Freedom's Price (9 page)

The tiny tattoo of a flame on her left arm only made her seem more exotic.

She was watching him, one eyebrow raised slightly, waiting for him to answer her question.

Liam had to search his memory to remember exactly what that question was.

Rule of thumb. She had just asked him a question about the expression
rule of thumb
. “Is it some kind of measurement thing?” he guessed. “As in the average man’s thumb is a certain number of inches long?”

He’d toyed with the idea of taking her to one of the fancier restaurants farther downtown—one of the ones that had no prices on their menus. But all that would’ve gotten him was another argument, not dinner.

“Well, there are some people who believe that the expression comes from woodworkers who used the length of their thumbs to make measurements, but there are others who think the expression comes not from the length of a man’s thumb but the
width
. Some people think the original rule of thumb was from an old church law in which a man was allowed to beat his wife with a stick as long as that stick was no thicker in diameter than his thumb.”

Liam nearly choked on his wine. “You’re kidding!”

Marisala shook her head. “There are similar laws in San Salustiano pertaining to…domestic discipline, shall we call it.”

“God, I didn’t know that.”

“In San Salustiano, when a man marries, his wife becomes his possession. If she works, her paycheck is often addressed to him. Women are allowed to vote, but most women don’t even go to polls. There are loophole laws, which allow a man to vote for his wife, provided she is unable to leave her home due to sickness.” She laughed in disgust. “It’s amazing in San Salustiano how many women are suddenly bedridden on election day.”

She took a deep breath. “In some villages, women are not allowed to speak in church. Women are strongly discouraged from running for office. They
are
, however, expected to work slave hours for slave wages, and then come home and care for and cook for and clean for their husbands and families.”

“No wonder you don’t want to get married.”

Marisala smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “I would have married for love, but not for money.”

“You must’ve…” Liam cleared his throat. “Did you love Enrique very much?”

She took a sip of her own wine and shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I did at the time. Now I’m not so sure. The sex was great, though.”

Liam refused to let her see the effect her casually tossed-off words had on him. Still, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response to that statement.
The sex was great
. Dear God. He knew without a doubt that making love to Marisala would be an experience unlike any he’d ever had. All that untamed passion and energy…The sex would be
beyond
great.

Thankfully, she changed the subject. “Oh, I meant to tell you. Today I received the results from that test I took—you know, that career counselor’s test?”

“You actually took it?” He was genuinely surprised. “You filled it out and sent it in and…everything?”

“Of course I did. You asked me to.” She smiled. “You’ll never guess the career that most accurately fits my background and personality.”

Liam had to smile, too. “I’m afraid to.”

“Smart man. I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t a homemaker, that much is for sure. Come on. Guess.”

“Longshoreman?”

Marisala laughed, a musical explosion of delight, and three waiters immediately approached to see if she needed more wine. She waited until they refilled her glass, and thanked them before turning back to Liam. “That was very close,” she told him, her eyes still laughing. “But not close enough. That test of yours revealed that I would be happiest and most successful as a construction foreman. Or as a political lobbyist. Either one.” She rested her chin in the palm of her hand as she gazed across the table at him. “Can you believe it?”

“Well, okay. So seeking help from a questionnaire didn’t work. It was worth a try, though.” Liam took another sip of wine, thinking hard. “Have you thought about law enforcement?”

“If I never hold another gun in my life, that would be too soon for me. If you want to know the truth, I’d rather be a construction foreman. I’d rather spend the rest of my life building things—giving life instead of taking it away.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides, how well do
you
think a female cop would go over in San Salustiano.”

“Maybe,” Liam said carefully, “you should think about staying here in Boston. If things are so bad there for women, maybe you shouldn’t go back.”

Her dark eyes were bottomless as she gazed at him. “San Salustiano is my home,” she finally said. “I would need a very powerful reason to keep me from returning to my home.”

“How about the fact that in San Salustiano, women are second-class citizens? Isn’t that powerful enough?”

“That doesn’t make me want to stay away,” Marisala told him. “It makes me want to go back to try to change things.”

“I thought you’d had enough of fighting.”

“As long as I don’t have to use a gun, I’ll be happy to fight.”

“Okay, so maybe that political-lobbyist suggestion wasn’t too far off the mark. Maybe what you need to be doing is taking courses in poli sci. Or law. Maybe you should think about going to law school.”

“That’s what Dan’s been telling me.”

Liam froze. “Dan.”

“You know. From the house on Commonwealth Avenue. He works as a teaching assistant in the history department. I’ve run into him a few times on campus.”

He swore. “I bet he’s made sure of that.”

Marisala bristled. “And what is
that
supposed to mean?”

Liam couldn’t hide his frustration. “Oh, come on, Mara. It’s obvious what the guy wants, isn’t it?”

