Once again, Catherine's gaze locked with Murdock's. He noticed the tears in her eyes and wanted to tell her to go ahead and cry. Cry her heart out. And while she was at it, cry for him, too. Seeing his old friend's pathetic condition ripped him apart inside. If he'd been the one who had stayed with Juan Sabino and his young soldiers twenty years ago, then this would have been his fate. He and not Lanny would be the battered shell of a once strong warrior.
"Is—is he alive?" Catherine asked.
"Barely," Murdock said. "As soon as we get to the hotel, I'll arrange for a doctor. Lanny's been severely beaten recently. Last night. Maybe earlier today. My guess is he's been unconscious for hours. Maybe longer."
"Is there anything I can do … now?" Tears trickled down her cheeks.
"You can pray, if you think praying will help."
* * *
The Hotel Dulce de Rosa, a two-story structure of cream stucco, slightly grayed by time and weather, sat on the corner of a back street in San Carlos. Tattered, white shuttered doors closed off rooms from the wrought-iron balconies and protected the interior from the sweltering sun. Manuel circled the block, then drove the car into a back alley. After parking the car behind the hotel, he jumped out and came around to open the door for Murdock, who issued an order in Spanish. Manuel quickly disappeared through a back entrance to the hotel.
With her legs feeling as if they were weighted with lead, Catherine emerged from the vehicle just as Murdock reached back inside the vehicle and pulled out a lifeless Lanny. Hoisting the body of skin and bones up into his arms, Murdock turned his head and took a deep breath, seeking a breath of fresh air.
"Get the door for me," he told her.
She ran to do as he had requested, but just as she touched the handle, the door swung open. A short, stocky man wearing a wrinkled white suit dashed outside to greet them.
"I am Andres. The proprietor of Hotel Dulce de Rosa. Rooms are being prepared. Come this way."
He led them inside, through the kitchen and up the rickety back stairs. The large, second-story room, containing two full beds, faced the alley. The curtains were drawn and the shuttered doors to the balcony were closed. A young girl turned down the bedcovers, picked up her broom from the corner and slipped quietly from the room.
With Lanny still in his arms, Murdock turned to Andres and said in Spanish, "We need a doctor."
"Sí, señor. Manuel has gone to bring Dr. Constantino."
While Murdock lowered Lanny to the bed, the young girl reappeared, a bucket of water in one hand and a stack of towels, washcloths and two bars of soap in the other.
Catherine stood by, her hands at her sides, her nails biting into her palms, while Murdock stripped Lanny's filthy clothes from his emaciated body. Cringing, she cried out when she saw the multitude of bruises, in varying shades from black to pale purple, marring his skin. The young girl set the bucket on the floor beside the bed, then turned and handed the other items to Catherine, before she rushed away again.
"Give me a hand," Murdock said. "Let's get him cleaned up a little before the doctor gets here."
"I will find something for him to wear," Andres said.
Murdock tossed Lanny's ragged garments to Andres. "Burn these."
"Sí, señor." Andres grabbed the nasty clothing, then excused himself with a low bow, followed by a swift exit.
Together Catherine and Murdock washed the pale, wrinkled flesh clinging to Lanny's bones. She could hardly believe this pathetic creature was her father. Her memories of him were a child's idolization of her big, handsome father, who had tickled her chin, kissed her cheeks and called her his precious little kitten.
"You may not remember that your father was once a damn good-looking man." Murdock removed a pocket knife from his pants, opened the blade and lifted the long, dirty strings of Lanny's hair. "It makes me sick to see him like this!" God only knew what the man had lived through these past twenty years! The very thought of the indignities Lanny must have suffered made Murdock want to rip off heads and gun down armies.
As soon as Murdock cut off the matted locks of Lanny's hair, Catherine took a soapy wash cloth and lathered her father's head. While washing his hair, her gaze lingered on his haggard face, his sunken cheeks and closed eyelids. She couldn't hate this man, this pitiful wretch, no matter what he had done in the past. At this precise moment, she neither hated him nor loved him. The only emotion that surfaced and took hold inside her was simple compassion.
