What He Didn't Say (16 page)

Because of the noise from the grandstands and the blaring of the track's PA system, he didn't hear her cell phone ring. Just saw her pull it out of her pocket. She answered the call, while moving to the opposite side of the toolbox.

He felt a sudden urge to ask her to meet him after tonight's flight back to Charlotte. To let her know he needed to talk to her about his past.

He took one step in her direction, when Denton Moss closed in. The crew chief was dressed in team colors, the headphones he would use to communicate during the race looped around his neck.

“Rafael, you'd better get a move on or you'll miss the driver introductions. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not start this race at the back of the pack.”

Rafael set his jaw against the frustration he was quickly learning to live with. “I'm on my way.”

He gave Caitlin one last look before he turned. He would see her later on the plane, get her to agree to go with him to some quiet place in Charlotte where they could talk things out.

 

“C
AN YOU HEAR ME NOW
?”

“Barely.” Caitlin pressed her cell phone tighter against her ear as she stepped around the big red toolbox in the rear of the pit stall. It was hard to hear Steve Silberg's voice with the race track's PA system blaring and the constant roar of the crowd in the grandstands. At least the race hadn't started.
Trying to hear on the phone with V-8s revving would be next to impossible.

Four days had passed since she told the IT guru at
Sports Scene
magazine about the e-mail Rafael had received. Since then, the language in the message had grabbed onto her brain and wouldn't let go.

 

Wire transfer successful. Shipment confirmed. Delivery next week.

Anne

 

Caitlin had spent hours gnawing over the possibility that Rafael was involved in some sort of illegal activity. And the same amount of time assuring herself she was wrong, that the man she cared deeply about was honest. Upstanding. Even so, anxiety knotted her belly at the prospect Steve was about to confirm her worst fears about Rafael.

She pressed her fingers over her free ear to block out the background noise. “Were you able to trace the source of the e-mail just by my giving you those two e-mail addresses?”

“Is a hog's butt pork? Of course I traced it.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. Steve took great exception at the slightest hint he might be unable to perform life-changing miracles when it came to anything computer.

“Don't keep me in suspense,” she said. “Where was this Anne chick who wrote the e-mail?”

“At the Nossa Senhora Aparecida in Corumbá, Brazil.”

“I've never heard of Corumbá.”

“Ditto for me. But since Brazil's almost as big as the lower forty-eight, that's no surprise. I did some quick research and found out Corumbá is in far western Brazil on the Paraguay River, seven miles from the Bolivian border. Which puts a big, nefarious cloud over the e-mail's mention of shipments, payments and delivery.”

“Why?”

“Corumbá is one of Brazil's main ports of entry for drugs and arms. They're smuggled over land and via the river.”

Caitlin closed her eyes. Her mouth had gone bone-dry and her hands were shaking. Oh, God! Was that what Rafael worked so hard to hide? Was he smuggling drugs? Arms? Nausea churning in her stomach, she wet her lips.

“What exactly is the Nossa Senhora Aparecida?”

“A clinic, named after the patron saint of Brazil. English translation is Our Lady of Aparecida. I'll put the clinic's location and the info I found on Corumbá in an e-mail to you.”

“Thanks, Steve,” she somehow got out. “Anything else?”

“Just that it's possible you've stumbled onto a big story. If so, your editor's gonna love you.”

“Yeah.”
The story.
“I have another question.”

“About?”

“Your tracking that e-mail. Everything was aboveboard, right?”

“You mean, did I do anything illegal that could prevent your using the info to source your story? The answer is no. I just did a whole lot of creative stuff.”

Caitlin ended the call. The only thing that kept her on her wobbly legs was the first notes of the national anthem blaring over the PA system.

Was it within the realm of possibility that Rafael was involved in drug distribution? Gunrunning? Was that the reason he claimed to have no friends in Brazil? Not one connection in that huge country she could contact?

At his condo, he had admitted there were things and people he couldn't tell her about.
People could lose their lives if certain information got out,
he'd said.

Well, no kidding. Gunrunners and dope dealers all shared that common problem.

Despite the suspicious part of her brain alerting her like a
drug-sniffing dog on the trail of a suspect, her thoughts went to the little girl in Ecuador whose surgery Rafael had financed. He'd even picked up the tab to fly her extended family there. Could his involvement with the mysterious Anne and Nossa Senhora Aparecida Clinic be on the same Good Samaritan basis?

If that were the case, why could people die if that information got out? And why keep his involvement in such a good cause secret? Why refuse to even admit to
her
that he still had contacts in Brazil? Contacts like Anne.

