“It’s this damn country, Parsons. You’re acting like you’ve had a temporary psychotic break from reality. It’s Peru. Mike said it was a place where magic met reality. More to the point,” she growled, grabbing her white smocks to wash them, “where delusions meet hard-core reality. Get a grip, will you?”
She picked up her smocks and headed out of the bedroom with purposeful strides. Houston was gone. Maybe forever. She had been crazy to think there was hope of a relationship with him. And yet, she’d been vulnerable with him. Something she’d never allowed with any other man except Morgan, who knew about her sorrowful past and understood how to deal with her. Yet Ann didn’t regret her decision. As scared as she was, she felt exhilarated on another level. She knew then that she did have hope. Hope for a future with Mike. Could her feelings, which she’d never even spoken about to him, survive? And would Mike continue to evade Escovar? Her hands tightened around the smocks as she opened the door to the small laundry room.
Later, as she emerged from the laundry room, there was a knock on the apartment door. She looked through the peephole and saw a man in civilian clothes standing there. Who was he? Should she open the door? Ann removed the dead bolt, but left the chain in place and peeked through it.
“Yes?
“Dr. Parsons?”
“Yes?”
He was a young, dark-skinned man in civilian clothes, wearing a black leather jacket, standing relaxed in front of her. Giving her an apologetic look, he said, “Orchid.”
She swallowed convulsively. This was one of Mike’s men. Mike must have sent him up to her apartment for a reason. Quickly she opened the door and invited him to come in. He thanked her and moved just inside the foyer.
“Major Houston told me you needed a driver and escort while you are here in Lima. I’m Pablo Manuel. He asked me to be your bodyguard for the next six weeks while you are here with us. I am one of Major Houston’s best soldiers. I got wounded two months ago and am not yet ready for duty with him, so he asked me, as a favor, to guard and take care of you.” He held out the keys to her car. “You are ready to work at the clinic, tomorrow morning?”
“Sí,” Ann whispered, leaning against the wall, her heart pounding unrelentingly. “He never said anything about you.”
Pablo smiled shyly. He opened his coat and produced the very same type of red-and-yellow orchid that Houston had given her. Only this one was in a small, plastic vial filled with water to keep it alive. “Major Houston said this would convince you. Here, he said for you to wear this on your white coat, that it would bring out the color in your cheeks and make your freckles stand out.”
Ann was deeply touched by the parting gift. Taking the orchid, she held it gently.
Pablo nodded in satisfaction. “That’s a very special orchid, señorita,” he said.
“Oh?” Ann replied. Even now she could smell the wonderful vanilla fragrance beginning to encircle her head. It was as if Mike was embracing her all over again.
Although Pablo seemed very young, maybe in his early twenties, he had a professional soldier’s bearing. Ann felt safer, but not as safe as when Houston was with her. But then, she told herself, Mike was head and shoulders above any man she’d ever met in her whole life.
Only Morgan Trayhern was anywhere near to Mike’s stature. The two men were different, though, and as Ann stood there, she tried to categorize how they were different.
“Did Major Houston tell you the story of that orchid?” Pablo inquired in a friendly fashion.
“No,” Ann said.
“Ahh…”
She saw Pablo smile brightly, his strong white teeth a contrast against his dark, copper-colored skin. His black hair was cut military short, and everything about him spoke of his military background, from the way he carried himself proudly to the way he stood with his feet slightly apart for better balance. She decided she liked him. “I guess he didn’t have time to share it with me, Pablo,” she added.
“Sí, Major Houston can never remain in one place too long,” he agreed somberly.
Every time Pablo mentioned Houston’s name, Ann saw a shining awe come to Pablo’s face, as if Mike were some kind of god come to earth to be worshipped. “What does ‘ahh’ mean in regard to this orchid?” she inquired.
Pablo laughed a little and gave her another apologetic look. “Dr. Parsons, it is not for me to discuss it with you. That orchid and her story should only be shared between you and the man who gave it to you.”
“I see,” she said. “Does everything in this country have a story attached to it?”
Pablo grinned. “Sí, señorita. What does an orchid mean otherwise? A tree? A bush? Without the story, you cannot appreciate it fully, no?”
