Crazed: A Blood Money Novel (14 page)

“Let’s just say I never had that pregnancy glow everyone goes on and on about.”

“No, I mean after.” Though he hated hearing about her suffering. He ought to have been the man seeing to her needs, not Pipe. Never Pipe.

She fidgeted against him but didn’t shift away. “Only the early days, when Arlo was in neonatal care. He fell in love the minute he set eyes on her, you know. He and...and Théa, they’d wanted a big family with lots of children. Pipe and I grieved together for who—what—we’d lost.”

Every word was a blow to his gut, nausea churning. An acute sense of loss swept over him, roughening his voice. “And now you’re his fiancée.”

“He didn’t push me, Casí. He didn’t rush me or force me. At the time, I thought he was the best choice for my daughter. He’d be able to keep her safer than I could on my own.”

“I can keep you safe.” Outside of Colombia, they’d be safe as houses. Nothing and no one would ever touch them. “Our lives would’ve been so much different if I’d only watched the satellite footage a few hours more. I would’ve come back immediately and—”

“Don’t tell me what you would have done.” She straightened, putting dreadful distance between their bodies until he bit his tongue to keep from voicing a complaint. “Or what you tried to do. I’m not... I can’t hear it right now. Not on top of everything else.”

He drew his hands into his lap, resting palms down atop his thighs. “When you’re ready, I’ll tell you. Anything. Everything.” Not a single piece of information would be withheld from her ever again. Keeping secrets had destroyed them the first time around—he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Propping his arms on the pew back in front of him, he closed his eyes, unable to look at her as he admitted his failure. “I looked around for the marriage certificate, but you were right. You survived, but it didn’t.”

“Casí.”

Was that pity in her tone? Oh, hell no. He shook his head, shifting in the pew to face her with what he knew must be a fearsome expression. “I can’t abide by a proxy annulment, not when I know it was real, that
I
was real with you in that moment. And not when I’m not Catholic.” Pausing, he scrubbed a palm over his buzzed scalp. “I’m sorry I’m not Catholic. I suppose that’s one more lie you can hate me for.”

“Oh, Casí.” From pity to patronizing in two seconds flat. “I always knew you weren’t Catholic.”

His shoulders straightened, and he frowned. “What? How?”

A blush suffused her cheeks. “You’re circumcised.”

And Catholic men from South America, by and large, were decidedly
not
circumcised.

Well. That was one secret he couldn’t hide.

Ilda tugged her braid over one shoulder, toying with the neon elastic. “So? What, um, what are you?”

“Jewish.”

She blinked at him. “Practicing?”

“On the High Holy Days, yes.” His maternal grandparents had emigrated from their homeland of Morocco to settle in Toronto, where his grandfather had practiced internal medicine. Their only daughter—Casey’s mother, Sofia—had attended medical school at Harvard, met Frank Faraday during an excursion in Cape Cod and ultimately altered over two centuries of latent Protestantism on the part of the Faradays by insisting on raising her children Jewish.

Abruptly, Ilda stood, adjusting the hem of her tank over the waistband of her skintight black workout capris. “I know how badly you wanted to find the certificate.”

Light from the stained-glass window haloed her head, casting her in a glow so stunning she stole his breath. Looking at her hurt. Being near her hurt. Fuck, maybe he was a masochist, because he never wished this pain to end. “What I want doesn’t matter, Ilda. What
does
is bringing my brother home in one piece—that’s why I’m here.” He studied the play of emotions on her beautifully familiar face. “But you should know that I’m not going to give up on us. I don’t have it in me to let you go.”

Frustration won the battle for dominance in her expression. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “How about you stop telling me what you plan to do and convince me to go along with those plans?” When he said nothing, feeling like he’d accidentally stepped on a landmine and not sure how to disarm it, she heaved an aggrieved sigh. “If you recall, Casí, I pursued you. I decided, after considering what I knew of you and the man you were, that you were worth my time and my heart. I must have had a reason, yes? If you want me to even consider what
you
want, make me remember that reason.”

After fumbling at her waistband, she tossed a folded paper into his lap, the edges blackened. As he opened the parchment with shaking hands to reveal their marriage certificate, she spoke, old pain layered into every syllable. “I took it from the priest’s office that day because I thought we might need it for proof wherever we were going.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a hand lifting to her throat as she stared down at the paper he held so carefully. “I put it in my pocket. One of the nurses at the hospital, after...after, she put all my belongings into a bag.” Her swallow was audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “Pipe told me Casímiro Cortez had died, and I never wanted to look in that bag again. I had one of the hacienda staff put it in a closet.”

