Page 50 of Hidden Falls

“How nice of you.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Do not disrespect me. I don’t want to punish you, but I will.” His voice was flat, matter-of-fact.

I believed him.

I finished eating and put the cover over my empty plate. I set the tray aside.

“I do have questions.” I studied his thick, springy, curly, familiar looking dark brown hair, olive-toned skin, and blackish-brown eyes. “I don’t know your name.”

“Hector Ramirez.”

“And where are we?”

“Mexico City.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m your father.” A vibration deepened his voice; his gaze was intense, emotional. “Your real father. I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

I swallowed. “Where’s my mother?”

“She died.”

My eyes filled instantly; I’d never known my biological mother, and now I never would. “When?”

“After your little sister was born. Complications at her birth.” His eyes were shiny, as if he could still cry for her.

My “real” mother was gone forever.

“So those kids I saw are my brother and sister?”

“Yes.”

“And the woman?”

“Your stepmother.”

My lips curled. “She’s a bitch.”

“You are not wrong.” My father snorted an almost laugh. “She’s not happy about you, either. But we all must accept the situation we find ourselves in.”

“And what’s that, exactly?”

“You were kidnapped as a baby along with your nanny and never returned to us.” He looked down at his hands, fiddled with a gold ring on his pinkie finger. “We were in negotiations to get you back—then communication from the kidnappers stopped.” He wiggled the ring back and forth and took it off—a round, dome-shaped red ruby in a gold setting. “Losing you almost broke your mother.”

I didn’t know what to say. My brain was spinning, my heart was pounding.

Had my mom, Harry, been a kidnapper and stolen me from the Ramirez family? No. Couldn’t be.

“My mother is Harriet Vierra Clark. She is a police detective. She will never give up on getting me back.” My voice quavered a little; maybe she would, though. Mexico City was a long way from Hawaii, and Mom and Dad still had Kylie . . .

“That woman is not your mother,” Ramirez said harshly. “She is a kidnapper, a thief and a murderer.”

“No. Never.”

“She stole you and took you to Hawaii. She kept you for herself.”

“She adopted me from an orphanage,” I said. “Maybe the real kidnappers got tired of me and dropped me off there. She would never . . .”

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