By the time Andres returned with a pair of soft, white cotton pants and matching shirt, Murdock and Catherine had completed their chore. While Andres removed the murky wash water and soiled towels, Murdock put the clean pants on Lanny and Catherine eased him into the billowy shirt and buttoned only the bottom three buttons.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor arrived. Elderly, with wisps of thin white hair sticking out from his short ponytail, Dr. Constantino entered the room with the grace and flare of a bullfighter entering the ring. He shook hands with Murdock, bowed to Catherine and proceeded with the examination of his patient.
Murdock wrapped his arm around Catherine's shoulder and led her across the room toward the balcony. After opening the shuttered doors, he drew her outside with him. The stifling air hit them full force. Murdock urged her to sit down on the old wicker settee, then leaned his hip against the iron railing encircling the balcony and faced her.
"You realize we probably can't leave San Carlos today or even tomorrow." Murdock crossed his arms over his wide chest. "I doubt Lanny would survive the plane ride to Lima."
"Then we'll stay until he's able to travel."
"I can stay." He paused momentarily, then said, "I want you to leave. This afternoon, if Andres can arrange it."
"No. No! I'm not leaving my father here in Zaraza. I'm staying until I can take him home."
"It isn't safe for you here. The longer we stay, the more likely we are to get caught in the middle of things when Vincente Sabino leads his rebel forces against the capital city."
"I understood the risks when I agreed to come." But had she? Catherine asked herself. Had she truly understood the horrors of war? Seeing what being a prisoner of war had done to her father made her realize that she had understood nothing about the true dangers that faced them.
"If anything happened to you, Lanny would never forgive me," Murdock told her. And I'd never forgive myself an inner voice warned.
"I want to be here when my father regains consciousness. I want him to know that I didn't desert him." She reached out and placed her hand over Murdock's. "I know you can make me leave, hut please, don't. Let me stay."
He glanced down at her hand. Soft, white and delicate. Long, slender fingers. Neatly manicured nails. No rings. He flipped her hand over, then ran his index finger over her palm. She shuddered.
"You can stay. At least until tomorrow. Then, we'll see."
"Thank you."
He released her hand and stood abruptly, then turned his back to her and gazed out over the alley. Catherine rose to her feet and just as she reached out to lay her hand on Murdock's broad back, Dr. Constantino joined them on the small balcony.
"Señor McCroskey needs rest and nourishment. He is half-starved and has several broken ribs." When Catherine bit down on her bottom lip in an effort not to cry, the doctor shook his head sympathetically. "I have no way of knowing, without X rays, but I believe his tuberculosis is quite advanced. Even with proper care and medicine…" He allowed his sentence to trail off into silence.
"We had planned to fly to Lima as soon as possible," Murdock explained.
"You can't move your friend," the doctor said. "To do so now might kill him. It's possible that in a few days, I can arrange something. I'm afraid I have limited medical supplies, due to the war, but I was able to … er … confiscate one bag of glucose solution. After it is used up, try to get some broth down him as often as possible. I'm afraid I won't be able to bring any more glucose. More would be missed and its absence questioned." He held up a bot
tle of small white pills, then handed them to Catherine. "These may help ease your father's pain a little. I'm afraid that is all I can do. We don't dare take him to the hospital."
Catherine grasped his hands in hers. "Thank you. We'll take good care of him. And if you can help us get him out of San Carlos, I'll be eternally grateful."
Dr. Constantino squeezed Catherine's hands. "I cannot come back again. But as soon as I have made the arrangements, I will send word by Manuel."
* * *
In the late afternoon, Murdock persuaded Catherine to eat some of the food that Andres had brought up on a tray. She agreed to eat, only if he joined her. They sat across from each other on the bed, the tray between them, and dined on fresh fruit, thick slices of crusty bread and cheap domestic wine.
