by Vanessa Kier
While Lachlan was flattered that Kris had chosen him, the newest recruit, to lead one of the primary teams, he wondered what it would take to fully earn the loyalty of his teammates.
“Sleeping on the job?” Dr. Kirk asked, her voice tinged with amusement.
“Nay, doctor, I heard you coming. But I recognized your walk and know you’re no threat.” He opened his eyes to find her glaring at him.
“Really? What makes you think that after you’ve barged into my life and unearthed my secrets that I wouldn’t take an opportunity to rid myself of you?”
Normally Lachlan wouldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable by remaining seated when faced with an opponent. But he found that he enjoyed having Dr. Kirk look down her nose at him while her green eyes sparked with temper. “You won’t hurt me, lass.” He pushed to his feet just for the pleasure of getting inside her personal space and was rewarded by her soft gasp and a glimpse of her tongue as it darted out to wet her lips.
She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that so?”
“Aye. I haven’t once seen you raise your hand in anger. Even when I’ve made you furious.” He gave her a smile. “I think you’re starting to like me, doctor.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He laughed, which only seemed to annoy her further. But before he could follow up, one of the women called out to Dr. Kirk.
“Come on, MacKay, it’s time to make yourself useful.” Dr. Kirk indicated that he should follow her over to the classroom where her student’s easels waited to be returned to the bus along with several hand-painted banners in both English and the local language.
“They’re for the festival tomorrow,” Dr. Kirk explained. “The women have rented a table and will be passing out health brochures we’ve had printed up, along with free condoms.”
“Perhaps I should grab a few,” he teased with a wink. Then immediately regretted his words as pictures of the two of them hot and sweaty, using condom after condom, filled his mind, causing his whole body to tighten with need.
Dr. Kirk gaped at him, then shoved one of the displays into his arms. The poster board luckily hid the lower half of his body, giving him the few meters until the bus to get his body under control. Taken aback by how quickly his attitude toward Dr. Kirk had shifted into dangerously sensual territory, Lachlan refrained from further teasing while they packed up the rest of the equipment.
Helen hugged her students good-bye, then they hit the road.
“We’re not going back to the clinic?” Lachlan asked forty-five minutes later as they passed the clinic’s driveway.
“Not yet. I want to drop off these displays at my bungalow and grab a quick bite to eat.”
Lachlan glanced at the clock on the dash. He hoped Tony had finished with his search, because he had no way of warning his teammate they were coming. Given the security bars over the bungalow’s windows, the only avenue of escape was the main door.
When they arrived, Dr. Kirk backed the SUV up to the courtyard’s gate, then Lachlan helped her carry the first load into her bungalow. As he followed her into the first room on the left, which had been turned into an exam room, he caught a glimpse of Tony’s boot tip sticking out from the bedroom doorway.
Shite. Tony would have to walk past the open door to this room to reach the front door, then pass by the windows on his way out of the courtyard.
Dr. Kirk had her back to Lachlan as she set her box on the table against the bedroom wall. When she turned around, Lachlan did the only thing he could think of in order to make certain Tony could make his escape.
He grabbed her and kissed her.
The instant his lips met hers he felt an electric jolt all the way to his toes. He forgot that he’d simply meant the kiss as a distraction. He gentled his hold, cupping her head with one hand and pressing on her lower back with the other as he coaxed her lips to open for him.
After a startled exclamation, Dr. Kirk softened and parted her lips, accepting his tongue. Male triumph flared inside him. Barely able to hold on to the thought that he was trying to help Tony, Lachlan backed Helen up until she was pressed against the wall beside the door, unable to see out. Rearranging his position, Lachlan stuck his arm into the main room and gestured frantically for Tony to exit.
Once Lachlan saw the dark shadow of Tony walking past the window, he let go of the reins holding back his desire. He placed his hand where he truly wanted it, on Helen’s breast. She murmured in approval and arched into his touch. Her fingers laced behind his neck and pulled him closer.
