by Vanessa Kier
Lachlan felt a little flare of warmth in his chest at the girl’s open affection. Once she and the nurse had disappeared from view, he turned to the doctor.
The lass aimed her shotgun at his chest. “So, snake-killing man, who are you and what brings you to this remote part of the country?”
Lachlan took in the tight line of her shoulders and her white-knuckled grip on the shotgun and once again held out his hands to remind her that he was unarmed. “Easy, lass. I’m not going to hurt ye.” Christ. He didn’t hurt women. Even his father, may his soul rot in hell, had never laid an angry hand on Lachlan’s mother or killed one of his female patients.
Yet Dr. Kirk looked poised to either shoot him on general principal, or flee. Neither of which would get him the information he needed. He gave her a lopsided smile in an attempt to disarm the suspicion he saw in her eyes. “Ah, well. I’d hoped to introduce myself under better circumstances, Dr. Kirk. I’m Lachlan MacKay.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m here on behalf of one of the businessmen due to arrive for the grand opening. I’ve been asked to check that the clinic is truly providing the villagers with the promised level of health care. I’ll also be checking that this area is a safe location for the clinic and that the security arrangements for the grand opening are adequate.”
“What security arrangements? This is a peaceful part of the country. There’s been no rebel activity here. We’re safe.”
Lachlan almost rolled his eyes at her naïveté. “You’re a foreigner in a region the rebels are trying to make foreigner-free. There is no such thing as a safe place.” He glanced pointedly at her weapon. “You must agree, since you’re wielding a shotgun.”
“This is for non-human threats.” She nodded at the snake’s corpse.
Lachlan didn’t think she’d have had much chance of hitting the fast-moving snake, but held his tongue. Instead, he wiggled his hand, still waiting for her to shake.
She glanced down and frowned. “I believe I’ll wait until there’s no snake blood on your skin.”
He blinked in surprise. “Ach. Apologies. I forgot.” Putting on a smile he hoped was boyishly rueful, he pulled a small container of sanitizer out of his pocket and proceeded to clean off the blood.
“Show me your ID,” Dr. Kirk said.
Lachlan pulled out his wallet and passed it to her without hesitation. Dr. Rene LaSalle, one of WAR’s primary allies, had arranged for Lachlan to be assigned to the security detail of a friend of his who’d been invited to the grand opening. The ID would pass inspection.
After studying his ID, Dr. Kirk passed his wallet back to him. “So, you just happened to be walking to the clinic when you, what?” Dr. Kirk asked, the suspicion back in her voice. “Saw the snake aiming for Sisi?”
“Something like that, aye.”
“If what you say is true, Mr. MacKay, then where is your stuff? Surely you have personal belongings?”
He tucked his wallet back into his pocket before answering. “My rucksack is in the bushes.” He gestured to his left. “With your permission?”
She nodded, yet kept him covered with the shotgun as he retrieved his pack and swung it onto his shoulders. “Shall we?” he said.
Dr. Kirk gave him a look, then motioned with her shotgun for him to precede her down the road to the clinic.
Refusing to have her weapon at his back, he instead walked beside her. “I don’t think the weapon is needed, is it, lass? As I said, I’m not going to hurt ye. If it’s harm I intended, I would have done so by now.”
She flinched and sidestepped so he wasn’t in her personal space. Lachlan mentally cursed himself. Reminding the doctor that he was dangerous was no way to go about winning her trust.
She shot him a look that made it clear she still had doubts about him, hesitated a moment, then finally lowered the shotgun. Striding toward the clinic, she snapped, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour of the clinic, then you can be on your way.”
Lachlan made a noncommittal sound. He had no intention of being sent away. He was staying close to the doctor until he found the weapons.
