His Mysterious Ways Read online

  But she and Lassiter weren’t friends. They’d shared a moment of closeness and nothing more. The truer emotion had occurred between them earlier in his quarters, when he’d looked at her with heat in his eyes. When he’d pressed against her, letting her know how much he wanted her.

  They were sexually attracted to each other. No point in calling it anything else. No point in trying to make more of it than it actually was.

  They would sleep together and soon. The question for Melanie wasn’t if but when.

  Chapter Eight

  When Melanie awoke the next morning, sunlight poured in through the French doors in her room. If someone had come in during the night, she hadn’t seen him. If her belongings had been searched, she’d heard nothing. Her sleep had been undisturbed and surprisingly untroubled, given the nature of her thoughts before she’d drifted off.

  She glanced at the bedside clock and noted that it was after eight. She was usually at the clinic by now, but Dr. Wilder had advised her to sleep in this morning. And after the conversation she’d overheard between him and Blanca the day before, Melanie wasn’t all that keen on facing them.

  Still, she’d have to go back eventually. Apart from her desire to spend time with Angel, she needed to go back to the clinic to see what else she could learn. There had to be a reason for Blanca’s animosity and distrust, for her almost paranoid fear that Melanie would somehow bring them trouble.

  And sometime during the night, Melanie had resolved to find out what that reason was.

  After she showered and dressed, she quickly bandaged her wrist, then headed downstairs to the terrace to have breakfast. Several guests lingered over coffee, but none of them paid much notice as she took an unobtrusive table near the fountain. A man sitting alone two tables over nodded and smiled, then went back to reading his paper.

  But all through breakfast, Melanie could feel his gaze on her, and once when she looked up, he stared at her openly. He was no longer smiling, and the way he watched her sent shivers up and down her spine.

  In a strange way, he reminded her of Lassiter, but it had nothing to do with the man’s appearance. Outwardly, he looked nothing like Lassiter, other than being about the same age and having a similar build. But there was something about his eyes, an intensity gleaming in those dark depths—and in Lassiter’s—that had the power to chill her to the bone.

  She quickly looked away, tried to concentrate on her breakfast, but it was impossible with him sitting so close. Staring at her so intently.

  Who was he?

  When Melanie glanced back in his direction, he was reading his paper again, but the damage had been done. She was completely unnerved.

  Intent on leaving, she started to signal for the check, but unaccountably changed her mind. She sat back down and finished her coffee, determined not to let the stranger chase her off.

  As she focused almost furiously on the distant scenery, her conversation with Lassiter the previous evening came rushing back to her. His account of the submarine accident had been so powerful that even in memory Melanie found herself breathless.

  When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the penetrating cold, the terrifying blackness, the claustrophobic reality of being trapped more than three hundred feet below the surface. The images were so powerful her heart started to hammer inside her chest. It all seemed so real to her.

  The explosion followed by the screams…

  The pandemonium as the submarine lost power and crashed to the bottom…

  The cold…the darkness…the abject terror…

  Once the vessel settled on its side, the crew’s predicament would have become painfully clear. Panic would have set in, along with the numbing cold and the devastating realization that there was no way out.

  Melanie could see it all, feel it all, and when her head cleared, she was trembling.

  She glanced up, but the man who had been watching her earlier was gone. Whether he’d phased himself off the terrace or simply walked away, she had no idea.

  Nor at that moment did she care. The vision she’d had of the doomed submarine had shaken her. Lassiter had been aboard that vessel. He’d experienced the horror she could only imagine.

  But for one brief moment, she’d experienced it for herself. She’d been on board that sub with him.

  And the terrible vision was like having a glimpse into Lassiter’s dark, bleak soul.

  Having seen it, Melanie knew her own life would never be the same.

  LASSITER WAS ALONE in the mess tent when Kruger came in that morning. The older man filled a plate with lukewarm scrambled eggs, poured himself a cup of coffee, then made his way over to Lassiter’s table. He didn’t wait for an invitation, but sat down and began to eat, acknowledging Lassiter’s presence with only a curt nod.