Christ. She was so soft. So willing. He focused on drawing out more greedy sounds of encouragement from Helen, each sound shooting fire through his veins. Her mouth was pure ambrosia, more potent than the finest Scotch. He never wanted to stop kissing her. And why should he? This might be the only opportunity he’d get to explore the passion between them. He—
“Dr. Kirk? Dr. Kirk?!” The panicked female voice sounded as if the woman were right here in the room with them.
Helen gasped, then put her hands on Lachlan’s chest and pushed him away.
For a long moment they stared at one another. He loved the way her breath came in shallow pants and her lips were swollen and slick from his kisses.
“Dr. Kirk, please. Are you there?”
Helen turned her head toward the corner to her right. “That’s the shortwave. I need to go.”
Lachlan reluctantly stepped back, instantly mourning the loss of her body heat.
She hurried over to the tiny desk at the other end of the room and picked up the microphone of the shortwave radio. “Yes, Leticia, I’m here.”
“Thank heavens.” The woman switched to the local language. After a quick exchange, Helen signed off.
“What’s happened?”
She strode past him. “One of the workers sliced open his hand while trimming a piece of metal support. Leticia is having trouble stopping the bleeding and thinks Abeeku will need stitches.” She made quick work of locking up the bungalow, then they were both in the SUV and racing toward the clinic.
Regret warred with relief over the interruption. He was leaving tomorrow night. Despite the fierce attraction between them, he had no wish for a one-night stand.
Aye, it was much better that he remember she was a doctor and he a trained killer. Even without his distrust, they’d never fit.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEXT MORNING, Helen arrived at the clinic a little before dawn. She stifled a yawn as she unlocked the front door. Between stitching up Abeeku’s hand, supervising the cleanup of the clinic—including the blood from Abeeku’s accident—and putting the final touches on the signage for the festival, the remainder of yesterday had flown by. She’d finally fallen into bed, exhausted, a bit after midnight. But thanks to mingled nervousness and excitement over the grand opening, and her inability to stop replaying that earth-stopping kiss, she’d tossed and turned for hours. Wishing she’d had time to make a second cup of coffee, she walked through the clinic, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. She’d asked Lachlan to wait outside, explaining that she needed a private moment to review the work that had been done.
In the lab, she ran her finger over the sparkling counter. They’d actually done it. Not only restored the clinic to its pre-break-in condition, but taken it one more level. Pride blossomed into a huge smile of relief. Whether or not Lachlan’s boss and the other potential donors decided to invest, she and her staff had worked a small miracle in the past two months. They deserved today’s celebration.
Unfortunately, Mr. Natchaba had informed her that business would keep him away from the festival. Still, Helen wished he’d change his plans and show up. None of this would have been possible without his assistance and she wanted to thank him again in person.
Helen checked her watch. Seeing that she was out of time, she took one last look around the lab. For expediency’s sake, they’d left the files and most pieces of equipment in place when they’d
closed the clinic last night. Helen and her staff would return from the festival an hour ahead of the dignitaries in order to set up the food and bring the most expensive equipment out of storage. Gloria and Mrs. N’Dorah, the head of Layla’s Foundation, would arrive shortly after that, to be in place to welcome the VIPs.
Still smiling, Helen headed outside. She nodded to the two local men who’d been hired, at Lachlan’s suggestion, to provide extra protection for the clinic overnight. Lachlan had pointed out that the newly restocked clinic would provide a tempting target for thieves, and that with almost all of the villagers planning to attend the festival, the chances of a crime being noticed, even during daylight, were slim. So two other men were scheduled to arrive in a few minutes to relieve the overnight guards.
“All’s well?” Lachlan asked when Helen reached the SUV.
“Yes. It’s beautiful.”
“Only a doctor would see such a utilitarian space as beautiful,” he commented as he strapped himself into the passenger seat.