His hands smoothed over the crinkled corners, staring at their signatures next to one another on the simple form the priest had set before them after speaking their vows.

Ilda nodded jerkily. “You were right. I married Casey Faraday. I didn’t remember that you filled out your half of the certificate after I’d done mine, until I found the bag in the closet last night.”

The day before their wedding, Casey had been scouting possible chapels, needing to choose one that was out of the way but near enough that he could collect her as soon as the tactical team had completed its mission. Something about the priest at this chapel had gotten to him, though. A gleam in his weathered eye, perhaps? Regardless, Casey had flashed his American passport at the old cleric and passed over a decent chunk of change—for the donation box, of course—to avoid the necessary Certificate of Impediment he’d normally need for their union to be legal, seeing as he was neither Catholic nor Colombian.

Staring at the written proof of their marriage, an event he’d feared every so often that he’d invented in his mind, a tragic fantasy, stole his voice. He lifted his gaze to hers, locking onto the deep brown irises without blinking.

She stared back. “It was never filed with the government,” she whispered, “but in the eyes of God, we are one.”

“We are in my eyes, too, Ilda.”

Glancing at the watch on her wrist, she hurriedly exited the pew, again dropping to genuflect. “I have to go.”

He stood, slowly, his body feeling like one giant bruise. “How do I contact you?” These covert meetings, where he accosted her in public or she barely escaped her minders, were too dangerous to continue.

“Tell me your number.”

He rattled off the digits to his Faraday cell, not the burner of which Pipe and Manuel were aware. “You call me if you sense anything is off, do you understand?” he demanded, unable to resist issuing one final command. His nature simply couldn’t be stifled, not for long. “If they suspect we’ve been in contact, you call me, and I will get you out. We can argue over my high-handed behavior later, once you and Arlo are safe.”

Ilda gave him one last somber look before pushing through the chapel doors and into the midday sun. He hated the idea of her running those miles back to her uncle’s cottage, but they both knew he couldn’t drive her there.

Strengthening his stranglehold on the ever-roiling emotions he couldn’t seem to escape, Casey pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the marriage certificate, sending it off to Tobias before he thought better of it.

Is this legal if it was never filed? Answer ASAP.

The response came less than a minute later, and Casey smiled for the first time in what felt like centuries.

Mom is going to be so pissed you got married and didn’t tell her.

Chapter Twelve

Not for the first time, Ilda wished shouting accomplished something—specifically, that shouting for Arlo when her daughter had disappeared elicited a response. But Arlo would never hear her call or the worry in Ilda’s voice. A blessing for the child, perhaps, but another stressor destined to send Ilda to an early grave.

Despite the frustration, she wouldn’t trade Arlo’s adventurous nature for anything in the world. Her daughter did her best every damn day to escape her nanny’s watchful eye, a veritable escape artist in training. The curse of an active child, but recently Arlo’s disappearances were compounded by Isobel’s divided attention. More than once, Ilda had seen the nanny away from her post, flirting with one of the newer brigadiers whose name Ilda didn’t remember. Until now, it hadn’t been an issue, but Arlo was not in any of her usual hideouts, so she made a mental note to speak with Isobel soon about keeping a closer watch on her three-year-old charge.

Passing through the tiled portico that divided the hacienda’s two courtyards, Ilda headed toward the entrance to the stables. It was the last stop on her list before she’d permit panic to settle in. Glancing around, she frowned as she noticed that none of Pipe’s brigadiers were at their usual posts along the edge of the northern courtyard. The sun was starting to dip low toward the hilltops, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, and light poured from every window of the brigadier barracks.

Odd. Maybe that was where Isobel had gone.

A faint
yip
from inside the stables caught her attention, drawing her forward. Where that mutt Cerdito lurked, Arlo was certain to be as well. The aging dog was viciously protective of Arlo, having been known to bite the hand of even a familiar brigadier should one get too close to the girl.

The comforting scents of fresh hay, leather tack and horse assailed her as she moved down the center aisle of the barn. Several of the big animals nickered in greeting as she passed their stalls, following the sounds of Cerdito’s snuffling whines to the end of the aisle. The stable itself was constructed in the shape of an “L,” with the longer side aligned to the western edge of the courtyard. State-of-the-art box stalls had doors on two sides, one set facing the courtyard, the other set looking into the aisle. On the opposite side of the long aisle were a series of older tie stalls, used now for grooming and tacking up. A huge set of double doors opened out into the grassy paddock, bracketed by the shorter leg of the stable on the north side and encircled by a pristine white fence. Jump the fence to the west, and you’d end up dead at the bottom of a ravine or impaled by a spiky tree trunk. The fence to the south, though, gave way to beautiful pasture, where several of Pipe’s horses now grazed, running the length of the southern courtyard and the main drive down the hill half a mile to the front gate, where Pipe’s property line ended.