Caitlin barely heard the escalation in crowd noise as the cars took off. Not when every journalistic fiber of her being screamed to her that Steve was right when he predicted she may have stumbled onto a big story.

One that could enhance her career.

And maybe break her heart.

She curled her fingers into her palms. Before she'd taken on this assignment, she wouldn't have wavered about what her next step should be. She would already be on the phone with her editor.

Instead, here she stood, considering what odds she faced if she confronted Rafael. Demanded he explain what sort of shipments and deliveries he was involved in.

Even her heart knew those odds were far too long to bet on. For the past three weeks Rafael had been like a clam with a broken hinge—she couldn't get anything out of him. She'd be fooling herself to think he would all of a sudden turn talkative.

Squaring her shoulders, she reminded herself that investigative reporting was like SWAT duty. Get in, do your thing, get out. Get too involved in someone's life and—never fails—you get into trouble.

On a low moan, she rubbed at the headache brewing in her forehead. She'd spent the past four days physically distancing
herself from Rafael when all she'd wanted was to be near him.
With him.
Now, she was seconds away from calling her editor to get the okay to head to Brazil.

While the thunderous roar of V-8s filled the air, she took a moment to ask herself how she felt about Rafael. Really
felt
about him. She was in deep, she knew that much.

And that was her problem, wasn't it? She'd gotten in over her head with a man before, and he'd betrayed her. Maybe her taste in men hadn't improved and she was afraid that Rafael would do the same.

Caitlin acknowledged it wasn't just the quest for the story that fueled her pressing need to hop the first plane to Brazil and check out what Rafael was involved in. It was because of what had happened between her and her ex-lover.

Never again would she just sit back and wait for answers.

She intended to find them for herself.

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY,
after spending more than twenty hours on assorted airplanes, Caitlin landed in Corumbá, Brazil. Francisco Ruiz, the professional guide and interpreter hired by
Sports Scene
magazine, met her at the airport.

With the late-afternoon heat shimmering off the hood of Ruiz's dusty car, they drove through the bustling border town surrounded by lush vegetation where commerce and mining thrived.

Although Rafael had lived on the other side of the vast country, in São Paulo, Caitlin tried to imagine what it must have been like for him, growing up in Brazil. Had he and his late parents lived in luxury? Or perhaps in a neighborhood like this one, where merchants sat in the shade of their storefronts, chatting with each other while waiting for customers?

She blew out a breath against the muggy, humid air that made the tendrils that had escaped her braid stick to her clammy skin. Her imaginings about Rafael were a waste of time. He didn't want her to know one iota about how his life had been while growing up. Which was why she was here.

Her attention refocused on the present when Ruiz deftly avoided colliding with a scooter that zipped in front of the car. Most drivers in America—including herself—would have been near the point of violence. Ruiz simply mumbled something in Portuguese that sounded like an oath. Then he shrugged and began describing the widespread poverty that
existed in certain areas of Corumbá where the locals were too wary to venture at night.

“The Nossa Senhora Aparecida Clinic is in the heart of one of those areas,” he added in thickly accented English. “To ensure your safety, I must have you away from there before dusk.”

Caitlin slid the guide/interpreter a sideways look. He was a dark-complected, compact man in his mid-fifties who looked as tough as a chunk of hickory. If
he
had reservations about hanging around the clinic after dark, no way did she want to be there.

“You say the word when we need to clear out. I'll beat you to the car.”

“Good.”

Inside the clinic's nearly full waiting room, a ceiling fan stirred the hot air. Over a dozen women sat in chairs lining the walls. Several held infants. Most were pregnant.

In one corner, a handful of toddlers played with molded plastic toys on the concrete floor.

During one of her airport layovers, Caitlin had checked her e-mail and found one from Steve Silberg. The magazine's computer whiz had done additional research, and sent the name of the man who owned the go-kart track in São Paulo where Rafael won the first of many races. Steve had also discovered that the Nossa Senhora Aparecida Clinic was run by a nun called Sister Anne, who was also a medical doctor.

Caitlin glanced again at the waiting patients. The women stared back at her with wide, solemn eyes. What were the chances Rafael was in cahoots with a drug-running, arms-dealing nun who provided health care to pregnant women and children? Slim to none.

Even though she had no idea what the e-mail Sister Anne sent to Rafael meant, the deep-seated instinct Caitlin had
developed after years on the job told her there was nothing nefarious going on at this clinic.

Still, that instinct had failed her once when a man she cared about was involved, and she wanted—
needed
—proof.

She stepped to the receptionist sitting behind a scarred desk. When the young woman looked up, light flashed off the lenses of her glasses.

Caitlin handed the woman her business card while introducing herself. Ruiz repeated her words in Portuguese.