"I wish there was something more we could do for him." Catherine's gaze lingered on the still-unconscious man lying in the other bed. "If only we could take him to a hospital. Maybe…"
"The glucose should help," Murdock said. "And we'll make sure to keep him as comfortable as possible, continue with the pain medication and hope he comes to, soon. Getting some food into him will help him regain his strength."
"Would you have recognized him, if you hadn't known this man was Lanny McCroskey?" She lifted the glass of wine to her lips. She hated the taste, but it was wet to the mouth and soothing to the stomach.
"Not with his eyes closed. But if I could see his eyes, I'd know him anywhere." Murdock looked at her and smiled. "You've got his eyes. The same blue, blue color. Even the same expression."
"You really care about him, don't you?" She pressed the wineglass against her cheek and studied him.
Murdock nodded, clamping his lips together. Then seeing her eyelids flutter as she yawned, he said, "Why don't you take a nap? I'll be right here, if Lanny needs something."
"You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?" She set the glass on the tray, kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up under her, as she dug out a nest for herself near the head of the bed.
Murdock pulled down the spread, jerked up a pillow and slid it between her back and the headboard. "I owe your father my life. So, yeah, I'd do anything for him."
Catherine reclined against the pillow, letting her head fall back against the headboard. "Tell me about him. About the Lanny McCroskey you knew."
Murdock lifted the tray off the bed and placed it on the floor, then braced his back on the headboard. He reached down and picked up his wineglass from the tray. "I didn't know Lanny before Nam. But I realize the war did something awful to him. Changed him from the man he'd once been. It messed him up—" Murdock tapped his head "—like it did so many other soldiers. I came in at the tail end of that war and got off damn lucky. But guys like your dad saw the worst of it. Friends blown to pieces right in front of their eyes. Women and children shot down because they were being used by the enemy."
"I remember when Daddy first came home." Catherine closed her eyes as memories flooded her mind. The good memories came first. Her mother's tears of joy. The way her father had clasped them tightly in his arms and told them how much he loved them. But the bad memories quickly overshadowed the good ones. Her father's manic temper tantrums. Her mother's pleas and quiet weeping. Slamming doors. Long silences. The dead look in Lanny's eyes when he withdrew into himself and became a stranger to his wife and child.
"No matter what he did or didn't do, Lanny was a good man. Inside. Where it counts." Murdock laid his tightly drawn fist over his heart. "He did what he thought was best for you and your mother. He left before he… Well, he knew you'd both be better off with him out of your lives."
"He left before he did what?" After opening her eyes, she directed her gaze on Murdock's face.
He took a deep breath. "Before he physically hurt your mother or you."
"He struck my mother once." Catherine had tried so hard to erase that memory from her mind. "She didn't know that I saw it happen. I … I pretended that I hadn't."
"He told me." Murdock looked away from her, not wanting to see the pain in her eyes. "One time when he was talking about your mother." Murdock lifted the glass to his lips and finished off the wine. "He said he'd rather have cut off his right arm than to have struck her. He didn't realize what he'd done until she screamed. He left the next day."
"And he never came back. Not even once. You know, he didn't say goodbye to me. No explanation. No, 'I'm sorry.' One day he was there and the next he was gone."
"The Lanny McCroskey I knew was kind, good-hearted, loyal to his friends." Murdock lifted the wine bottle from the tray and refilled his glass. "Want some more?"
"I don't think—"
He handed her his full glass. "Drink it. It'll help you sleep. You rest now. I'll rest later. We'll take shifts with Lanny, if necessary."
She accepted the wine. When their hands touched briefly, they avoided direct eye contact, but the electrical sensation was there between them all the same.
"My mother divorced him but she never remarried. And … when she was dying, she called for him. I think she never stopped loving him." Catherine brought the glass to her lips and tasted not only the wine, but Murdock.
"My bet is that Lanny still loves your mother. He left her because he loved her. Because he didn't want to put her through the mental and emotional hell he was living in. He wanted to protect his wife and child."
"He's my father—" she glanced over at the silent, unmoving figure on the other bed, the skeleton connected to an intravenous tube "—and I don't know anything about him. My mother couldn't talk about him without crying, so we didn't discuss him."
