Page 5 of Kyle

“How long were you in Timor-Leste?”

“Almost six months. We were making good progress until the uprising.”

“Economic development, right?” I asked about her volunteer position.

“Yeah. It’s a pretty large umbrella. Some days I was teaching basic money management, but other days I was drawing up detailed business plans for entrepreneurs.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes. The Timorese are eager to learn, both men and women. The outlying villages were harder to convince they could trust our intentions. There’s a fine line between teaching them to improve on what they’re doing and teach them, and forcing Western culture and society norms on them. The Timorese don’t want to be Americans and they don’t want their beliefs and way of life trampled on. Sometimes it’s hard to find the balance. Improving someone’s life doesn’t mean changing who they are fundamentally.”

I liked how passionate Anaya was about her work. She came alive when she spoke about the Timorese people.

“I agree with that. Sometimes I think as a society we think our way is the best way and any country who doesn’t believe like us should be persuaded to do so.”

“It’s not my place to persuade anyone into thinking like I do. I’m a teacher, that’s it. And if I do my job well and the men and women can use the skills they learned to better their lives, hopefully they will go on to make the changes they feel their communities need to make.”

Her intelligence impressed me. But her thoughtfulness on the subject intrigued me. And surprisingly it fell in line with my own beliefs. Which made what I had to do next suck even more.

“Except when it becomes personal.”

Anaya’s body jerked and her pretty eyes squinted.

“This isn’t personal,” she snapped.

“Then what is this? Why are you going back?”

I was fairly certain I understood her reasons, but I needed to make sure. Personal vendettas had a way of ending poorly. When emotions clouded judgment, people died.

“Because what’s happening to those girls isn’t right.”

“According to you?” I pressed.

Anaya’s face went a deep shade of red and she was getting angrier by the millisecond. “According to human decency. We’re talking about girls being sold, and not marriage customs. Not only are the girls being sold to men who intend on taking these girls against their will and making them child-brides, they’re being sold to sex traffickers. They’re being used as prostitutes. Amisha isn’t running a private orphanage out of the goodness of her heart until a married-in relationship can be arranged. She’s running a brothel. Ace and Piper didn’t see half of what goes on there. Amisha kept them where she wanted them, in the clean living space, with classrooms, dorms for the girls, a kitchen. She may’ve told them she sells the girls into marriage and presented it in a way that, while cringeworthy, benefits the girls because they’ll have their basic needs met by their husbands, and the money is used for the care of the younger girls. But it’s bullshit. They didn’t see what really goes on.”

“What really goes on?”

I needed to know how much Anaya had seen. I’d read the report John “Tex” Keegan had put together on Amisha Alves. By all accounts the woman was a piece of shit and so far, everything Anaya had told them had been correct.

“There’s a second home, next door. There are almost the same number of children in that house as there are in the orphanage. Only it is not clean and there are no classrooms. Piper had told me she and Ace didn’t see any children over fourteen when they’d been given their tour. I didn’t have it in me to tell her why. She was right not to leave her girls there, not even for the day—they would’ve been gone. Three clean, untouched children from the mountains would’ve fetched a high price next door. And before you ask, yes, even the four-year-old.”

My stomach roiled and it had nothing to do with the plane gaining altitude. Fucking despicable.

“Have you been in the house?”

“No. I was in the city teaching a class when I overheard a man in a café talking about Amisha. He was excited because she’d brought new girls next door. So I discreetly started snooping around. Amisha doesn’t hide what she’s doing.”

“You speak Portuguese?” I asked, somewhat amazed.

“Yes, and some Tetum.” Anaya’s tone had turned frosty toward me and I wasn’t surprised by her next statement. “You don’t seem to share my concerns about Amisha.”

“I do,” I answered but kept the rest of my thoughts on the topic to myself, very aware ninety-nine percent of the population wouldn’t agree with my opinion on how to remedy the situation. Which would include bloodshed and a fair amount of torture.

“It doesn’t seem that way, with the questions you’ve asked.”

“I need to understand your motive.”

“Motive?”