“She never knew her father,” Kerry said. “Before Mary was born he was executed for circulating propaganda. Her mother was sent to prison and is presumed dead.”
“Mike.”
Kerry had already anglicized their names so that they would start being familiar with the names they would hear in the United States. She told him about the boy. “Carmen and Cara are the courier’s sisters. His name is Juan.”
“And Lisa?”
Kerry smiled. “She’s precious, isn’t she? When her mother was only thirteen she was raped by a rebel soldier. She took her own life after Lisa was born. At least Lisa doesn’t know the heartache of having had and lost.”
“What about him?”
Kerry followed the direction of Linc’s gaze. Joe was sitting at the edge of the clearing, staring out into the dark jungle.
“Joe,” she said wistfully. “So sad.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifteen.” She gave him a rundown of Joe’s history. “He has a remarkable mind, but he’s a product of his tragic past. Hostile. Angry. Antisocial.”
“In love with you.”
“What?” She looked at Linc as though he’d lost his mind. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s only a boy.”
“Who’s had to grow up fast.”
“But in love with me? That’s impossible.”
“Hardly. By the time a boy is fifteen he’s already had—” He broke off.
“I suppose so,” Kerry murmured to cover the awkward pause. “Had you?” She couldn’t imagine what had prompted her to ask him that. She didn’t dare look at him, though from the corner of her eye, she saw the sudden movement of his head as he looked at her sharply.
“I thought taking confessions was a priest’s job.”
“So it is. I’m sorry. We were talking about Joe.”
“Do you know what he did with that dress you wore last night?” She shook her head. “He burned it in the campfire before he banked the flames.” When she gazed at him in disbelief, he nodded somberly. “I watched him throw it onto the coals and stare at it until it was consumed.”
“But he’s the one who stole the dress. He knew why I had to wear it.”
“He also knew it helped get me here. He hates himself for contributing to your shame.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Nope. He’s extremely protective of you.”
“He’s never been before. We’re not in imminent danger. What is he protecting me against?”
“Me.”
The firelight was reflected in his eyes, making them appear more golden than brown. He had taken off his bush shirt earlier in the day and was wearing only an army-green tank top. His skin was as smooth as polished wood. The upper part of his chest was matted with brown hair that had the same reddish cast as that on his head. It curled crisply against his tanned skin and seemed tipped in gold whenever sunlight—or firelight—struck it.
Uneasily, Kerry glanced away.
When he finally broke the strained silence, his voice was hoarse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There was nothing to tell,” she replied honestly.
“I beg to differ, Miss Bishop.” His face was taut and angry. “Why didn’t you stop me from kissing you?”