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“I’d like that very much.” He drew out a chair and sat down, then took a long, thirsty pull from his gin and tonic.
“Nectar of the gods,” he said with a sigh.
“I thought that was wine.”
“Not in my paradise.” He grinned and took another swallow. “So what brings you to Santa Elena, Melanie? The cloud forest or the ruins?”
“I intend to see both. How about you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve lived off and on in Cartéga for quite some time now. Santa Elena has always been a favorite haunt of mine. I like the quaintness.”
Melanie lifted a brow in surprise. “You live here? Judging by your accent, I would have guessed you’d just left Melbourne a few days ago.”
“Queensland, actually. I’m a banana bender, as they say.” He grinned and saluted her with his drink. “As for the accent, old habits die hard.”
“I know what you mean,” Melanie murmured. She realized then why he looked so familiar to her. The evidence was there in his face. The excesses and the abuses. But it was his eyes that were the true giveaway. They were flat, emotionless, empty. She’d seen those same dead eyes years ago, in rehab. And in the mirror.
“So what do you do here?” she asked him.
He toyed with his glass. “Right now I’m working for an American oil company that has a drilling site about thirty miles north of town. Kruger Petroleum. Ever heard of it?”
Melanie almost choked on her drink. “I don’t think so.”
“They’re a small, independent outfit, but they appear to be flush with cash. The owner, Hoyt Kruger, is a hands-on kind of guy. He supervises every aspect of the operation.”
“What kind of work do you do for him?” Melanie tried to ask casually.
“I run the infirmary. I’m a doctor.”
It was all she could do not to spew juice from her nose. He ran the infirmary? Then he had to know about the break-in last night. Was that why he’d sought her out? Because he knew she was responsible? What was this? Some kind of fishing expedition? A trap?
“Santa Elena is a small place to have two doctors,” she said carefully.
He glanced down at the bandage on her wrist. “I take it you’ve made the acquaintance of our illustrious Dr. Wilder. Nothing serious, I trust?”
“No. Just a careless accident.”
“I sympathize.” His smile was rueful as he ran a finger down the scratch on the side of his face. “What happened? If I’m not being too forward by asking.”
Melanie hesitated. “I…broke a mirror in my hotel room. Luckily, I’m not the superstitious type.”
“Then you obviously haven’t been in Cartéga long enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a very superstitious country. The Cartégans love their legends. Haven’t you heard about la Encantadora who lives in the cloud forest and uses the mist to lure men to their death? Or the ghosts of the Mayan priests who wander the ruins—” He broke off as his gaze went past Melanie’s shoulder to the street. “Speak of the devil…”
Melanie turned to see what had drawn his attention. Her breath caught when she saw the man from the clinic climbing out of his jeep.
She whipped back around, trying not to show her distress. “Do you know that man?”
Bond’s mouth tightened. “He works for Kruger. Euphemistically speaking, he’s in charge of security, but…” His voice trailed off and he glanced away.
Melanie, sensing something in his tone, leaned toward him slightly. “But? What were you about to say?”
Bond looked suddenly uneasy. “Let me put it this way. He may be in charge of security for Kruger, but if I had a daughter, Jon Lassiter would be the last man on earth I’d want her to be alone with.”
Melanie nervously glanced over her shoulder. Lassiter was making his way down the street toward the café. She didn’t know whether he’d spotted them or not, but she wasn’t about to wait around and find out.
She rose from the table. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go.”
Bond gazed up at her in surprise. “So soon?”
“Yes. I…just remembered an appointment. It was a pleasure meeting you, though.”
“Oh, believe me, the pleasure was all mine, Melanie.”
When she reached into her bag for money, he held up his hand. “No, please. Allow me. I insist.”
Melanie hesitated. “In that case, thank you very much. Maybe I’ll see you here again. The drinks will be on me next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
She could feel his gaze on her as she walked away, but it wasn’t the leer of an older man admiring a younger woman. It was more innocent than that. For all his obvious vices and hard living, there was something guileless about Angus Bond. Something a bit sad.
But Melanie didn’t have time to dwell long on the Australian, because as she left the patio and headed down the street, she turned and saw that Jon Lassiter had entered the café. He glanced up suddenly, and when he saw her, he said something to Angus, then started toward her.
Melanie spun around and headed in the opposite direction. Halfway down the street, she spied him again. He was even closer now, gaining on her steadily, although they were both trying not to draw attention.
Up ahead, a group of tourists had disembarked from a decrepit bus. Melanie hurried to infiltrate them, hoping to disappear among the chattering, excited vacationers.
Turning a corner with the crowd, she grabbed a peasant blouse from an outdoor rack in the market and hurried inside the dim shop.
“¿Me puedo probar esto, por favor?”
The ancient shopkeeper lazily waved a palmetto leaf fan in front of her face as she pointed to a dressing area in the back—a ragged blanket strung across one corner.
“Gracias.” Melanie dashed to the back and scurried behind the blanket. She fervently hoped that Lassiter would follow the tourists down the street, at least for a block or two. By the time he discovered she was no longer with them, he’d have no idea where she’d gone—
“Perdón.”
Melanie’s legs trembled at the sound of his voice. She shrank back in the corner, hoping the shopkeeper wouldn’t give her away.
“I’m looking for an American,” he said in Spanish. “A young, blond woman. Very attractive. Have you seen her?”
