to feel
Teresa's pulse. "Weak," he mut
tered, turning to Alex. "Do you know her?"

"Yes, she's my housekeeper," Alex responded frantically. "She needs an ambulance. Can you get help for her?"

"It will be here soon," he assured her, drawing out a pen and paper. "What is the name of the victim?"

Victim? Alex wrenched in
si
de at the term. She answered numbly, "Teresa Marie Portillo."

"Address?"

"She lives with me. She's my housekeeper. On Linda Vista."

The policeman's
eyes quickly assessed the slen
der, blond woman on her knees. "And your name, senorita?"

"Alexis Julian.
I'm a professor at Sonoran Uni
ver
si
ty."

"The victim's age."

Alex swallowed. "Twenty."

"Can you tell me what happened here?"

Taking a deep breath, Alex explained, pointing in the direction of the horrible green Chevy. "A car, that car, came around the corner, skidded into all these fruit wagons, and crashed into that
pole. It knocked us—oh, my God, Jenni! Can you stay here with Teresa? I've got to get her baby!"

Alex sprang nimbly to her feet and began a frenzied search. Jenni was nowhere in
si
ght! Alex shoved past vendors who stood helplessly be
si
de their overturned wagons and stumbled over the scattered mess of fruit, flowers, and bread. Soon she was frantically throwing a
si
de embroidered dresses and dec
orative shirts and rushing head
long from one
si
de of the narrow street to the other, all the while calling "Jenni, Jenni!"