Here is the scene with the character my editors want me to cut. I hope you enjoy!
Sweat beaded his face, and it wasn’t from the mild African heat of November. He’d known this day of reckoning was coming, just not today, and not in the heart of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
“We are reopening the search for Willow, or rather Sage is. Willow’s disappearance has left a hole in all of our hearts, especially her sister’s, but we all need closure, one way or the other.”
The words spoken almost casually over the last dinner of the mission trip had sent a chill through him. Even now, replaying them in his mind…he gulped another shot of vodka and stared at the empty glass.
“You look worried, my American friend.”
He looked around. Ibara. “I’m not your friend.”
Like he’d ever choose to befriend the mercenary. He’d seen him around the village earlier in the week, but this morning he’d learned his name when Todd McCall, the missionary his church team had come to assist, had confronted him about using children in the coltan mines.
“So where did you bury her?”
“How—” He caught himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Ibara’s mouth twisted into a sly, knowing smile. “I would advise you to never play poker—your face reveals far too much.”
If he thought he was sick before, it didn’t compare to the cold dread gripping his stomach. “How did you even hear what he said?”
“How was your steak last night?”
“You were at the restaurant last night?” He stared at the mercenary…his mind racing as fragments played out…then it hit him. Ibara had been seated at the next table over from them.
The man laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That is unimportant. What’s important is that his words got under your skin.” Ibara stared him, his pale blue eyes not wavering. “So you killed the girl, eh?”
“No!” The word exploded from his mouth even as his heart threatened to stop. How could this…this vile man, who used children for his gain, possibly know what he did twenty years ago?
“You really shouldn’t lie.” Ibara rubbed his chin. “For a price, I can take care of your problem. I know a man who knows a man who works at the place where McCall hangars his plane.” Ibara rubbed two fingers and his thumb together. “For a few American dollars, I can take care of your problem on this end. Surely you can take care of the girl in America.”
Was the vodka causing him to hallucinate and hear things? Or had the bartender slipped rutuka into the drink instead of the legal alcohol? The villagers had warned the entire mission team not to drink the homemade vodka. Like they would.
Somehow Ibara knew what he’d done. Maybe not the exact deed, but that he was guilty of something terrible. The mercenary held his gaze prisoner. “How…much are you talking about?”
Ibara lowered his voice and named a ridiculously small amount.
He swallowed hard, wishing he could erase the whole conversation from his mind. He could never do something like killing the McCalls, could he?
Or maybe the real question was, hadn’t he already?