“I would like to speak to Sister Anne,” Caitlin added.

After Ruiz interpreted the request, the woman answered.

“The sister is with a patient,” he relayed. “She has many more waiting to see.”

“Ask her to tell Sister Anne I'll wait as long as necessary to speak to her.”

After hearing that, the young woman shoved up her glasses, rose and hurried down the corridor behind her desk.

Ruiz glanced at the waiting patients. “We could be here a long time.”

“As long as necessary,” Caitlin repeated. Then added, “Or until dusk, whichever comes first.”

Ruiz nodded, apparently satisfied.

When the receptionist returned, she motioned them to follow her down the same hallway. They passed several closed doors, winding up in a room at the rear of the clinic that contained chairs and a TV-VCR setup. Caitlin theorized the area was used for instructional videos for the patients. On the far side of the room, workmen were in the process of prying off the top of a large wooden crate.

A tall, swarthy workman holding a crowbar lifted a hand in greeting to Ruiz. He nodded.

“A friend of yours?” Caitlin asked.

“Of my cousin's.”

Caitlin watched the workmen as they jimmied off enough
wooden slats to reveal something swaddled in cloudy plastic. Since she and Ruiz had been escorted to the room, she had no expectation that this “shipment” contained either illegal arms or drugs. Still, she was curious.

“Can we ask your cousin's friend what's under the plastic?”

Ruiz nodded, then headed across the room. Caitlin trailed behind him, veering toward the lid of the crate that was now propped against one wall. She noted the name of a well-known American company and address on the shipping label.

“According to my cousin's friend, the crate contains a new X-ray machine,” Ruiz said when he rejoined her. “A donor in America purchases equipment and medical supplies for the clinic several times a year. This is one of those purchases.”

“Thank you,” Caitlin said. Deep down she knew that donor was Rafael, and that he spent the majority of his income to help the clinic. Still, she held back the stirrings of relief that should accompany that knowledge. She didn't yet know why he kept those donations secret. Or whose life would be in danger if word of his philanthropy got out.

The sound of footsteps had Caitlin turning.

The woman approaching wore a lab coat over a white blouse and black slacks. She was dark haired, short and thin, somewhere in her thirties. She held Caitlin's business card in one hand.

“Miss Dempsey, I'm Sister Anne.” Her voice was as smooth as silk, with no accent.

Caitlin introduced Ruiz, then said, “Thank you for seeing me, Sister. If you could spare some time, I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

Sister Anne glanced at the business card. “Perhaps you could first explain what interest a sports reporter has in the Nossa Senhora Aparecida Clinic.”

“Actually, my reason for being here is to interview you
about your relationship with Rafael O'Bryan. I understand he's an acquaintance of yours.”

Caitlin had hoped the mention of Rafael's name would elicit a reaction from the nun. As it was, she might as well have been sitting at a poker table for all she could tell from Sister Anne's expression.

“Rafael is a dear friend.” Sister Anne slid the card into the pocket of her lab coat. “Have you come all the way from America to ask me about Rafael?”

“Yes. I'm writing a profile on Rafael that encompasses more than just his profession. The profile is intended to give his fans insight into his personal life.”

The nun's gaze slid down to take in Caitlin's rumpled blouse and slacks. “When did you arrive in Corumbá?”

“About an hour ago.”

The combined banging of a hammer and whine of a drill nearly drowned out Caitlin's words.

Sister Anne glanced toward the workmen. “I'm sure you're tired from your long journey,” she said, looking back at Caitlin. “Let's talk in my office.”

“Thank you.”

Since Sister Anne spoke flawless English, Ruiz opted to remain in the room where he could watch the workmen's progress.

In the nun's small office, late-afternoon sun slanted through half-open blinds, casting neat lines across the tidy wooden desk. Overhead, a ceiling fan identical to the one in the waiting room made lazy circles. Sister Anne gestured toward a wooden chair in front of the desk, then made a quick phone call.

Only minutes after Caitlin settled in the chair, the young receptionist arrived, balancing a tray holding two tiny white china cups on saucers.

“Have you had a chance to try
cafezinho?
” Sister Anne asked.

“No.” Caitlin accepted the cup and saucer from the receptionist. They reminded her of the set of miniature china that she and her sisters played tea party with while growing up.

“I hope you enjoy it,” Sister Anne said. “Like most Brazilians, I'm addicted to it.”

Pinching the cup's handle between her thumb and finger, Caitlin took a sip. The black-as-ink coffee was hot and potent and had enough sugar in it to sweeten a birthday cake. After a second sip, she felt a welcome kick to her system. “It's wonderful.”