  Light streaming in from the open sides of the tent gleamed off his bald head as he bent over his plate. Lassiter couldn’t see his expression, but he knew there would be an enigmatic gleam in Kruger’s blue eyes. There always was. Most people took it for humor, but Lassiter had come to believe that, more often than not, it was derision. Kruger was not the kind of man to tolerate fools.

  There was a lot about him that Lassiter admired, but unfortunately, Kruger also had a side that Lassiter didn’t completely trust.

  Months ago, when they’d agreed on the terms of their arrangement, Lassiter had demanded and received a large payment up front, the bulk of which he’d placed in a numbered bank account in Aruba. But the outstanding balance due him when the operation was concluded would set him up for life. With that kind of money on the line, he wasn’t about to take a chance on getting rolled. He’d had some of his contacts in the States check Kruger out, and they’d reported back to him that Kruger Petroleum was a solid company and a sound investment. But Kruger himself remained something of a mystery. No one seemed to know where he had come from or how he’d gotten his start in the oil business. Even industry insiders didn’t know much about him, only that he had a formidable talent for making money.

  The sleeves of his khaki shirt were rolled up past his elbows, and Lassiter caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his left arm. He couldn’t make out what it was.

  As if sensing his scrutiny, Kruger glanced up, his gaze narrowing. “Something on your mind, Lassiter?”

  He shrugged. “Just finishing my coffee.”

  Kruger nodded absently, and they fell silent while he continued to eat. After a few moments, he looked up again. “What are you going to do about Taglio?”

  “A local mortuary is picking up the body sometime this morning. He’ll be buried this afternoon.”

  “I mean about replacing him. It’s not a good time to be caught shorthanded. We’ve been hearing chatter about a major rebel offensive for weeks now. If the guerrillas are able to fracture the Cartégan army, they might decide to move in on my wells. And I don’t have a lot of faith in el presidente and the ability of his generals to regroup and stop them. Those fat bastards will more than likely turn tail and run.”

  “I can get recruits,” Lassiter said. “But it won’t be easy or cheap. And it may require me to be away from the compound for a day or two.”

  Kruger took a sip of his coffee. “You do what you have to do. The defense of this camp is in your hands.”

  “I realize that. But I’m not here just to protect your wells. You also hired me to insure the safety of your crew. I told you weeks ago we need to have an evacuation plan in place—”

  “And I told you we’re not going anywhere,” Kruger cut in. “That’s not how I operate. I’m not high-tailing it back to Houston just because things get a little dicey down here. Besides, I’ve been in worse places than this. A helluva lot worse.”

  Lassiter took a stab in the dark. “Like Vietnam?”

  Kruger’s gaze sharpened. “Who told you I was in Vietnam?”

  “I guess I heard it through the grapevine. I didn’t know it was a secret.”

  “It’s not,” Kruger said. “But I don’t like people
nosing around in my private life. In fact, it really pisses me off.” A shadow flickered across his features, something dark and cold and sinister. Something that made the hair on the back of Lassiter’s neck stand on end. “Vietnam was a long time ago. A lot of things happened there that I’m not proud of. But I’ve learned since I’ve gotten older that some things are best left buried in the past.” His blue gaze regarded Lassiter across the table. “The sooner a man accepts that, the better off he’ll be.”

  “GOOD. YOU GOT my message. Thanks for coming by.” Angus Bond hauled a bottle of gin from his desk and filled a glass to the rim. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Lassiter asked with a shrug.

  “You’ve got a lot on your plate these days, what with losing a man yesterday and all that talk about a rebel offensive. It’s enough to drive a man to drink,” Bond said cheerfully. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long pull.

  “You said it was urgent,” Lassiter reminded him.

  “So I did. Perhaps I exaggerated.” Bond topped off his glass, then shoved the bottle aside. “I would offer you one of these, but I assume you’re on duty.”

