“And you think I never was?” Graciela asked. And the words came tumbling out before she could stop them. “I was once a part of that life you are talking about, and it was a living hell. My mother was a whore, and every night I had a different uncle. When I was fourteen years old I gave my body to a man because I was attracted to him and jealous of my mother and what she was doing.” The words were coming in a torrent now. “I would have become a whore too if I had stayed there to be part of the life you think is so precious. No, I don’t believe I ran away from anything. I ran to something. I found a safe world that is peaceful and good.”
Ricardo was staring at her, horrified. “I—I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”
She was sobbing now, and he took her in his arms and said, “Shh! It’s all right. That’s over. You were a child. I love you.”
And it was as though Ricardo had given her absolution. She had told him about the awful things she had done in the past, and still he forgave her. And—wonder of wonders—loved her.
He held her very close. “There is a poem by Federico García Lorca:
The night does not wish to come
so that you cannot come
and I cannot go…
But you will come
with your tongue burned by the salt rain.
The day does not wish to come
so that you cannot come
and I cannot go…
But you will come
through the muddy sewers of darkness.
Neither night nor day wishes to come
so that I may die for you
and for me.
And suddenly she thought of the soldiers who were hunting them and she wondered if she and her beloved Ricardo were going to live long enough to have a future together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
There was a link missing, a clue to the past, and Alan Tucker was determined to find it. There had been no mention in the newspaper of a baby being abandoned, but it should be easy enough to find out the date it was brought to the orphanage. If the date coincided with the time of the plane crash, Ellen Scott would have some interesting explaining to do. She couldn’t be that stupid, Alan Tucker thought. To risk pretending that the Scott heiress was dead, and then leave her on the doorstep of a farmhouse. Risky. Very risky. On the other hand, look at the reward: Scott Industries. Yes, she could have pulled it off. If it is a skeleton in her closet, it’s a live one, and it’s going to cost her plenty.
Tucker knew that he had to be very careful. He had no illusion about whom he was dealing with. He was confronting raw power. He knew he had to have all the evidence in hand before he made his move.
His first stop was another visit with Father Berrendo.
“Father—I would like to speak to the farmer and his wife, where Patricia—Megan was dropped off.”
The old priest smiled. “I hope your conversation with them will not take place for a long time.”
Tucker stared at him. “You mean—?”
“They died many years ago.”
Damn. But there had to be other avenues to explore. “You said the baby was taken to a hospital with pneumonia?”
“Yes.”
There would be records there. “Which hospital was it?”
“It burned down in 1961. There is a new hospital now.” He saw the look of dismay on his visitor’s face. “You must remember, señor, that the information you are seeking goes back twenty-eight years. Many things have changed.”
Nothing’s going to stop me, Tucker thought. Not when I’ve come this close. There must be a file on her somewhere.
There was still one place left to investigate: the orphanage.
He was reporting daily now to Ellen Scott.
“Keep me informed of every development. I want to know the moment the girl is found.”
And Alan Tucker wondered about the urgency in her voice.
She seems in an awful big rush over something that happened all those years ago. Why? Well, that can wait. First I have to get the proof I’m looking for.