“But that’s what makes it beautiful. It’s efficient. Clean. I like knowing that the people who come here are receiving care equal to those in first world countries.”
“Aye, I can understand that.”
They traveled in silence to the village, where they picked up Leticia, Theodora, and Xetsa.
“Being the only lad present, I’m feeling vastly outnumbered,” Lachlan complained, winking at Leticia.
Leticia giggled as she climbed into the back seat.
“Would you prefer to walk?” Helen asked.
Lachlan gave a long-suffering sigh that elicited more giggles from the other women. “No. I suppose not.”
Chuckling, Helen pulled the SUV into the rear position of the small caravan of vehicles heading to the regional capital. The closer they drew to the site of the festival, the more people they passed on the road and the slower the traffic became. Those from the farthest villages who didn’t have a ride had left hours before dawn in order to reach the regional capital in time for the opening festivities.
Helen’s caravan arrived an hour past dawn, driving past shops that had closed down for the day and toward the secondary school at the far edge of town. Display stalls and tables were in the process of being set up along the sides of the school’s athletic field. At the farthest end, just before the field gave way to the jungle, workers put the finishing touches on the backdrop of the stage for the speakers. Volunteers in their holiday finest waved the vehicles to the unloading area, unmindful of the dust. Lachlan helped Helen and the others unpack the items for the clinic’s table, then he announced, “I’m going to check on the security” and wandered off.
Helen’s shoulders relaxed once he was out of sight. Pretending that the kiss had never happened, and that she didn’t want him to kiss her again, had strained her patience. Now she could focus completely on setting up the clinic’s table and helping her students set up their displays on the adjoining table. The women glowed with pride and excitement once their exhibit was in place and they all gathered for a group photo.
At a quarter to eight, forty-five minutes later than scheduled, the drums sounded to announce the beginning of the festival. Helen and the women joined the crowd that had formed on the athletic field to listen to the welcoming message from the regional governor. He was flanked by two bodyguards, standard practice for government officials even before the rebels had come onto the scene. The other speakers for the morning sat in a line at the back of the stage awaiting their turn at the microphone.
As the governor droned on, turning his greeting into a political speech, Helen’s attention wandered. She studied the crowd, then did a double-take when she spotted Lachlan talking with Dr. Rene LaSalle at the edge of the jungle bordering the field. Their relaxed body language spoke to a comfortable relationship. Well, she supposed if Lachlan had been working in the region long, it made sense that he would know Dr. LaSalle. Still, Helen felt a spurt of envy. Except for when he’d kissed her, Lachlan had never been that relaxed with her. She wasn’t entirely certain he even liked her.
A moment later, Dr. LaSalle clapped Lachlan on the shoulder, then walked away while Lachlan simply melted into the crowd. She made a mental note to check in with Dr. LaSalle before the grand opening. A doctor who traveled the region giving aid to those who most needed it, the half-Cameroonian, half-French doctor was something of a legend in West Africa, acclaimed for putting his own life at risk to help those in war zones. He had also offered to help Layla’s Foundation find a West African doctor to replace Helen, assuming they met their funding goal. Helen wanted to know if Dr. LaSalle had found a suitable candidate yet. It would strengthen her pitch this afternoon to the donors if she could promise that the clinic would soon be completely staffed by locals.
After several more dignitaries spoke, Kwesi, his brother David and the other tribal chiefs in the region stepped onto the stage followed by several villagers carrying the boxes of MP3 players.
“Now I wish to invite the children to come forward and receive a very special gift,” the regional governor announced. While the children made their way through the crowd, he continued, “This gift has been offered by a very generous local businessman. To our great sorrow, Mr. Natchaba was unable to break away from his business in order to join us here today. He asked me to tell you that he needs no thanks other than to see the children of this region receive the rewards they so justly deserve.”
Once Kwesi and the others had passed out the small cartons of MP3 players, David led the children in a song of thanks. They received enthusiastic applause and Helen’s heart swelled to see the huge smiles on the children’s faces as they left the stage.
