Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(57)

“For you,” he said, handing her the rosary. “Para darte las gracias. To thank you.”

To thank her? Chessie looked at the thick beading and the heavy silver cross at the end, decorated by a gorgeous red stone.


“The sacred heart,” Se?or Ramos said. “El Sagrado Corazón.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. And valuable. Very, very valuable. “But, no. You should keep this for the children.”

He just held it closer to her.

“Or sell it for the school?” she suggested, rubbing her fingers together to indicate the money this piece could buy. “You could buy supplies and books and food.”

“It might help you,” he said.

Meaning she could pray with it? Or—

He leaned closer, making Chessie think he was going to kiss her cheek. Instead, he whispered in her ear, “Seek him at the municipal. Go there. Today.”

The word was soft, the Spanish accent heavy, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Something about the municipal?

“What are you doing in here?” At the sound of Mal’s voice, she turned to find him standing in the doorway.

“We’re talking,” she replied, stepping back to realize Se?or Ramos had closed the rosary in her hand.

Mal looked from one to the other and asked Ramos a quick question in Spanish. Surprising her, the man answered in Spanish, then gestured around the room as if to say he was showing Chessie around.

And not revealing that he spoke perfect English, had just given away a valuable necklace, and had whispered a possible lead in her ear.

“I think we can go now,” Mal said.

Yes. To the municipal, which sounded like the English word ‘municipal’ —so it might be the community’s government, and a place of public records. Definitely a lead.

The other man nodded and added something in Spanish, walking out and leaving the two of them alone in the tiny room.

“What did he say?” Chessie asked.

“He said, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’” Mal walked out ahead of her, leaving Chessie to consider that as she tucked the rosary in her pocket.

“So do I,” she whispered. “So do I.”





Chapter Eighteen





“Just don’t get your hopes up, Chessie.”

“You’ve said that three times,” she replied. “I’m being realistic, is all.”

But she still seemed as enthused about the idea of storming the municipal offices as when they left the Ramos’s farm. Now they were already seeing the hideous apartment buildings of Caibarién, and she hadn’t backed off. “The municipal isn’t going to be like your local post office, willing to help,” Mal reminded her.

“Do you have a better idea? Where else can we go but the building in this area that houses exactly the kind of paperwork we want? Where the guy who we think owned the place where Gabriel was last seen sent us?”

So many caveats in there, he lost count but added a few more. “The building that is supposed to house it, if they’ll let us in, if they’re open and not fishing.”

She grunted and smacked the leather of the front seat. “Why are you so pessimistic?”

“Because I’ve lived in Cuba before. Ramos probably has a friend who works at the municipal, and he knows we’re prepared to grease every palm that’s extended to us.”

“Pessimistic, bitter, and cynical.”

He threw her a look. “Well, you didn’t want to like me.”

She made a face that looked an awful like…it was too late for that. “And maybe Ramos was trying to tell me that there was a recording error and the boy we’re looking for is a girl,” she continued. “I should have asked him.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. In fact, you shouldn’t have told Ramos the real reason we were there,” he said. “First rule of being in the field: stick to your cover story, no matter what.”

“If we never accomplish our mission, what good is the story?”

He understood that question and had grappled with it himself in the field, but she didn’t have the experience to know when to trust someone.

“We don’t want anyone on our tail, Chessie,” he explained. “It’s one thing to try to find a kid anonymously and get some DNA for Gabe. It’s another to get on the wrong radar and put you in any danger. If I so much as smell something that could hurt you, we’re gone. Out. Back to Barefoot Bay.” He didn’t mean to sound quite so vehement, but that’s the way he felt.

“Got it.” She let out a sigh as if to acknowledge her mistake in judgment. “It was just those kids…they all seemed to need something so much.”

“Yes, they do. And if there’s one thing you, an obvious nurturer, needs to know is that you can’t save them all.” He understood that longing, though. “Even if they get under our skin,” he added. Because wasn’t that what got him in the mess that was his life, his record, and his lost career?


“I know,” she said, but he doubted she did. “Like Gabrielita. Such a precious little thing, Mal.”

He heard the hitch of pain and sympathy in her voice. “Careful, Francesca,” he said, purposely using the name he called her when he really wanted her attention.