Nodding, Sister Anne sat back in her chair. “It has been a while since I've spoken to Rafael. He is well?”

“Yes.” Caitlin pulled her notepad out of her purse. “How long have you known him?”

“Since we were children.”

“Did you go to school together?”

“Yes.”

“What school?”

Sister Anne regarded Caitlin over the rim of her cup. “Did Rafael recommend that you come to see me?”

“No.”

“He doesn't know you're here, does he?”

“When I write a profile on a sports figure, I don't tell him or her which of their acquaintances I plan to interview. That's not how my job works.”

“I imagine you've discovered that Rafael is a very private man. If he wanted you, or his fans, to learn certain information about himself, he would let it be known on his own.”

“I understand that, Sister. But his sponsor isn't happy that the fans know so little about Rafael outside of racing. That's why they approached my magazine and suggested the profile. Since we'd be getting full access to Rafael, we decided to
pursue the profile. He's one of the most talented drivers in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series. Because of that, numerous articles have been written about Rafael's involvement in the sport. To be frank, that's old news. The profile I'm writing is focused on who the man is. What happened in his past to bring him where he is today. It's people like you, a childhood friend, who can reveal information about a time in his life that few people know about.”

Sister Anne replaced her cup on its saucer. “I can tell you that Rafael is a kind man. Good-hearted. Generous. Protective of those who matter to him. But as to other information about him, that is up to Rafael to reveal.”

“Can you tell me if he donates money to your clinic?”

“Policy forbids me to discuss our donors.”

Caitlin could feel each individual pulse point in her body throb in frustration. She had purposely shown up here without giving Sister Anne notice so the nun wouldn't have a chance to call Rafael and find out what to, and what not, to say. Even so, the woman had hedging down to a science.

“Sister Anne, I saw an e-mail you sent to Rafael. You mentioned a wire transfer, shipment and delivery. Was that e-mail about the X-ray machine being uncrated in the other room?”

“Rafael showed you that e-mail?”

“In a roundabout way.” Caitlin leaned forward. “Did he purchase the X-ray machine for the clinic? Does he regularly donate equipment and medical supplies? Is that what the wire transfers, shipments and deliveries are all about?”

“Again, policy won't allow me to answer.” The nun glanced at her watch and rose. “You'll have to excuse me, Miss Dempsey. I have a waiting room full of patients I must see.”

Caitlin stayed in her chair. “Why is it a matter of life or death that Rafael keep certain activities he's involved in secret?”

This time, the woman's dark eyes widened. “He told you that?”

“Yes. He said he wouldn't,
couldn't,
explain why. Just that lives were at stake. Is it your life that's in danger, Sister Anne? Or Rafael's? Or both?”

The nun stepped slowly around the desk, pausing a few inches from Caitlin's chair. “Rafael has trusted you with information that, to my knowledge, he has never told another woman. For him to do that tells me there's more to your relationship than just a reporter interviewing an athlete. He must care deeply for you.”

Caitlin's heart clenched. She wished she could believe that. “If that were true, he would tell me what's going on.”

“Sometimes confiding certain information in a person puts a terrible burden on that individual. An
unnecessary
burden of worry because that person can do nothing about the problem.”

“What exactly is the problem, Sister?”

“It is Rafael's place to tell you.” Reaching out, the nun placed a hand gently on Caitlin's shoulder. “You care for him, too. I can see it in your eyes.”

Feeling far too uncomfortable under the woman's discerning gaze, Caitlin rose. “Thank you for your time, Sister,” she said, hating that the raw emotion churning inside her had settled in her voice.

Over the past days, she hadn't allowed herself to examine her feelings for Rafael. Hadn't wanted to delve into how deeply those feelings had grown in such a short time. What would be the point? After all, she fully expected Sister Anne to call Rafael and let him know she'd shown up, asking about his and the nun's relationship.

A man as fanatically private as Rafael O'Bryan would view her actions as the equivalent of a betrayal.

And that, Caitlin thought, would be the end of things.

 

R
AFAEL SPOTTED
C
AITLIN
the instant she wheeled her suitcase into the lobby of the Charlotte hotel. Glancing at his watch, he noted it was a few minutes past midnight. He remained seated in the chair he'd chosen in the out-of-the-way corner. He'd been there, waiting, for the past hour.

After Sister Anne called to clue him in about Caitlin's visit, he had made it his business to find out the exact time she boarded a plane in Corumbá. Upon arriving in São Paulo, she had taken a cab to the go-kart track that had served not only as his workplace, but his home. He knew exactly how long she spent there before heading back to the airport to catch a flight to the States. She'd had a three-hour layover in Atlanta before leaving for Charlotte.