CHAPTER TWO
DAMMIT, HELEN HAD never even considered the possibility that one of the potential investors would send someone to her clinic ahead of time to conduct a due diligence review. As she strode down the concrete driveway toward the clinic, she was acutely aware of MacKay stalking along beside her with the grace and predatory alertness of a tiger. Several inches over six feet, MacKay’s taut, muscular body brought to mind ancient warriors wearing only kilts and swinging broadswords. His well-worn hiking boots, khaki cargo pants, and sweat-stained gray t-shirt were standard attire for a foreign aid worker. Yet this was no ordinary man. The cut that had taken off the mamba’s head had been clean. Not only did MacKay carry an extraordinarily sharp knife, but he possessed both the reflexes and the strength to use the knife in a potentially lethal situation. So yes, she could definitely believe he’d been put in charge of security. The only question was why his boss had decided the festival day celebrations and the clinic’s grand opening represented a threat.
Regardless, she had no intention of letting such a dangerous man stick around. She couldn’t afford to have MacKay report back to his boss that he’d found the clinic in anything less than perfect condition. So she’d give MacKay a rushed tour of the clinic, then send him on to the lone hotel in the regional capital before darkness fell. And before the plane arrived with tonight’s shipment.
“Dr. Kirk. All is well?” The clinic’s head nurse stood in the doorway to the clinic, her eyes moving between Helen and MacKay.
“Yes, Leticia. Sisi attracted the attention of a green mamba while playing with her doll in the jungle.” She jerked her chin toward MacKay. “Luckily, Mr. MacKay was on his way to the clinic and saved her. Although Sisi didn’t realize that at first.” She pressed her lips together to hold back a smile, remembering the male panic on MacKay’s face while Sisi had screamed bloody murder.
At Leticia’s questioning frown, Helen added, “Mr. MacKay has been sent to do a quick survey of the security of the clinic and the surrounding area before the donors arrive.”
“And to make certain your clinic is really as cutting-edge and as effective as promised,” MacKay said.
Sharing a look with Leticia, and hoping the other woman wouldn’t give away the incomplete status of the lab, Helen stepped in front of MacKay and entered the clinic’s waiting room. A quick glance showed her nothing that should make him suspicious.
When she turned around, she saw MacKay freeze in the doorway, nostrils flaring like a wild animal scenting a predator. For a brief second, anguish and fear flashed across his face. Then he set his jaw and stepped inside. But his breathing had sped up and his hands had formed fists.
Sympathy twisted through her. She bit her tongue to hold back from asking if she could help, because instinct told her this wasn’t a man who’d welcome her sympathy.
Then MacKay’s sharp, pewter gray eyes landed on the room’s other occupant and he frowned.
A middle-aged man with his leg in a cast sat on the simple wooden couch with his foot propped up on the coffee table and his head tilted back in sleep. Helen smiled fondly as Ottah emitted a faint snore.
MacKay stepped up beside her. “Made the man wait too long for treatment, did you doctor?”
“No,” Helen said, struggling not to let her annoyance show. “I finished setting Ottah’s broken tibia just before Sisi screamed. He asked if he could stay a while, as he needed a break from his wife’s nagging. As long as he’s not bothering other patients, he’s welcome to stay.”
MacKay’s lips tightened, then he resumed his survey of the room.
Helen watched him carefully. Beneath the several days’ growth of beard, the planes of his face were sharp, but handsome in a rough-hewn, barbarian-warrior type way. Or he would have been handsome if he didn’t radiate disapproval bordering on outright hostility.
Helen wondered whether it was her or the clinic he found
lacking. Since no one outside of a small circle of people knew that the clinic had been vandalized, the most likely answer was that MacKay’s research had turned up the old news stories about her mother’s crimes. Her stomach turned over and a wave of bitterness slid through her.
Should he raise objections to her qualifications, she’d make certain to emphasize the measurable improvement in health within the surrounding community since she’d been transferred here a year ago. Helen would also remind MacKay that one of the reasons Layla’s Foundation needed investment money was to hire a local doctor to replace her.
