Free Heaven Sent by Rochelle Alers

skills as an excellent driver. It did not matter, because no one had ever referred to him as a peasant again.
    Rodrigo glanced at the packages on the backseat of the Volkswagen. “May I help you with your purchases?”
    “Please,” Serena replied, pushing her seat forward.
    The driver gathered the bags and waited until she closed the door to the car. “Where do you want them?”
    “Kindly take them to my bedroom.”
    She delayed following Rodrigo into the house. She knew she had to check on David, but she also wanted to survey the land surrounding
La Montaña
. She never tired of listening to the raucous cries of the colorful birds, or staring out at the thick, blue haze that always hung over the rain forest. The cloying fragrance of creeping flowers mingling with the smell of damp earth was like the sensuous scent of a priceless perfume. The scene from the mountaintop retreat was breathtaking,and at that moment she wondered why she hadn’t returned to Costa Rica to live.
    The air was pure, clean, the forest abundant with natural flora and wildlife. The beaches were pristine and the water unpolluted. The country’s natural beauty was overwhelming, and its people at peace.
    She was now thirty years old and she had lived sixteen of those years in Costa Rica. And over the time she had asked herself that question over and over since she left to live in the United States. The answer was always the same:
Because I am an American.
    The word reminded her of the American convalescing under her parents’ roof. Turning, she made her way into the house.
    Walking down the hall, she stepped into the guest room and saw David reclining on a chair, eyes closed, his right foot resting on the ottoman. The sheet, draping his body like a toga, floated to the floor in graceful folds. She knocked softly against the open door.
    His eyes opened and he glared at her. “Why did you lie to me about my face?”

Chapter 9
     
    S erena felt as if the breath had been siphoned from her lungs as she struggled to breathe. It was apparent that he had looked at a mirror.
    “I did not lie to you.” She struggled to control her temper.
    David slowly lowered his right leg, the effort it took to complete the motion clearly marked on his face. That he was in pain was evidenced by his grimace and bared teeth.
    “I asked about my face and you said it was healing.”
    “The doctor said it was healing. And it is.”
    “What he didn’t say was that I would be scarred for life.”
    Suddenly the strain of what she had undergone for the past two weeks swept over Serena. Hearing of her brother’s arrest; listening to the charges leveled againsthim; hearing the judge deny him bail; seeing him handcuffed and led out of a courtroom; knowing that if a jury found him guilty that he would die in Florida’s electric chair.
    Gabriel Diego Vega was going to die, while arrogant David Cole was only concerned about a little scar along the side of his face, a scar which probably could be eradicated by cosmetic surgery. Walking over to the bed, she picked up two pillows and launched them at David like guided missiles. One landed on his lap, the other at his feet.
    Her mood veered from fear to frustration, and then to full-blown anger. “My brother is going to die, and all you can think about is a little scratch on your face.” Swallowing hard, she attempted to blink back tears and failed. They overflowed, staining her cheeks. “It sickens me to have to look at you.” Turning, she raced out of the bedroom, ignoring David as he called out her name.
    My brother is going to die
. The six words echoed in David’s head like the slow pounding sound of a kettle drum. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head, ignoring the band of pain tightening its vise around his temples.
    The image he saw behind his lids was that of Serena’s face and her tears. He saw the tears
and
her sadness. He was alive, bruised and battered but alive, while her brother was going to die.
    When, he asked