Free Don't Let Go by Marliss Melton

dossier was approved and returned to us today.”
    Jordan’s heart gave a leap of joy. How long had she been waiting to hear those words? It couldn’t have happened at a better time. “That’s wonderful! I just received word that he’s in Puerto Ayacucho at La Catredral Maria Auxiliadora.”
    A silence followed her revelation, so lengthy that Jordan thought perhaps the line had gone dead. “Señora Nuñez?” she queried.
    “Yes,” said the woman, faintly.
    “The priest caring for him is Father Benedict,” Jordan continued, sensing reluctance on the other end. “He says he’ll be expecting one of your agents to collect Miguel.”
    The woman cut her off. “I’m sorry, señora,” she said with lament. “I am truly sorry, but we cannot send any agents into Ayacucho. Rebels have stormed the city; there is fighting in the streets.”
    “No,” said Jordan forcefully. “I know it’s dangerous, but we have to get him out. He needs me. He isn’t talking anymore.” Her own voice cracked in distress. “Please don’t back out on me now,” she begged, her eyes stinging sharply. “It took a year to get his dossier approved.”
    “You need to be patient, señora. Wait a few weeks or months for the unrest to die down.”
    “In a few weeks or months, the Populists might run the government again,” Jordan countered fiercely. “They had outlawed foreign adoptions before; what makes you think they’d even let Miguel leave the country? I have to get him now before the laws change!”
    “I’m sorry, señora. I truly am. There’s nothing we can do but keep his information here on file.”
    “Wait!” Jordan begged, gripping the phone so hard it bruised her palm. “What if I were to fetch him out myself? You could mail me his dossier with explicit directions. I’ll take them to all the right people, and you wouldn’t have to do a thing.”
    A compassionate sigh sounded in Jordan’s ear. “It would be dangerous for you, señora. Very dangerous.”
    “I understand that,” Jordan insisted. It was more dangerous to her emotional and mental health not to fight for Miguel. “But it can be done, right?”
    Thoughtful silence followed. “I suppose it could be done,” the woman carefully admitted, “if you found a lawyer to sign the papers and left him a money order for the final payoff of ten thousand American dollars, payable to us. You would then need to take Miguel to Caracas to the American embassy for the rest of the papers to be processed.”
    Jordan envisioned the monumental task ahead of her. She would need to free up funds, not just the money for Miguel’s adoption but enough money for a flight, for both of them. “I can do it,” she promised, the perspiration on her brow cooling swiftly in her air-conditioned study. “Just mail the dossier and your instructions to my home address.”
    “As you wish, Señora Bliss,” said the woman with heavy reluctance. “You should receive it within five to ten days.”
    “Thank you,” Jordan breathed. She hung up the phone slowly, feeling stunned, shocked by the commitment she’d just shouldered. It was one thing to adopt a child through an agency; it was something else to wrest him from a war-torn country and battle the legal system practically alone.
    A forceful knock at Jordan’s front door jarred her from her troubled thoughts. The sound conjured an image of a man whose memory was driven deep in her consciousness, like a splinter.
It’s not him
, she reassured herself, heading to answer the door.
    Through the narrow pane that edged one side of the door, Jordan spied a little boy, about the age of her students.
    Who on earth?
She pulled the door open, admitting a puff of warm, summer air, and her quizzical smile fled.
    “You!” she blurted, startled that her sixth sense had been so accurate. Solomon McGuire’s silver gaze hit her like a punch in the gut. She could scarcely draw a full breath.
    “Hello, again,” he said, the sound of his voice