Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(58)

“She could be related to me.” She reached into her purse, picking up the hairbrush she’d already stripped of potential DNA-producing hair, which was now tucked safely into a sealed plastic bag. “Although she didn’t look like Gabe. Did she look like Isadora?”

He thought about the child in question and remembered Isadora’s near perfect beauty, with caramel-and-chocolate-colored curls and haunting green eyes. “Not really.”

“I know!” She snapped her fingers. “Maybe there’s information about Isadora in the municipal office.”

“Highly unlikely. She was a translator for the CIA and an American citizen. And you cannot go in there and start dropping the names of agents.”

“I won’t,” she promised him. “And I didn’t say their names to Ramos, you know. I never mentioned Gabe or Isadora. I never said a last name.”

“No, but just cool your enthusiasm. I realize it’s motivated by boundless hope and big family love, but be chill.”

“I am chill.” She turned to him, her gaze scrutinizing. “You jealous of that stuff, Mal? Of my boundless hope and big family love?”

He tapped the brakes as a crab crossed the street in front of them, the sight comical, but Mal couldn’t laugh. Instead, he imagined what it would sound like if he drove over that crab and cracked the shell. It would sound a lot like that question she’d just asked breaking the protective barrier he’d spent years building, just like that free-range crustacean. And killing the poor guy.

“Define jealous.”

She just laughed at that, totally on to him now. “You know you don’t have to go through your whole life clinging to pessimism and changing addresses.”

Actually, he did. Something hot and tight squeezed his chest, making him incredibly uncomfortable and actually glad to see the offices of the municipal down the street. “Speaking of addresses, we’re almost there.”

She took the bait and shifted her attention to the road. “All I need to do is call that Canadian number I have to get the server for Internet access. I’ve already figured it out and have a plan.”

Of course she did. “You do know there are no computer files in this office, right? Maybe in Havana, maybe at the national level. But in a municipality with a population of about six thousand? The best you’ll find is yellowed, handwritten papers, which were probably filled out by someone drunk or on the take. Or both. And you don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

She gave a soft laugh. “Bitter, cynical, and pessimistic is back.”

“Okay, just for fun, let’s say you find a birth record for Gabriel,” he said, rumbling toward a parking space. “Or even a record of Isadora’s death. What would you do with that information?”

She turned her whole body to look at him as if he’d grown another head. “That is a trail, Mal,” she told him. “When you’re trying to find someone, you follow the trail. The municipal office is the only lead I have. Unless…” She patted her jeans pocket.

“Unless what?”

“Maybe this is part of our trail.” He glanced over as she revealed a long, beaded necklace-type thing with a bright red stone on a cross. No, not a necklace. A rosary. He peered at it, taking his eyes from the road to really give it a good look.

“I’ve seen that before.” The rosaries were around Cuba, of course, on the black market in the country that was supposed to be atheist but housed a good number of Catholics. But something about that one…and then he remembered.

“Gabe gave one that looked a lot like that to Isadora.”

“Really?” She practically jumped out of her skin. “Then it is a clue!”

“Or he was giving you a gift, and it just looks like the one your brother bought on the street. I don’t think they’re that uncommon, just kept out of sight for the most part.”

“You were there when he bought it? You recognize it?”

“I remember the day because Gabe said it was to make up for the fact that he swore so f*cking much.”

“Sounds like Gabe,” she mused.

“Isa hated his language. She might have been Catholic, and she liked rosaries, I think. I don’t remember.” He fingered the beads. “I could never be sure this is the same one. But…” He stared at the red stone. There had been something unusual about it, but he couldn’t recall what it was.


“Why else would Ramos give it to me?”

“Good question.” He let go and looked at her. “And if you’re right, it gives some credibility to Ramos’s direction that we go to the municipal. Like he wants us to find this child.”

“Thank you,” she said, flouncing back on her seat in satisfaction.

“But with a…plan.”

She grinned. “You keep this up and I’m going to kiss you, Mal Harris.”

“I hope so.”

“And hope, too?” She leaned across the space and pecked his mouth. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Just don’t waltz in, all American and demanding and shit, and slap money in their hands until they open the file room.”

“Honey catches flies,” she agreed.

“And money.”

“Okay, I’ll be sweet, you be generous, and together, we are unstoppable.”