  “That’s right. So if we could get to the point…?”

  “And you never drink on duty, I’ll wager. You’re much too disciplined for that.”

  Lassiter tried to tamp down his impatience. “What did you need to see me about?”

  “You’re a man of discipline and principle. A rare combination these days.”

  Lassiter wondered how long Bond had been hitting the bottle. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but the man’s eyes were glazed, his speech slurred. “I think you’ve got the wrong man,” Lassiter told him. “I’ve been called a lot of things in this part of the world, but principled isn’t one of them.”

  “Maybe you have a lot of people fooled, then. But not me. I’ve known men like you before. In spite of your current circumstances, you have a code of honor by which you live your life. An ideology that you would fight and die for. And that, my friend, will be your downfall someday.”

  “I fight for money these days,” Lassiter said grimly. “And as for dying, I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon. And besides, if I’m the kind of man you say, what am I doing in a hellhole like this?”

  Bond shrugged. “Cartéga attracts its share of lowlifes, I’ll grant you that. But not everyone who comes here is lawless, just as not every mercenary enjoys killing. I think you’ve found yourself in something of an awkward position, Lassiter. You’re like a vampire with a soul, I suspect. You do what you have to in order to survive, but I rather think you might sometimes wonder if you’d be better off dead.”

  Lassiter frowned. “You think you’ve got me pegged, do you?”

  The older man laughed. “I doubt anyone has ever ‘pegged’ you. Not el guerrero del demonio.” He leaned across the desk, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “What does a man have to do to earn such a nickname, anyway? From what I hear, you’re good at what you do. Damn good. But a demon warrior would need to be more than just good, wouldn’t he? One might even say he’d need to be more than human.”

  “What are you getting at, Bond?”

  The man shrugged as he took another sip of his gin, savoring the taste on his tongue before swallowing. “I’ve heard rumors about you, that’s all. They say you have supernatural powers. You have the ability to become invisible, read minds, walk on water. Any truth to that?”

  Lassiter gave a curt nod to the bottle on Bond’s desk. “How long have you been going at it this morning?”

  Bond laughed again. “Not long enough, Lassiter. It’s never enough.” The smile faded as he polished off the drink in one fluid move. He started to pour himself another, but then with grim resolve, screwed on the lid and slipped the bottle back into his desk. When he looked up, something in Lassiter’s eyes made him grimace. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering how an educated, presumably intelligent man could end up like this. I still wonder that myself sometimes.”

  “Your personal life is none of my business.” Although Bond’s drinking and drug use could very well affect everyone in the compound. But he worked directly for Kruger. There was nothing Lassiter could do about it.

  “The thing is,” Bond murmured, “it happens so gradually you don’t see it coming. And then one day you wake up in the gutter and you no longer have the strength or the desire to crawl out of it. So you just lie there wallowing in self-pity, waiting for the day when you don’t wake up at all.”

  He paused, his gaze still on Lassiter. “It’s a sorry excuse for a life, Lassiter. Doubly so when you still have memories of the way you once were. A man honored in his profession, respected in his community, loved and adored by his family. I once had it all. I was a man of principle, too. Or so I thought. And then just like that—” he snapped his fingers “—it was all taken away.”

  “What happened?” Lassiter asked in spite of himself.

  Bond turned to stare out the window. “Have you read much early American literature, Lassiter? I’m talking about the classics. Poe, Hawthorne, Melville.”

  “Enough to get by in my high-school English classes, I guess. Why?”

  “Hawthorne was always a favorite of mine. He had a recurring theme in much of his work. Man playing God. Science perverted by hubris. Let’s just say, I can relate, if not sympathize, with his Dr. Rappaccini.”

  “Look,” Lassiter said, his patience finally exhausted. He had no idea where Bond was going with this conversation. “If you’re trying to tell me something, just spit it out. Otherwise, I don’t have time for a reading assignment.”