“Now we will have an opening dance. Please welcome—”
Boom!
Helen flinched away from the burst of light and sound. To her left, a child screamed in terror and pain and a woman gave an answering howl of agony.
What was going on? What had exploded? As Helen hurried to see if anyone had been hurt, she searched the crowd for familiar faces. Was everyone in her group okay? She’d last seen the women at the far edge of the field, close to their booth, but the rest of the villagers were interspersed with the rest of the crowd.
The people nearest the explosion were running away, making it difficult for Helen to make forward progress. She pushed past a woman carrying a terrified toddler, then spotted Kwesi walking toward her with his son, Martin, and his father. Oblivious to the fear on his father’s face, Martin proudly held the MP3 player up for his father to see. Kwesi nodded and gave Martin a tight smile and a pat on the shoulder. The boy then passed his new toy over to his grandfather. The older man took the device and turned it over. With a brilliant flash of light, the device exploded.
“No!” Helen raced toward them. Dropping to her knees, she pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of the pack she carried around her waist and quickly assessed the situation. The grandfather was dead. The explosion had torn a hole in his chest. Martin had extensive wounds and burns, but still had a pulse. Kwesi appeared to have been knocked unconscious, protected from severe injury by his father’s body.
Other MP3 players exploded, sending the crowd into full panic mode. Then Helen heard gunfire.
“Catch the traitor,” one of the bodyguards on stage shouted.
Helen glanced over just as the regional governor collapsed into the arms of the nearest bodyguard. A fleeing woman knocked Helen off balance and she barely caught herself from falling onto Kwesi’s son. Helen repositioned herself so her body formed a barrier between Martin and the stampeding crowd.
Kwesi sat up. When he spotted his father and his son, he gave an anguished cry and flung himself at Martin, picking the boy up and cradling him in his arms.
Martin’s eyelids fluttered in a face covered with blood and third degree burns.
“Kwesi,” Helen said gently, “you need to put Martin down so I can help him.”
Kwesi didn’t appear to hear her. He just rocked back and forth hold
ing his son. “My fault,” he murmured. “My fault. Please don’t die. Don’t die.”
LACHLAN WAS WORKING his way through the crowd toward Helen when the first explosion went off behind him. He hit the ground and rolled away, winding up at the feet of a teenage boy who blinked at him in shock.
“Down,” Lachlan commanded, tugging on the boy’s trousers.
The boy remained frozen in place a moment, staring in the direction of the explosion. Lachlan heard automatic weapons firing closer to the stage. The microphone emitted an ear-piercing feedback squeal, then went dead. Another explosion ripped into the crowd. People screamed and started running. The teenager broke free of Lachlan’s hold, spun around, and joined the panicking mob heading toward the entrance to the school grounds.
Lachlan pushed to his feet and drew his pistol. Dodging the people who were trying to escape, he followed the smoke until he reached the explosion site. Which wasn’t at all what he’d expected. There was no crater. Nothing to indicate anything untoward had happened except for the wide berth the crowd gave the area. Wailing family members huddled in a circle, clutching one another and staring at a spot on the ground that Lachlan couldn’t see. As Lachlan drew closer, he spotted two wee legs on the ground, the flesh all torn-up beneath the tattered remnants of a brightly colored skirt.
Bile rose in his throat. Christ. Not a child.
“Commander? You okay?” Tony asked over their earbud comm devices. He’d been patrolling the edges of the field.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “Fine. I’ve found one of the victims. A child. I—” One of the adults moved, revealing the charred remains of the girl’s hand and a familiar piece of metal that had been melted into her flesh.
The MP3 player.
Dark fury washed over him. His hands shook.
“Commander?”
“A minute.” Lachlan turned away from the grieving family just as another explosion went off not far from him. This time, instead of hitting the ground, he ran toward the blast. It had been small. Localized. Exactly what he’d have expected if it had come from an MP3 player.