Inside the stable, Ilda reached the sharp turn to the left that marked the beginning of the old, non-updated section of the structure. Beyond the tack room converted from three of the tie stalls lay a short row of empty stalls, and it was down that row she could hear Cerdito’s decidedly frantic whining.

Frantic?
Ignoring the unease that always came when she drew too near this part of the stable—unease she’d never been able to put a finger on, except that she never let Arlo play in the abandoned section—Ilda broke into a jog. Dark, it was dark, with only a workman’s light with its single dim bulb hooked to the wall at the far end. The stalls were vertically slatted from floor to ceiling, unlike the solid wood loose boxes along the main aisle. Dutch doors with iron bars on the top half hung ajar on three of the four stalls, the blackness within eerily unsettling as Ilda passed.

Until she came to the final stall, its door padlocked shut and a bristling Cerdito alternately growling and whimpering as he stared through the slats.
“Qué es, cachorro?”
she whispered, dread curling in her belly. Grabbing the work light from the wall, she held it high and approached the slats. Her breathing accelerated as she peered into the stall, gasping at the scene illuminated not only by her light but by the electric lantern on the stall floor.

Arlo sat comfortably,
trustingly
, in the lap of a dark-haired male shackled to the interior walls of the stall. The shadows concealed his features, but it was obvious he watched the girl with unwavering interest. Ilda realized Arlo had slipped through the slats with two of her favorite rubber dinosaur toys, Cerdito’s burly terrier body too bulky to follow her, much to his distress.
“Hija,”
Ilda hissed, no matter that her daughter couldn’t hear her, fingers white-knuckled where she gripped the nearest slat.

But the man heard her, all right. His head snapped up, and another gasp escaped her. Irises of an identical pale gray to Arlo’s met hers, except one of his eyes had been blackened, ringed with fresh bruises, and one side of his lean, scruffy jaw was swollen and discolored.

Casey’s brother, Adam. It must be, but she hadn’t thought he’d be so...so
young
. Oh, Lord, he couldn’t be more than twenty-five, just a kid. His clothes were dirty but obviously stylish, fitted burgundy trousers, scuffed slip-on sneakers and a fine-knit charcoal crewneck tee that displayed the tensile strength of his upper arms.

And when he spoke, in English, his voice was so similar to Casey’s clear baritone that her heart stumbled in her chest. “Why does this pretty baby have my mother’s eyes,
belleza
?”

So that rare eye color came from their mother.
Arlo’s grandmother
. She exhaled in a rush. “You are Cay-zee’s brother,” she managed quietly, vowing then and there to work on her English. Perhaps if she asked Axel Moreno, he would tutor her in the safety of Our Lady.

Immediately, Adam switched to flawless Spanish. “You know Casey. This is...
she
is Casey’s?” He nodded to Arlo, who hadn’t yet noticed Ilda’s presence. “Holy shit, I’m an uncle.”

“Shhh.” She glanced down the hall but the stables were empty of all but them. “Be careful with your words.” If someone overheard, they—Ilda, Casey, Adam, Arlo—were in unimaginable trouble.

Dark brows lowered. “I keep my mouth shut, señora, especially when it comes to family. And seeing as you just called this little stunner ‘daughter,’ well...welcome to the family.” His chin lifted as he studied her. “I know you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I
do
know you.” His eyes narrowed. “Four years ago. He had me put an alert on the name ‘Ilda Almeida’ but nothing relevant ever popped up. You’re her. Ilda.”

“Your brother is here in Medellín, to rescue you,” she blurted out, desperate to talk about anything but four damn years ago. After meeting Casey yesterday in the chapel, after discovering that he had indeed filled out the never-filed marriage certificate with his real name—
Casey Aza Faraday
—she was more conflicted than ever, the engagement ring on her finger a lead weight. “I can help you—”

“Don’t.” Adam’s tone was as harsh as it was soft. “Don’t help me. Don’t risk it. I’m fine where I am.”

Confusion had her frowning. “No,
niño
, you’re not. Look at your poor face.”

“Not a lot of mirrors around here. I can only assume I’m as handsome as usual.” He shot her a wry, lopsided grin, a dimple appearing and perfect white teeth flashing in the lantern light.