For a moment he thought she was going to raise her voice and lash out at him. But instead of getting louder, she got very quiet. “Actually, yes,” she said. “It
is
obvious. Dan likes me exactly the way I am. He doesn’t want me to change the way I act or walk or talk. He likes me. He likes
me
—not some revised version of me, redesigned according to Santiago’s and your precise specifications. He doesn’t need me to wear fancy clothes—”

“He doesn’t want you to wear
any
clothes.”

Her temper finally flashed and she slapped the tabletop with the palm of her hand. “You’ve met the man exactly once! How can you be so sure—”

Liam looked at his watch. “Not bad. You managed to keep in control for ninety-seven minutes. You’re going to have to do a little bit better, though, when Santiago comes to visit.”

Marisala laughed in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? You
baited
me! Santiago’s not likely to attack me with that stupid, macho jealous crap of yours! In fact, I’m willing to bet Santiago will
like
Dan!”

She was right. Liam knew she was right. “Let’s just change the subject, all right? Do you want dessert?”

She stood up. “No, I do not want dessert. Nor do I think we should change the subject. The fact is, Liam, you don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either.”

“That’s not true.” He’d gone too far. Talking about Dan had pushed him over the edge, but now it was too late to do more than deny her words. He
did
want her. He wanted her desperately. He knew she would misinterpret his denial, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. He wasn’t even sure anymore what the truth was.

“If that’s not true, then you won’t mind if I head over to that party at Dan’s house? The party you never bothered to give me the phone message about?”

Liam’s stomach dropped. Dan’s party. He’d honestly forgotten. “God, I’m sorry—”

“You can’t have it both ways, Liam.” She gathered up the backpack she used for a purse, slipping the strap over her shoulder. “You’ve decided you don’t want me. That means you have to stop acting like a jealous lover and let me live my own life.”

“Mara, please sit down and—”

“Thank you for dinner. Most of it was lovely. I’ll see you after the party.”

EIGHT

H
E WAS IN
the jungle.

Hiding.

The night was dark and misty. Moisture dripped down from the trees, further obscuring what little vision Liam had.

A platoon of government soldiers were mere yards from the spot he and Marisala had dug into to spend the night. She was still sleeping, still exhausted from the fever that had kept her out of the action these past four days running. He could hear her quiet breathing as she lay in her damp bedroll on the rain-soaked ground. Dear God, he had to get her to shelter or she’d never get well.

Liam’s own barely healed wounds ached and throbbed, but he forced his thoughts away from his own discomfort.

He could smell the cigarette smoke that clung to the soldiers’ breath and clothing. Under Marisala’s leadership, the guerrillas had learned to give up smoking. They’d learned the lingering odor of cigarette smoke was a dead giveaway when hiding in the underbrush. It was a
very
dead giveaway, in the most literal sense of the word.

One of the searching soldiers moved closer, and Liam flattened himself against the ground, trying to become one with the earth.

But then, beside him, Marisala stirred.

“Liam?” A whisper of breath, then louder, a trace of panic in her voice as she sat up. “Liam!”

The soldier hadn’t heard or seen her—yet. Liam knew, though, that if Marisala called out for him any louder, she’d be heard.

He moved. Swiftly. Silently.

He pulled her back down, covering her mouth with his hand and her body with his.

“Be quiet,” he breathed into her ear. “Soldiers at ten o’clock. Quiet!”

She struggled beneath him. No doubt the fever was making her delirious. He held her tighter, willing her not to give them away.

Her hair smelled sweet and fresh, fragrant from a recent washing and…

A recent washing?

Liam opened his eyes.

Brightness streamed through his open door and across his bed, illuminating Marisala.

He was lying on top of her, his hand securely clamped over her mouth. She bit his hand, and he pulled it back. “Ouch!”

She was breathing hard. “Liam, this is
definitely
not the time for you to lose it! There’re no soldiers in this room. Just me and you. Come on! Are you back here with me? I need you back here with me.”

He wasn’t in the jungle. He was…somewhere warm and dry. He was in a bed. Lying on top of Marisala.

“We’re in
Boston
,” she continued.

“Boston,” he said. It didn’t make sense. Why were they in Boston? Her hair smelled so clean and sweet. He wanted to bury his face in it, to pull her even closer. “But I was…”

“You were dreaming,” she told him.

Dreaming. The jungle was only a dream. Instead, he was here with Marisala, in his bed.

God, what was she doing in his bed? She fit beneath him so perfectly, so familiarly, an incredible blend of soft flesh and supple muscle. Their legs were intertwined, his thigh pushed up tightly between hers. He felt his body respond and knew she couldn’t help but feel it too.

When had they become lovers?