Glancing around the waiting room, she tried to imagine how it would appear to MacKay. Unlike Western waiting rooms, there were no magazines on the coffee table or on the end table between the two armchairs. Instead, Leticia and Theodora had decorated the area with a few hand-carved wooden statues and a small woven basket containing toys for her younger patients. It was a homey, welcoming space with a local flair that made her patients instantly comfortable. Cotton curtains in a garish blue-and-neon-green batik pattern that matched the sofa cushions had been pulled back to allow light to flow through the louvered windows with their security bars.
Uh-oh.
Sure enough, MacKay walked over to the windows. Without comment, he manipulated the lever to first close, then open the louvers. Helen followed him outside and watched as he pushed and pulled on the metal security bars. “A fine job,” he said. “Well-anchored and the spaces between the bars are small enough that not even a child’s hand could slip through.”
Helen gave him a tight smile. Shortly after she’d arrived, one of the village men had pointed out that the gap between the security bars had been too wide. Believing this area to be safe, she’d delayed calling a contractor in to fix the bars. Then, two months ago, vandals had struck by breaking down the clinic’s door. They’d then proceeded to remove every item possible, including the wiring and the security bars.
Upgrading the security had been Helen’s first priority once the loan money arrived.
MacKay backed away from the windows and examined the door. He whistled approvingly. “Fire and bullet proof?”
“Yes.” He definitely had an eye for detail if he’d picked up on the fact that the door was steel disguised as wood.
“It makes a man wonder, Dr. Kirk, why a woman who believes there’s no danger in the region has reinforced her clinic so well against a potential attack.”
“Layla’s Foundation was started by a woman whose sister was killed in an attack on a medical clinic. No matter where the Foundation sets up a new clinic, they make certain that no such event will ever happen again.” Or that was the premise. Over the past four months the Foundation had suffered a cash crisis as donors funneled their money to organizations helping with the string of natural disasters that dominated the media’s attention. Without the financial support from Sani Natchaba, a local businessman with deep pockets and a generous nature, Helen wouldn’t have been able to afford to so much as replace one box of bandages. Her boss, Gloria Sanchez, had been insistent that no claim be filed with the insurance company. Gloria hadn’t wanted any incident on record that might scare off the potential donors the Foundation so desperately needed.
If Helen couldn’t convince Lachlan MacKay that all was as it should be with the clinic, then Gloria’s caution would be a wasted effort.
MacKay didn’t look convinced by her statement. “But then, you must already know about the Foundation’s security policy,” she added sweetly. “After all, surely you investigated us before you set off for this visit.”
“Aye, but any security measures I expected wouldn’t look as newly installed as these do. Makes me wonder what happened recently to require an upgrade, as even the louvers appear new. And the paint is recent as well, isn’t it?”
She forced her lips into a saccharine smile. “Of course we’ve freshened the paint and put some elbow grease into polishing every surface. We’re trying to put on our best face for our potential investors.”
He gave another one of those non-committal grunts before returning inside. As Helen hurried after him, a rumble of distant thunder caused her to check over her shoulder. The storm clouds had built into an ominously dark line along the horizon, hastening the arrival of dusk. She stepped into the waiting room accompanied by a gust of rain-scented wind, just as the darkness-activated outdoor lights went on.
“Leticia, the storm will be here soon. Pack your things and I’ll drive you and Ottah to the village. Oh, and please put this back in my office.” She handed the shotgun to Leticia. The nurse nodded and disappeared down the hallway that led to the interior of the clinic. Ottah had been the last patient of the day and Helen and Leticia had almost finished closing down the clinic for the evening when they’d heard Sisi scream.
“Is that all the staff?” MacKay asked. He ran his long, scarred fingers over the brass bell that sat on the narrow ledge between the waiting room and the wide window cut into the wall of the receptionist’s office. Lifting the bell, he gave it a slight shake and the clear tone rang out across the waiting room.
“No. On Wednesdays, Xetsa, our bookkeeper and receptionist, takes the cash to the bank in the regional capital. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Your staff is all female?”
“Yes. Well, our night watchman is male. Plus, a man from the village does maintenance work for us.” She raised a brow. “Is that a problem?”
“No. Not at all. Just trying to understand the setup.”