“I guess not,” Ann said lamely. Maybe the nuns would know. Or at least be more forthcoming about it. She could hardly wait to get to the clinic because she desperately wanted to work in order to soothe the loneliness that was cutting into her since Mike’s departure. Work always kept her focus off whatever she was feeling. It would be impossible to put Mike and his parting kiss out of her mind—and heart—without it. Hard work always cured all her ills. And the clinic was certainly a place where she could spend twelve to sixteen hours a day doing just that.
“Eh, Ann, you must go home!” Sister Dominique came into the office where Ann sat going over the files of the patients she’d seen in the last twelve hours.
Ann smiled tiredly up at the old nun. Checking her watch, she realized it was midnight. “I lost track of time, Sister.” She felt suddenly dizzy and reached out to steady herself on the nearby desk. Earlier in the day, she’d gotten a sudden nosebleed—out of nowhere. She attributed it to the altitude difference, though it was unlike her to get a nosebleed at all.
“Humph,” Sister Gabby said, coming up alongside Dominique. “We are tired. We must say our prayers and then sleep. I’ve asked Pablo to take you home.” She waved a finger at Ann. “You work too hard, Doctor.”
“I’m used to it,” she answered with a weary smile. She closed the file and stood up. Yes, work kept her heart from meandering and wondering about Houston…or the orchid she wore on her smock. When the two nuns first saw the orchid and heard that Houston had gifted her with it, they had cackled like a couple of broody old hens. Neither would tell her about the orchid, however, making Ann even more frustrated.
“The clinic opens at seven,” Sister Gabby told her as they walked down the hall together. The gloom of the few lights along the corridor cast deep shadows on the hardwood floor as they walked.
“Okay, I’ll be here at seven,” Ann promised. She saw Pablo drive the car up to the front door and emerge. Again dizziness swept over her. She felt slightly feverish. Touching her brow, she placed her feet apart a little more so she wouldn’t fall over from her sudden bout of weakness. She touched her brow and discovered her skin felt hotter than usual. It was just stress, she decided. Stress and a horrible, gutting fear that she’d never see Mike again. Tears burned in her eyes, and valiantly Ann pushed them back down—as she had all emotional wounds before this.
“Sleep in,” Gabby advised gruffly. “Tomorrow we start renovations. Mon petit chou has employed bricklayers to build a new wing onto our clinic. Work begins tomorrow.”
“And,” Sister Dominique interjected with a wistful sigh, “we get a brand-new, much larger office with modern computers. Not that we know how to use them. But we’ll learn!”
“Around here,” Gabby said, “old dogs have to learn new tricks all the time.”
Ann laughed softly. She found the two nuns inspiring and fun to work with. They flew around the clinic in their dark blue and white habits like angels without wings. Today, the first full day at the clinic for Ann, they’d processed over sixty people through the clinic’s doors. “I know a lot about computers, so when they arrive, we’ll set some time aside and I’ll teach you how to use them. Fair enough?”
They nodded sagely and then both clasped their hands in front of them as she hesitated at th
e glass door.
“They are bringing water trucks tomorrow, too,” Sister Gabby added excitedly. “Fresh water for the barrio! This is so exciting! The children will have fresh water to drink, not the stuff found in trenches or mud puddles. It will make our job much easier. There will be less infection. Twice a week, two huge water trucks will drive from section to section, giving away water to the people. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Touched, Ann nodded. “This is all from the donations Major Houston got?” A chill swept through her. Looking down, Ann saw goose bumps forming on her lower arm. She was suddenly, inexplicably, icy cold. Was she catching something? It felt like flu symptoms to her. Great. All she needed was to get some acute illness on top of everything else.
“Yes,” Dominique said. “He is a man of pure heart and action. We get a new wing on the clinic, which will give us a ten-bed ward in addition to the five-bed one. He has hired a part-time paramedic to help us, as well. His name is Renaldo Juarez, and he will be here tomorrow, too.”
“It’s shaping up to be an exciting day,” Ann said, lifting her hand in farewell as Pablo opened the door for her. “Good night.”