But wait, her clothes were on. She was still wearing a dress he recognized from…dinner? Yes, she’d worn that dress to dinner. They’d had dinner together tonight, out at a restaurant that was both miles and years away from that island jungle.

“Inez is in labor,” Marisala told him. “And as cozy as it is lying here with you like this, we’ve got to get her to the hospital
now
. The baby’s coming
fast
.”

Inez. Labor. The baby…Liam rolled off Marisala as reality and his memory came crashing down around him. He and Marisala
weren’t
lovers. He was her guardian, for God’s sake.

His boxer shorts did little to conceal his body’s immediate response to finding her in his bed and Liam tumbled onto the floor in a hasty attempt to cover himself.

His hands closed around denim and he wrestled with his jeans, yanking them up his legs as Marisala pushed herself off his bed and headed toward the door.

She hesitated in the doorway, looking back at him. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

“Yeah, I was just…I’m just…Yeah, I’m awake now,” he told her as he struggled with his zipper and searched for his sneakers and T-shirt. “How was…how was the party?” How was Dan? he wanted to ask.

“It was fun. Dan was very glad to see me.”

Liam tried to bite back his response but couldn’t. “I bet.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen with Inez and Hector.” Marisala headed down the stairs. “Hurry.”

It was too late.

One look at Inez, and Marisala knew the baby was coming now.

Liam came into the kitchen, car keys in his hand, hopping on one foot as he slipped his other into a sneaker. His hair was charmingly disheveled, and his chin glistened with golden-brown stubble. “Which hospital?” he asked, raking his hair back out of his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“We’re not going to make it to the hospital,” Marisala told him, quickly rolling up her sleeves and washing her hands in the kitchen sink. “Call an ambulance, see if we can get a doctor or paramedic over here pronto. Hector, get some clean towels and sheets, and bring them into your bedroom. Inez, come with me.”

Liam was stunned. “We’re not…going to?…”

From upstairs, from where she’d locked the puppy in her bedroom, she could hear Evita whimpering.

“Liam, please call 911.” Marisala kept her voice calm, afraid of frightening Inez as she led her into the back bedroom. “This baby is not going to wait.”

“I want to push,” Inez sobbed in her native Spanish, gripping Marisala’s arms.

“That’s so good,” Marisala told her, helping the younger woman up and onto the big double bed, and into a crouching position. “That means it’s almost over. You’re doing fine. This is just the way God intended it to be. Everything is happening exactly as it should.”

Hector was backing out of the room.

“Hector, help your wife,” she commanded him in that same gentle voice. She arranged the towels underneath Inez, twisting to get a good look at the top of the baby’s dark head. A few more minutes and the worst would be over.

Hector looked as if he wanted to run away. “But…”

“Isn’t this your baby?” she asked him, her words gentle but her gaze hard as stone. “Didn’t you have something to do with the conception? Now it’s time for you to help with the slightly more challenging part, don’t you think?”

“Paramedics are on their way.” Liam was standing in the doorway. “They should be here in about ten minutes.”

Marisala met his eyes. He knew as well as she did that ten minutes would be too late. This baby was coming
now
.

“Have you done this before?” His voice sounded breathless.

“Yes, I have.” Marisala helped hold Inez up between contractions. As Liam watched, she smoothed back the younger woman’s hair, murmuring words of encouragement. “Many times. We didn’t have access to many doctors during the war, so many of us learned enough to take their place when necessary.” She smiled wryly. “It was often necessary.”

Liam found it difficult to think of Marisala as anything more than a mere girl. She dressed like a girl. She spoke with a young girl’s often tactless honesty. But how many girls knew how to deliver a baby? How many girls could take instant and absolute command of a situation like this?

His breath caught in his throat as he watched her. She was so gentle with Inez, yet so strong. She was exactly what Inez needed. And Inez clung to her, holding her gaze with complete faith and trust in her eyes.

“You’re doing fine,” Marisala told the younger woman, her voice soothing. “In just a short time this will all be over. In just a short time you’ll hold your son or daughter in your arms, and you’ll know that this will have been well worth it.”

Inez nodded.

“Talk to her,” Marisala urged Hector, who was looking a little green. “Tell her you love her. Tell her how wonderful and brave she is. Tell her how sweet it’s going to be, to hold that little baby of yours.”

The sound of Hector’s soft Spanish hummed in the background as Liam took a deep breath. “What can I do to help?”

Marisala smiled at him, and he saw that she had tears in her eyes. “Wash your hands, and then come help me hold Inez.”

He hesitated. “Shouldn’t she be lying down?”

“Only if she wants to fight gravity. This is the way women were meant to give birth. But this position makes it a little more difficult for the doctor. That’s why most Western women have to give birth upward—kind of like launching a rocket—for the doctor’s sake. In my experience, this position is far more pleasant for mother and child. Please go wash your hands.”