He started to walk through the door to the hallway, but Leticia came hurrying toward them and he was forced to back up. Helen closed and locked the hallway door behind Leticia, then indicated for MacKay to head outside while Leticia shook Ottah’s shoulder to wake him up.
“I can stay here for the night, lass.”
“No, Mr. MacKay, you cannot. I suggest you head to the regional capital as fast as you can, so that you reach the hotel before the storm hits.” She gestured to the door.
With one more glance around the waiting area, MacKay stepped outside. A moment later, Ottah followed on his crutches. When Leticia reached out to help him navigate the front step, Ottah warned her off with a fierce glare.
Holding back a smile, Helen locked the clinic door and trailed the group around the side of the clinic to the shiny, white SUV provided by her benefactor.
MacKay looked up from examining the generator and the backup water tank so necessary for keeping the clinic running during those few days when the electricity failed and the water stopped flowing. “I thought Layla’s Foundation was hurting for money,” he murmured, tipping his head toward the SUV. “Spending too much of it on fancy transport are we?”
“It was a gift,” Helen snapped. Then reined in her temper and added in a calmer voice, “Given by a local businessman in gratitude of my assistance with his wife’s difficult childbirth.”
“Hmm.” MacKay stepped aside as Leticia and Ottah approached, then helped Leticia maneuver the injured man into the backseat. After Leticia had settled herself beside Ottah and closed the door, Helen told MacKay, “Thank you.” Then she motioned toward the road. “You’d better get a move on.” She held out her hand. “Good-bye, Mr. MacKay.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, doctor. I don’t have transportation of my own. I took the bus and then walked the remaining distance. My boss will give me a ride back after the grand opening.”
Helen ground her teeth and checked the progress of the storm. Crap. It was moving faster than she’d expected. There was no way he could make the three-hour walk to the regional capital before it hit. Yet if she gave him a ride, by the time she headed for home the storm would have turned the dirt road leading back to the village and her bungalow impassable, even with four-wheel drive. The politicians had promised to pave the road if Layla’s Foundation raised enough money to guarantee the clinic would remain open for a minimum of five years, but that didn’t help them now.
“Fine. Climb in. You can spend the night in my gu
est room.” Ignoring the tingle of alarm at the back of her neck, Helen slid behind the wheel and tried to convince herself that letting MacKay stay wasn’t a mistake.
She backed the SUV out of the driveway and turned onto the narrow dirt road that led to the village. Maybe the storm wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Yes, the storm would prevent the plane carrying the last of the equipment needed to reequip the lab from landing tonight, thus threatening the timetable that allowed her just enough time to install the equipment and polish up the clinic before the festival day. But it also meant that—assuming the plane showed up tomorrow—she had time to send MacKay on his way before it arrived.
That way, not only would MacKay not witness the final phase of the clinic’s restoration, but he wouldn’t be around to investigate any of Kwesi’s boxes that might be on the plane. Because a man as suspicious as MacKay would take Kwesi’s smuggling business as further proof that the clinic wasn’t a sound investment. And the future of the villagers, and of Helen’s career, both depended on meeting the financial goals of Layla’s Foundation.
FIVE HOURS LATER, as the rain pounded the dirt yard into thick muck behind him, Lachlan used his lock picks on the security door of Dr. Kirk’s clinic. He’d waited until the lights in the main bungalow farther down the lane had gone out, then changed into his rain gear and slipped away from the storage space that had been set up as a guest room. Given the violence of the storm, even if Dr. Kirk had chosen that moment to look out her window that faced onto the courtyard, she wouldn’t have seen more than an indistinct shadow slipping out the gate through the downpour.
He’d expected to have to avoid the clinic’s night watchman, but the man was nowhere in sight. Lachlan had even checked the outbuildings in case the man had taken shelter in one of the sheds. But when he’d peered in the windows, Lachlan had seen only tools to keep the landscaping trimmed and maintain the vehicles. He’d picked the padlock and gone in for a deeper search, but found no weapons. No sign of any illegal activities at all.