  Bond’s gaze was slightly reproachful. “I apologize for wasting your time, Lassiter. You have better things to do than listen to my sad tale.”

  Guilt niggled at Lassiter, but he firmly shoved it aside. “What do you want, Bond?”

  “Your discretion, that’s all. I’d like you to keep our conversation from yesterday privileged. I never should have said anything to you about Martin Grace. There’s a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality involved here.”

  “Telling me about a tattoo is hardly revealing classified medical information,” Lassiter said.

  “Still, it leaves me with a bad taste, and I’d rather you not repeat any portion of our conversation.”

  Too late for that, but Lassiter wasn’t about to admit he’d already confided in Melanie. “Whatever you say.”

  “It’s for the best.” Bond glanced toward the door, as if suddenly worried someone might be eavesdropping. “You have to be careful what you say around here, Lassiter, and who you say it to. You can’t trust anyone. Kruger is a fair man to work for, but you don’t want to get on his bad side. He has a vicious temper. If you cross him, he’d just as soon slit your throat as look at you. And as for Martin Grace…let me put it this way.” Bond’s gaze darkened. “Kruger might slit your throat in a fit of rage, but I think Martin Grace would do it slowly. And I think he’d probably enjoy every minute of it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Twilight had fallen by the time Melanie left the clinic that day. She’d purposefully put in extra hours hoping that by the time she departed, both Dr. Wilder and Blanca would have already gone home. She wanted to do a little snooping, try to find out why Blanca found her such a threat. And why Dr. Wilder felt the need to keep her close by.

  But an emergency had kept everyone later than usual, and Melanie had finally been forced to leave first. To linger any longer would have been to invite suspicion, especially Blanca’s.

  Calling out her goodbyes to everyone, Melanie left by the front door and headed for downtown. Once she was a block or so away from the clinic, however, she skirted over a street and doubled back to the alley from which she’d observed Lassiter a few days ago. From there, she could watch the traffic to and from the clinic without being seen.

  After twenty minutes or so, Blanca came out the front door and headed north, away from downtown. Dr. Wilder followed a few mome
nts later. Melanie didn’t know exactly where he lived, but she’d heard one of the nurses mention that it was somewhere nearby. If an emergency arose during the night, he could be at the clinic in less than five minutes.

  Melanie had no idea where Blanca lived, either, but she suspected the young nurse spent most of her evenings with Dr. Wilder. The woman’s private life was certainly none of Melanie’s business, but what did concern her was Blanca’s attitude toward her and the secretive atmosphere in the clinic ever since she’d overheard that conversation.

  Melanie couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that the secret Blanca and Dr. Wilder shared had something to do with her. And Blanca’s animosity wasn’t a simple matter of distrusting a stranger. It went deeper than that.

  Melanie waited in the alley for another few minutes to make sure that neither Dr. Wilder nor Blanca returned. Satisfied they were both gone for the night, Melanie crossed the street and entered the clinic through the front door.

  The nurse at the desk looked up in surprise. “Hola, Melanie. What are you doing here so late?”

  “Hello, Elena. I left my bag,” Melanie said with a rueful shrug. “My room key is in it, so I had to come back. All right if I go get it?”

  Elena nodded. “No problem. But would you mind checking on Angel while you’re back there? Blanca said she was a little restless earlier, and you always seem to have a calming effect on the child.”

  Melanie smiled. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll be happy to look in on her. I’ll just let myself out the back door when I’m finished.”

  Elena nodded again, then returned to her reading as Melanie headed down the corridor. She peeked in on Angel and saw that the child was sleeping peacefully. Not wanting to disturb her, Melanie quietly closed the door and tiptoed away.

  She went first to the closet at the back of the clinic to retrieve the bag she’d purposefully left there earlier. Then she hurried up the hall to Dr. Wilder’s office, keeping a wary eye on the front in case Elena decided to come back and check on her.