Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(72)

“Doubtful, why?”

“I want to find that money.”

He actually laughed at that wild level of optimism. “Sorry, but that’s not why we’re in Cuba. Gabriel Rafael Winter, remember?”

“How could I forget? But I still want to find that money.”

“Talk about hopeless.”

“I don’t believe in hopelessness,” she said. “I believe that somewhere in the deepest, darkest corner of cyberspace, there’s a way to clear your name, and if I can find it, then maybe you can do something good with that name.”

Like give it to you. He closed his eyes and pulled her closer, the only way to keep himself from voicing that stupid, hopeless thought out loud.





Chapter Twenty-three





The Prefect bumped over the dirt as they followed the rocky road after the Poinciana tree, and Chessie kept expecting some kind of light at the end of the road.

But it couldn’t have been darker at the Ramos farm.

“It looks so deserted at night,” Chessie said.

“Come on, let’s walk the rest of the way.” Mal tucked the car behind a small grouping of trees, getting out and reaching his hand to help Chessie slide out the driver’s side. “Let’s try the barn,” Mal said, guiding her forward.


They walked slowly, getting their footing on rocks and dirt, using Mal’s small flashlight to reach the back barn used as a school. Mal put his hand on the massive door and jiggled, which opened instantly and easily.

Once inside, Chessie gasped softly at the sight of…nothing. Absolutely no sign that there had been a school—the books, tables, boards, and chairs were gone. Just some hay strewn around the dirt floor.

Mal kept walking, scanning the empty area, while Chessie mentally clicked through the options. Did Ramos break the school every night? Had the government come and shut it down? Were they all in hiding?

And what happened to Gabrielita? The very question made her heart ache.

“Let’s try the little house,” she said, and Mal agreed, heading back outside and around the barn to the small structure. “Where is everyone?”

The sound of a rifle being cocked echoed, and Mal instantly whipped Chessie around and pushed her to the ground to protect her.

“Everyone is right here.” Nestor Ramos’s thick accent was barely audible over Chessie’s thumping heart.

Slowly, Mal straightened, positioning himself in front of Chessie, keeping the light down so he didn’t blind Ramos. “Se?or Ramos. It’s us. The teachers.”

He snorted. “I know you are not teachers.”

“Where is everything?” Mal asked. “The school? The books?”

“What school? There is no school here.” There was just enough sarcasm in his voice to make Chessie wonder if he was jerking them around, or really going to deny what they’d seen there. “There are no books. This is a farm.”

Chessie pushed to a stand. Screw sarcasm and denial. They knew the truth. “Where are the kids?”

“My children are sleeping. My boys are placed around this farm to kill you if they have to.”

Chessie put her hand over her mouth, stunned at this turn and his…authority. He didn’t speak like a rural farmer. His accent couldn’t hide intelligence and…training.

Mal took a non-threatening step closer. “I came to warn you that someone might know we were here today. We wanted you to be prepared, but I see you already are.”

Ramos just stared, his rifle still leveled at Mal’s chest. For each achingly long second that passed, Chessie’s breath got tighter and her heart pounded harder.

And no one said a word.

The older man let out a long, slow sigh. “A man came here today,” he said in halting English. “American. That’s twice in two days. That smells very bad to us.”

“What did he want?” Mal asked.

Ramos let out a dry laugh. “He wanted you.”

Chessie felt the world sway a little under her.

Ramos’s eyes shifted to her, and even in the ambient light she could see them soften just a little. “Both of you. He didn’t see the school. He didn’t get beyond the tree. I made sure of that. But he was like you…CIA.”

She just blinked at that, and Mal stepped closer. “Did you get his name?”

Ramos laughed softly. “He didn’t leave his card. But I know. I know you. I…know about you.”

Why? How? She actually took a breath to ask the questions, but Mal gave the slightest signal, and she closed her mouth.

“Se?or Ramos, please. We’re seeking a boy who was here on this farm,” Mal said. “We don’t want to hurt you. Or report you. Or bring any attention to your school. We are looking for Gabriel Rafael Winter, who was born on June 29 in 2011. You gave us the rosary with his name and that date engraved on it.”

Even in the dark, Chessie could sense the information hit the man hard. “I gave it to her,” he said, nodding toward Chessie. “As a gift. I know of no such child.”

He was lying. She clenched her fists as Mal leaned closer. “He was adopted,” he said. “Did you aid in that adoption?”

He shook his head very slowly.

“But you do that, don’t you?” Chessie asked. “You take in orphans, and you find them homes?” It sure explained how the baby could be here last, and then be listed as adopted. And how Ramos could have so many of “his own” kids the same age.