A strange sense of awe filtered into her awareness. He
was
handsome. More than handsome, actually—Adam Faraday was a beautiful young man, and he looked so much like Arlo that...that...
Oh, hell
. “Tell me. Has Pipe visited you?”

“More than once. Why?”

Shit, shit, shit. There was no mistaking the resemblance between Arlo and Adam. “And he knows your last name? That you’re a...a Faraday?” Her gaze flicked worriedly to Arlo, who was now making the dinosaurs leap from one of Adam’s folded knees to the other.

Adam swore as he caught on. “What is she to him?”

“His adoptive daughter.” Fear caused her to break out in a sweat, cold and clammy in the stale, warm air. “Tap her shoulder and point to me, please.”

Adam did so, expression grim, and Arlo looked over with a smile. But instead of running immediately to her mother, as Ilda had anticipated, she pushed up from Adam’s lap, turning to stand between his bent knees. With a dinosaur in each hand, she made the toys kiss the purple bruise ringing his eye before rising on tiptoe to do it herself. Her tiny lips pressed to his cheekbone, and Ilda saw him close his eyes, a furrow forming between his brows. Slowly, he lifted his shackled arms to close them around Arlo in a careful hug, his movements slightly awkward, and Ilda realized he’d never held a child before.

Perhaps Casey had never held a child before.

Casey had certainly never held
his
child before.

Heart in her throat, Ilda crouched down as Arlo and her dinosaurs dashed to the slats and shimmied through with ease. Instantaneously, Cerdito was all over her, licking Arlo into a giggle fit while Ilda combed her fingers through Arlo’s straight black hair, relishing the feel of the little body pressed against her side.

Her daughter remained completely oblivious to the upending of Ilda’s composure, but Adam, chains clanking, certainly noticed. “What’s her name?”

“Arlo. Arlo Beatrìz Almeida. She’ll be four in December.”

“She didn’t respond to me in either English or Spanish, or to any sounds. She’s deaf?”

The hand in Arlo’s hair stilled momentarily. “
Si
. How did you get her to come to you?” Sure, Arlo was friendly, but she didn’t just go about sitting on laps and kissing strangers. Then it clicked. “Your eyes. She recognized that you have the same eyes.” And if her three-year-old could see that, then Pipe would as well. He already knew Casey, as Cortez, was Arlo’s biological father, but as soon as he put two-and-two together, between Adam’s last name and Arlo’s resemblance, Casey was a dead man.

She had to warn him. “I’m going to let Cay-zee know where you are, and then the two of you need to leave the country.”

“Señora—”

“It’s Ilda. And you can’t stay. Both of you are putting Arlo in danger the longer you’re here, so you have to
go
.” She could only pray that Pipe would believe Casey hadn’t told her the truth of his identity back in the day. There was still a slim chance he wouldn’t punish her for Casey’s lies. But only if the Faradays got the hell out of Colombia.

After hanging the work light on the wall once more, Ilda gathered Arlo in her arms, readying to leave. Except it felt...wrong...to leave the uncle of her child locked up at the mercy of his abusers. The wrongness twisted, setting her stomach in knots, and she hesitated, glancing through the slats at him.

He seemed to understand, and another of his grins appeared, this one strangely reassuring. “It’s okay,
belleza
.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I got to meet my niece today. Even if you don’t say a word to Casey, even if I’m locked in here indefinitely, today is a good day. I mean it.”

And he did, she could tell. Tears welled in her eyes for this man she didn’t know, not really, not as she should know the blood that ran in her daughter’s veins. “I will help you,” she vowed, the words breaking around the emotion clogging her throat. “I promise, I’ll help you.”

Adam shook his head, and his eyes briefly rested on Arlo. “That pretty baby, though.”

Unable to speak, Ilda hurried away from the stall that was his prison cell, Cerdito trotting at her heels. As soon as they were free of the stables and standing in the courtyard’s fading sunlight, she buried her face in Arlo’s neck and breathed in her familiar, comforting scent. “All right, my darling,” she murmured after a moment, lifting her head so that Arlo could watch her lips moving. “We’re going to eat supper in the kitchen, and then it’s bathtime.”

Arlo lifted her dinosaurs in question.

Ilda shook her head. “No playing tonight. Straight to bed.” Smiling gently at Arlo’s crestfallen expression, she carried her daughter toward the house as she covertly typed out a text message to Casey with one hand before sliding the mobile into her pocket once more.

Hours passed, and night officially fell. After a stern chat with Isobel about keeping a closer eye on her charge, Ilda kissed Arlo goodnight and hurried to the privacy of her bathroom. Checking her phone, she saw the notification for one new message.