Inez tensed and moaned, and Hector went another shade paler.

“Breathe,” Marisala commanded them both. “Keep breathing!”

Liam ran to the kitchen sink and quickly scrubbed.

There was a crash from the other room and the sound of Marisala biting off a curse. “Liam, I need your help!”

He ran back, drying his hands as he went. Hector was out for the count, facedown on the bedroom floor, and Marisala was trying both to hold Inez and deliver the baby.

Inez clung to her and Marisala couldn’t break free. “Support the baby’s head,” she commanded Liam.

“
Me!
”

Inez shrieked as another contraction gripped her.

“Do it!” Marisala shouted, and Liam lunged forward, twisting to reach underneath Inez, watching in horrified awe as more and more and still even more of the baby’s head appeared like some kind of monster trying to break free.

He could hear Marisala helping Inez to push, helping her bear down, crying out with her, turning Inez’s sobs into shouts of triumph.

And then, all in one squishy, amazing, incredibly miraculous movement, the baby’s head slid into his waiting hands. A face—a tiny, red, scrunched-up, impossibly ugly, blood-and-fluid-covered face—was pressed against his palms. It was unbelievable.

“Breathe,” he heard Marisala say, and he drew in a breath along with Inez. Dear God, it was unreal, and yet more real than anything he’d experienced in years.

“One more big one,” Marisala told Inez. “We’re almost done!”

Inez groaned, and the baby was pushed into his hands. It moved, quivering and trembling, and Liam struggled to hold on, terrified he’d drop it, shifting it into his arms, blood and all. The umbilical cord draped over his arm, still connecting the baby to his mother.

“My God, it’s a boy,” he breathed.

It
was
a boy. A tiny, slimy, red-faced, newborn boy. An innocent child, with his entire life stretching out before him—a life filled with hope and promise and endless possibilities.

The baby drew a deep, shuddering breath and let out a loud, mewing cry.

The sound of a newborn baby’s cry still haunted his dreams, but he couldn’t think about that now—he wouldn’t think about it.

“One more push,” Liam heard Marisala tell Inez, her voice thick with emotion. “One more for the afterbirth, and then you can hold your son.”

Inez was crying, but her tears were not from pain. Her pain had faded almost instantly at the sight of her baby. As Marisala helped settle her back on the bed, she stretched out her arms, and Liam carefully handed her the infant.

Hector was back. He’d struggled to his feet, his face still an odd shade of green. He valiantly tried to ignore the blood and fluid that drenched the sheet and towels. He kissed his wife and they gazed raptly together at their child, as if that screaming, scrawny, mottled red thing in Inez’s arms was the most beautiful sight in the world.

And it was.

Liam had never seen anything more perfectly beautiful.

The doorbell buzzed, loud and long, as if someone were leaning on the button.

“The paramedics,” Mara murmured. “Good. Just in time to tie off the cord.”

Liam didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want strangers coming in and taking Inez and the baby away. He wanted to hold that baby again, to look down into that little boy’s swollen face, to welcome him more completely to the planet Earth. He wanted to hang on to this sense of peace, this feeling of hope. God, it had been so long….

But the buzzer rang again, and Liam wiped his hands on a towel as he went to answer the door.

He led the paramedics—a man and a woman—inside, and he stood in the doorway, no longer needed, as they helped Marisala cut the cord and wrap the baby in a clean towel.

Marisala came toward him then, exhausted and triumphant. Her new dress was stained. It was ruined, but she was smiling. Liam had never seen her look so radiant. “You were wonderful,” she said.

“
I
was? God,
you
were. That was…it was…” He shook his head. Dear God, he was on the verge of breaking down and sobbing like a baby himself. He had to blink hard to keep back the tears that were welling in his eyes.

“They’ve named him William,” she told him, blinking back her own tears. “After you.”

Liam laughed—afraid if he didn’t do something he’d burst out crying. “Me? Why me?”

Marisala took his hand. “Because if it wasn’t for your generosity, that little baby might’ve been born on the street. If it weren’t for you, he would’ve been born homeless.”

Liam shook his head. “It wasn’t me. It was
you
. You brought them here. You gave them a place to stay and a way to save their pride. I did nothing.”

She laughed. “Nothing? You’ve shown them respect and kindness. You treated them like human beings.”

“I only followed your lead. They should name the baby after you.”

Marisala touched his face. “They know where you’ve been,” she told him quietly. “They’ve already chosen to name their child after a man who is both kind
and
brave.”

“I’ve done nothing,” Liam said again. “Even in prison—I simply endured.”

The sound she made was somewhere between laughter and a sob. “But you
did
endure, and every day I thank God.”

She turned away, wiping her eyes as the paramedics prepared to take both Inez and the baby to the hospital, to be checked by a doctor.