“No one is our friend on a job. They could have changed their minds and want this handled a different way. Just do what I say and keep out of sight. Let me talk to them. If anything goes wrong, drop to the ground and cover your eyes. And, Isabeau . . .” He waited until her gaze met his. “This time do what I tell you.”
She nodded her head in agreement. She certainly didn’t want to see leopards killing two men she knew.
Conner moved out of the brush onto the edge of the clearing. “Gerald. Your brother said nothing of your coming.”
The two men swung around, the older one keeping his hands high and out from his body, the younger one going low, almost into a crouch, hands reaching for his weapon.
“You’d never make it, Will,” Conner said. “And you know it. You pick it up, I guarantee, you’re a dead man.”
Gerald snapped at his nephew in their own language. Conner had spent enough time in their village as a youngster to understand, but he politely pretended he didn’t know Will was being harshly reprimanded. They’d been friends once—good friends, but that had been a long time ago.
“We felt you needed to know the truth before you set out on this mission,” Gerald called to him. “Adan sent me with your mother’s book.”
“Why didn’t Adan bring it to me himself?”
“My mother had it,” Will said. “Marisa thrust it into her hands when the men came, and my mother dropped it. She didn’t remember until later, and my father was already gone when she went looking for it.”
Conner remained still, almost rigid, forcing his lungs to continue breathing in and out. He knew his mother kept a diary. He’d seen it enough times as a boy growing up. She journaled nearly every day. She loved words and they often flowed in the form of poetry or short stories. Will conjured up vivid memories better suppressed there in the rain forest with danger surrounding them, but it was a plausible explanation.
“There’s much to tell you,” Gerald said. “And your mother’s book will bear out my words of truth.”
Conner gestured for him to put his hands down. “We have to be careful, Gerald. Someone tried to kill your brother last night.”
Gerald nodded. “I’m aware. And there was a division in the tribe on how to handle the situation with getting the children back.”
“Does that division include you, Will?” Conner asked.
“My son, Artureo, was taken,” Will said, “but I stand with my father. Nothing we do will ever be enough for Cortez if we don’t stop her now.”
Conner beckoned them forward. Gerald stepped away from the weapons, and walked toward Conner. Will followed him, looking far less hostile. They drew thin mats from the small packs they carried slung over their shoulders and laid them on the ground, lowering themselves into a vulnerable sitting position. Conner gave a small hand signal to the others, advising them to back off and simply watch.
“Thank you.” He took the book Gerald offered as he sat tailor fashion opposite them. “Will, it’s good to see you again, old friend.” He nodded his head toward the younger man. They’d spent a few years of their childhood playing together. The tribesmen took wives at a much earlier age, and by seventeen, Will had had the responsibilities of a son.
Will nodded his head. “I wish the situation was different.”
“I knew one of Adan’s grandsons was taken. This is about your son?”
Will glanced at his uncle and then shook his head, his eyes meeting Conner’s.
Conner braced himself for a blow. There was no expression on Will’s face, but there was a great deal of compassion in his eyes.
“No, Conner. This is about your brother.”
Conner’s first inclination was to leap across the small space separating them and rip out Will’s heart, but he forced himself to sit quite still, his gaze locked on his prey, and every muscle ready to spring. He knew these men. They were honest to a fault, and if Will said he had a brother—then Will believed it was truth. He forced air through his burning lungs, studying the two men, his fingers tightening around his mother’s book.
Isabeau had mentioned a child. “Marisa came with the child” or something to that effect. His mother was always around children; he hadn’t thought much about that. He hadn’t inquired as to whose child it was.
“She would have told me if she had another child,” he said. He couldn’t imagine his mother hiding her child, not for any reason. But she had stayed near Adan’s village, even after he’d left. Could she have found love with a member of the tribe? He raised his eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.
“Not your mother’s child, Conner. A babe was brought to our village by a woman, one of your people. She didn’t want the child.”
Conner’s stomach lurched. He knew what was coming, and the child in him remembered that feeling of absolute rejection. Without thinking, he turned his head to look at Isabeau. He rarely felt the need of anyone, but in that moment, he knew he needed her support. She came out of the brush without hesitation, striding across the clearing, looking regal, her face soft, her eyes on him. She flashed a small smile and greeted the two tribesmen as she sank down close to Conner. She laid her palm on his thigh and he felt it burning there. He pressed his hand down over the top of hers, holding her to him while she looked at him.
He didn’t want that moment to end and the next to begin. She smiled at him, showing him without words she would support him whatever was coming. She knew he was upset, yet she didn’t ask a question, simply waited. His mother had been like that. Calm. Accepting. Someone to stand beside a man and face the worst. He wanted that trait in the mother of his children.
“My father had another child.” He made himself say the words aloud. Saying them served a dual purpose. Isabeau would understand, and he could better grasp the reality.
Will nodded. “You were already in Borneo. Your father had another woman and when she became pregnant, he told her she should abort or get the hell out. She wanted to stay with him, so she had the baby and gave him away. She went back to your father.”