"Lanny liked beer better than wine or whiskey. He sang off-key. His favorite food was fried chicken. He snored like a freight train. And he had a weakness for blondes." Murdock shook his head. "Your mother was blond, wasn't she?"
"Yes." Tears lodged in Catherine's throat. She bit down on her bottom lip in an effort not to cry.
He ran his hand up and down her arm, from shoulder to elbow and then back up again. "Get some rest."
When he eased up and off the bed, Catherine slid down enough so that her head rested on the pillow. She closed her eyes. A short nap would do her a world of good, she thought.
* * *
She awoke with a start, shooting up in bed and looking around in a panic. Murdock realized Catherine was slightly disoriented. He hadn't turned on a light after sunset, so the darkness probably surprised her. After she'd fallen asleep, he'd pulled a couple of chairs up by Lanny's bed, sat in one and propped his feet on the other. He had finished off the bottle of wine, napped on and off, waking once when Lanny had moaned and his breathing had become erratic.
Right now, moonlight flooded the room, shining through the open balcony doors and spreading across the floor like shimmery golden water. A soft breeze cooled the air as a languid hush settled over the back streets of San Carlos.
Murdock's neck ached and his legs were stiff. He was too damn big to try to sleep in a chair. He had no idea what time it was. Nearly nine o'clock would be his guess. He checked his watch. The illuminated numbers told him it was 8:20. He glanced at Lanny and noted that the glucose nourishing his old friend was almost gone. He'd have to remove the needle from Lanny's arm soon and dispose of it, along with the tube and the empty bag.
When he shoved the chair hack, it scraped along the wooden floor. Murdock cursed under his breath. He stood and stretched, then rounded the end of Lanny's bed and went to Catherine.
"Are you okay?" He hovered over her, his gaze seeking hers in the semidarkness.
She nodded her head, then ran her hands over her face. "How long have I been asleep?"
"About three hours. Feel better?"
"I'm not sure. Why didn't you wake me to take a turn keeping an eye on my father?"
"No need. He hasn't come to. He got restless once and he was breathing rough, but I figured he was hurting. I crushed up one of those pain pills and put it in his mouth."
Catherine scooted to the edge of the
bed, flung her legs off the side and looked up at Murdock. "I don't suppose there's any chance I could get a bath?"
"I don't see why not."
"But there's no bathtub or shower in the bathroom." She inclined her head toward the tiny, connecting half bath.
"Yeah, but there's a bathroom down the hall with a big old claw-foot tub in it."
"How do you know?"
"I asked Andres when he came back for the tray. He says there's a lock on the door. But you probably won't need it. There are no other people on this floor."
Murdock grabbed her around the waist and brought her to her feet, sensing she was still unsteady with exhaustion. He held her for a split second, his gaze boring into her with heated intensity. She started to shove him away, but he released her before she touched his chest. Moving around him, she headed toward her suitcase resting on the floor across the room. She undid the case, pulled out clean underwear and a white slip, then rummaged through the other garments until she found a lightweight cotton robe. Hurriedly, she gathered up a towel, a washcloth and the unopened bar of soap.
"I won't be long," she said.
"Take your time."
* * *
Thirty minutes later, she returned to the room to find one small lamp on the dresser burning and Murdock stretched out in the bed, his shirt off and his gun lying on top of the spread near his right hand. Why did he have the gun so close? Was he expecting trouble?
"I can stay with my father now, if you'd like to take a bath," she said.
"I'll wait. Manuel will be back early in the morning. I'll bathe then. I hope you don't mind sleeping beside a sweaty man."
"What do you mean, sleeping beside? Are we sharing the bed? I thought one of us was going to stay awake and—"
"I've removed the intravenous tube," Murdock said. "Your father is still unconscious. If you want to sit up with him for a while, fine. But we'll both be better prepared for tomorrow, if we get as much rest as possible."
MURDOCK'S LAST STAND Page 7
