Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(81)

“Come in here. I’ll tell you.” And he stepped inside, the door closing behind him.


Chessie looked at the wide-open area free of bushes or shrubs about twenty feet away. No structure, no place for a child. What was…in that field?

Deep inside her, somewhere dark and shadowy and sad, Chessie knew. But she walked there anyway, slowly, with the pistol at the ready.

Once there, she could barely make out anything in the dim light, just about eight or nine large rocks, evenly spaced, slightly off the ground.

Oh no, they weren’t rocks…they were grave markers.

“No.” The word slipped out of her mouth as she rushed closer, all thought of staying hidden forgotten as the very real possibility of what in the field meant slammed her heart.

No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“No!” She practically flung herself on the first stone, flattening her hand on the name and moaning in relief.

Jorge Mario Cevallos 14 octubre 1967—3 abril 2009

Her husband? A brother? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t him.

She leapt to the next stone and squinted at the name.

Roberto Jesus Cevallos 21 agosto, 1943—15 diciembre 1993

Older, maybe that was Alana’s father. There were only six more stones. Six more.

She moved a little more slowly to the next one.

Elia Maria Cevallos 14 junio 1945—29 marzo 1995

A tendril of hope wrapped around her heart as she crawled on her knees to the next one. She had to have misunderstood. He couldn’t be…

She just stared at the words carved into the stone as another set of chills tumbled over her. Her breath caught as she tried to inhale, her heart beating too wildly for her to get any air.

Gabriel Rafael Rossi Winter Cevallos 29 junio 2011—7 febrero 2013

Rossi. She stared at the added middle name, one that wasn’t in the municipal records. One that eliminated any need for testing. One that shattered her heart.

It wouldn’t compute. It just wouldn’t process. He was dead?

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, fighting tears that did not want to be held back. Her nephew had been born and died before she ever had a chance to hold him. She tried to get to her feet, wanted to run to Mal, to tell him and be comforted.

But nothing could comfort her now. Nothing. He was dead. How…how could she ever tell Gabe?

She pushed herself flat on the ground and dropped the pistol so she could cradle the little stone in her arms and cry.

It was the closest she’d ever come to holding this lost member of her family.





Chapter Twenty-six





Mal knew what was in the field. The family graveyard where a few generations of Cevallos members were buried. He stared at Alana, waiting for more, refusing to accept what she was telling him.

“I’m sorry you came all this way to find him, Mal,” Alana said again. “And I’m sorry you have to break the news to Gabe.”

Not to mention Gabe’s sister, who was outside, in the dark, about to have her heart ripped out of her chest.

Alana crossed her arms, still tense and flustered, it seemed, at the sight of him. Usually a pretty cool cucumber and brimming with nurturing empathy, this Alana looked like she was wired for sound and ready to pop.

Something was definitely up.

Mal stole a glance toward a front window, but saw nothing in the shadows. He trusted Chessie to stay put, but not for long. First, he had to get more information for her. And for Gabe. He couldn’t leave Alana’s tonight without everything he’d come to Cuba to get…except for the child.

He obviously wasn’t leaving with DNA samples.

“What happened?” he asked.

“He got ill. Very ill.” She looked from one side to another, as if expecting someone to jump out at any second. “A high fever and…would you like to see a picture of him?”

“Yes.” Gabe would like that. That would help, wouldn’t it? At least it was something rather than nothing.

“It’s in my room.” She started to turn, then gave him another look. “I’m really sorry,” she added. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I hope you believe me.”

Why wouldn’t he? Something in her voice didn’t sound right. He angled his head, looking hard at this woman he’d once known so well and cared about. But he couldn’t forget…she had stolen a lot of money. Money that disappeared. She couldn’t be all good.

“How did you get the boy, anyway?”

“Nestor Ramos is my friend,” she said.

“Who runs the school.”

“And he gets children to the States, you know. Or into good Cuban homes.”

“So she was trying to get the child to the US?”

“Of course! But then Isadora…” She shook her head. “It was a terrible accident, Mal. So young.”


“And you took her son.” Which made sense. She loved children, and he recalled Alana and Isadora were friends. “What about…the father?”

He wasn’t sure if she knew about Isadora and Gabe. Their relationship had been a secret, but if she and Isa were friends.

“She never told me who the father was,” she said. “So, yes, I adopted Rafael and…” She stepped away. “I’ll go get the picture.”