“I saw the Americanos go by here,” the shopkeeper replied. “They talk and laugh very loudly, but they don’t spend their money in here.” Her voice held a heavy note of regret. “Something for you perhaps?” she asked hopefully. “A gift for su esposa? Su amiga?”
“Nothing today,” he said curtly. “Gracias.”
When their voices fell silent, Melanie assumed he’d left the shop, but she didn’t want to press her luck. She remained behind the curtain for several minutes longer, then glancing around to make sure he’d gone, she carried the blouse to the shopkeeper and pulled some bills from her bag.
The old lady gave her a toothless smile of gratitude.
“Thank you for not giving me away,” Melanie said. She glanced around. “Could I ask another favor of you, por favor?”
“Sí.”
“Is there a back door I can use?”
“Sí, por aquí.” She got up and Melanie followed her to the back of the shop and down a grim little corridor that opened into a foul-smelling alley.
Stepping outside, Melanie glanced back at the woman who hovered in the doorway. “Muchas gracias.”
The woman nodded, her black eyes gleaming with an emotion Melanie couldn’t define. “That man, he is a bad one. A devil,” she said in halting English, then, crossing herself, lapsed back into Spanish. “Vaya con Dios.”
Melanie had no trouble making the translation. Go with God.
Chapter Three
A few minutes later, Melanie hurried into her room, bolted the door, then stood leaning against the frame as she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath.
That had been close. Way too close.
But how long before Lassiter found her here?
And he would find her. In a place the size of Santa Elena, it would be easy to check all the hotels. Even if he didn’t yet know her name, he had a description of her. He might even be knocking on her door within the hour.
Question was, would he come alone or would he bring the police?
In hindsight perhaps the better option would have been to face him back at the clinic or at the café where witnesses were present. After all, what had she done that was so terrible? She’d stolen drugs to save a young girl’s life. Even if Jon Lassiter couldn’t appreciate the distinction between that and petty thievery, surely the authorities would.
But what if Lassiter, or even Kruger himself, wouldn’t let it go? What if they pressured the police to arrest her? Make an example of her? Spending the next twenty years in a Cartégan jail wasn’t Melanie’s idea of growing old gracefully, but then, there were ways out of almost any prison, as she well knew.
She could have used those ways to get away from Lassiter earlier, but she hadn’t wanted anyone on the street or the old lady in the shop to witness her vanishing act. Melanie had come to Santa Elena looking for answers, which meant she had to ask questions, and the last thing she needed was for the locals to become suspicious of her, let alone afraid of her.
She crossed the room and dragged her suitcase from the closet, but not to pack. Instead, she removed the stack of letters from inside, then lay down on the bed and propped herself against the headboard.
Plucking the top envelope from the packet, she stared at the handwriting. Her father’s handwriting, she now knew. The letter had been sent from Cartéga six months ago.
She didn’t open it because she didn’t have to. She knew the contents by heart.
…I want to see Melanie on her birthday. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her in the clouds…
Melanie didn’t recall much about her father—what he’d looked like or even the sound of his voice—and yet the meaning of his words had come to her instantly. And with it, a memory of the last time they’d been together.
Melanie had been five years old, small for her age, but adventurous even then. And impulsive. Already looking for that next thrill.
“Push me higher, Daddy!” They were in the backyard of their home on Long Island, testing out the new swing set she’d gotten for her birthday. “Higher!”
“You’re going high enough, Melly Belly,” her father had laughed. “If your mother could see you now, she’d have my head.”
Funny how Melanie could remember the conversation so vividly and yet she still couldn’t picture her father’s face. Couldn’t conjure up the sound of his voice no matter how hard she tried. Only his words came back to her.
“Higher!” she’d screamed. “I want to touch the clouds with my toes!”
“I know a place where you really can touch the clouds,” he’d told her.
“Take me there!”
“Someday I will.”
“Not someday. Tomorrow!”
“It’s a long way from here, in a little country called Cartéga. I’ve been reading about it. You have to go way up into the mountains to touch the clouds. We can’t go tomorrow, but we will soon. You and me and Mommy. We’ll all touch the clouds together.”
“Then push me higher,” Melanie demanded, “so I can touch that cloud right now!”
Presently, her father stopped pushing her, and Melanie leaned back so far to look at him that she almost tumbled from the swing. “Why did you stop?” she pouted.
“Careful, you’ll fall out,” he warned.
“No, I won’t.”
“Hard head,” he said affectionately. But there was a look in his eyes that made Melanie sad for some reason. “You think you’re invincible, don’t you.”
“I don’t know. I think I want you to push me some more.”
“I can’t. I have to go inside and…take care of some things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Work kind of things.” He knelt and placed his hands on her shoulders. “This trip we talked about. Let’s keep it a secret for now, okay? Don’t mention it to anyone.”
“Not even Mommy?”
A shadow flickered across his features. “No, not even Mommy. We’ll let it be a surprise. Right now, I have to go in and get some work done.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. You stay outside and play. I won’t get anything done with you around.”
“But it’s no fun out here without you,” she protested.
“Sure it is. You just keep swinging. Pump your legs the way I taught you. That’s it.”
Melanie continued to swing after her father had gone inside, but her heart really wasn’t in it. She didn’t like being alone. She let the swing come to a stop, then lazily rocked herself back and forth with her toes.
After a bit, she began to have a strange feeling that she wasn’t alone. She looked up, hoping her father had come back outside, but instead, she saw that a man had entered through the back gate.