“Sleep well, child,” Sister Dominique whispered, making the sign of the cross over her. “We will pray for you tonight.”
Turning, Ann smiled gently. “I think Major Houston can use our prayers more than me.”
Sister Gabby smiled. “He’s always in every prayer session we undertake. Do not fear, he will not be bumped off our list. We’re simply adding you to it.”
Laughing, Ann said, “Believe me, I can use all the help I can get. Prayers are good. Any kind. Thank you….”
Her apartment was dark and quiet. Pablo insisted upon going in first and checking it out thoroughly. He was brisk and efficient as he looked for possible perpetrators, bombs or bugging devices. When he was satisfied her apartment was “clean,” he said good-night and left.
Sighing, Ann wearily dropped her black bag on the sofa. In the kitchen, she gently removed the orchid, from her smock replaced the water it had used and then set it next to the sink. It looked bright and beautiful against the white tile background. And, as always, it reminded her of Mike. Turning, she saw the spray of orchids he’d given her himself sitting in the center of the table.
Why should I feel like this? So lost. Alone. As she moved unthinkingly to the breakfast nook and cupped the spray with her hand, she inhaled its fragrance deeply into her lungs. How was Mike? Was he in danger? Ann couldn’t shake those questions even though she wanted to.
Frowning, she straightened and moved down the hall to her bedroom. She was almost dizzy from tiredness, not yet completely over the jet lag, she suspected. Removing the smock and pulling her pink T-shirt over her head, she sighed. Why was her heart feeling like this? There was an ache in it. She knew why but she wasn’t willing to admit it to herself. Somehow, she had to climb back into that ivory tower of her mind and be free of her burning, painful emotions. Every time she closed her eyes and pictured Mike’s craggy, scarred face, her heart opened like that orchid did. Stymied, she removed her gray woolen slacks and set them aside. It had to do with that invisible connection that somehow existed between them. Perhaps she was still able to feel his emotions toward her? That seemed impossible, yet Ann had no easy answers when it came to Mike. She wanted to find out about the rest of his mysterious past, which he’d hinted about, but feared she’d never see him again to ask such questions.
As Ann took a hot shower, scrubbed her hair and allowed the spray to gently massage her tense, tired body, her heart once again turned to Houston. Frustrated because she had no explanation as to why he was so much on her mind, stirring up her feelings like this, she wondered if she wasn’t going a little crazy. As she toweled herself afterward, she swore she could almost feel a direct connection from him to her so that her every feeling was flowing to him and vice versa. It had to be a combination of sleep deprivation, stress and heartbreak.
“You’re nuts,” Ann growled, slipping into an apricot silk nightgown. And then she laughed at herself. A psychiatrist calling herself nuts. Now, that was the kind of humor Mike would appreciate immensely. He had a wry sense of amusement and would laugh with her about it. Then, as she walked from the steamy bathroom to her bed, Ann had the strangest feeling. Halting in the hall, she automatically touched her heart region with her fingers. If she closed her eyes, she could swear she heard Houston’s deep chuckle.
“I take that back, Parsons, you are having a psychotic break. Now get your rear into bed and sleep. You’re hallucinating.” Or was it that mental telepathy Mike had said he could receive from her? Could he pick up on her errant thoughts? The whole idea was a little shocking to Ann. If he could read her mind, then he’d been able to read it since he’d met her. Oh! The embarrassment of that if it was true! That just couldn’t be possible, her scientific mind told her.
As she jerked back the pale lavender quilt and sheet, Ann felt that laughter of his once again. The sensation was so warm and easy to surrender to. As she slid her feet beneath the covers and pulled them up, Ann released a weary sigh. Closing her eyes, she found herself wanting to be with Mike, wanting to know more—much more—about this enigmatic man. Today she heard the poor who came to the clinic call him the jaguar god over and over again. The people of the barrio worshipped Houston like a god, there was no doubt. He had produced so much for them, bettering the quality of their lives. Ann was sure that to the poor, his work seemed like a miracle only a god could pull off. He fed them, cared for them medically and often made the difference between life and death for them.
As the wings of sleep enfolded her, she felt as if she were drifting into the warmth of Mike’s embrace instead. It was a comforting sensation and she surrendered to it, no longer afraid. Within that invisible warmth, she felt safe—and loved. Very much loved.
Chapter 7
In the days that followed Mike’s disappearance, Ann discovered what hell was. The agony of losing him, not having him in her life, gutted her and bled her a little each minute of every hour of every day. Nothing had prepared her for this intense reaction, and she worked tirelessly at the clinic, sixteen hours a day, if possible—anything to stop the pain of her loss. She’d had several more nosebleeds, and though it was unusual for her to get them, she attributed it again to the altitude. The dizziness would come and go, too. And periodically, she’d run a fever for an hour, experience a bone-chilling sweat and then be fine. Her symptoms seemed to worsen, however, as the week wore on. Once, Sister Gabby tried to talk her into getting some blood tests, but Ann just waved off the idea, telling the nun it was nothing but stress, time changes and such. Ann didn’t tell her that she was grieving for Mike—for what might never be between them.
For the next seven days, the nuns allowed her to open up the clinic in the morning and close it down at night. They were simply too old to keep pace with her youth. Little did they know her energy was a result of her restless attempts to hide from her aching need for a man she cared for deeply—though she had never told him how much.
I miss him. Oh, God, I miss him and I worry for him…. Ann wearily pushed some strands of hair off her brow as she finished stitching up a jagged laceration on the arm of a teenage Quechua boy, who sat very still on the examination table. Mike Houston had slipped inside the array of defenses she had worked so hard for so long to erect against males in general. In the last week, she’d heard more stories about the jaguar god from people who came through the clinic’s doors. They were all eager to tell her of his power, his magic, his superheroic abilities. Of course, to herself Ann scoffed at them, but outwardly she just nodded her head, smiled a little and listened to their fervent stories about him.
She arrived back at her apartment at 1:00 a.m. that night. Pablo escorted her home and as always, checked out her premises and then left. She absently tossed the newspaper on the couch, remembering Pablo’s words to her ten nights ago. He’d said the apartment was a fortress to keep her safe. Then he’d
made a slip and called her “the jaguar’s chosen mate” and when she’d stared at him, Pablo had quickly retracted his statement, apologizing profusely over and over again.
Though she’d been rankled by Pablo’s faux pas, Ann continued to avoid the raw, twisting feelings of fear she felt for Mike’s safety. Was he well? Hurt? How would she ever know? His whereabouts, she discovered, were one of the best-kept secrets in Peru.
Tonight, her head swam with exhaustion and she almost staggered down the hall to the bathroom to take her much needed hot shower. During it, she experienced another spontaneous nosebleed, to her mounting consternation. And then, almost as rapidly, she felt feverish, after which an icy chill worked its way through her bones.
While lying in bed, Ann opened the newspaper, as was becoming her routine, and quickly scanned the headlines. Her gaze was suddenly riveted on a large black-and-white picture with headlines that shouted Escovar’s Army Fights Back. Sitting up, Ann felt her heart begin pounding as she rapidly read the text:
Escovar’s hated enemy, Major Michael Sanchez Houston, has met him in a deadly confrontation in the highlands of northern Peru, near the village of San Juan. According to reports, Escovar was attempting to reclaim the territories of the cocaine lord Ramirez, who was killed earlier in the year by Houston’s death squad. In a bloody battle, Houston, who is a U.S. Army special advisor, took his squads of Peruvian army soldiers into a trap laid by Escovar. Fighting is heavy and there are reports of many wounded and killed on both sides. Because the jungle is dense in that remote northern region, no further information is available.
Ann stared at the photo of several dead bodies. Was Mike among them? Suddenly, she felt nauseous. Her hands tightened convulsively on the pages of the paper as she studied the photos more closely. She saw two Quechua Indians, dressed in their customary dark cotton pants and white shirts, lying dead. To the left of them were three soldiers in camouflage uniforms. Her mouth went dry. A machete had hacked the arms off the Indians, and two of the soldiers had their throats slit open.
Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar Page 14
