placed the dish on the counter, puzzling over her sudden curiosity. Just what did Catherine want to know about her father? he wondered. How much did he dare tell her about Lanny’s life? About the assignments they had shared, the risks they’d taken, the bloodbaths they had been a part of more than once. He didn’t think Lanny would want his little girl to know the details of his soldier-of-fortune life.
“I know that after my father returned from Vietnam, he resigned from the army and became a mercenary,” she continued. “His job choice was one of the reasons he and my mother eventually divorced.”
“Then why ask me, if you already know?”
“Because I never really knew Lanny McCroskey.” Catherine eased down on one of the stools and hooked her feet beneath the circular rounds on the bottom. “I was barely eight years old when he came home from Vietnam and in those eight years, he’d been away from us more than he’d been with us. Then three years later, he and my mother divorced. I never saw him again.” She paused, waiting for Murdock to comment. He didn’t. Instead he laid plates on the counter and opened a loaf of bread.
“Ham sandwiches okay with you?”
“Why don’t you want to talk to me about my father?”
“Mustard? Mayonnaise? Both?”
“Are you deliberately trying to irritate me?”
“All I’m trying to do is fix you some tea and a sandwich.”
Catherine stared at the big man. The expression on his face one of total calm, Murdock met her gaze head-on and didn’t so much as flinch. What was it that he was determined not to tell her? Why was he being so evasive?
“I’ll take both mayo and mustard,” she replied. “But please, let me help.” She knew there was nothing she could do to persuade this man to talk to her, to tell her about her father. All she could do was cooperate. After all, whether she liked it or not, she needed Murdock to go with her into Zaraza and bring her father back alive. He could well be her father’s only hope for survival—and her only hope, too.
“Sit tight,” he told her. “I can throw a couple of sandwiches together.”
She nodded her agreement. They exchanged brief, hesitant looks. But she understood the significance of his quick yet penetrating stare. And she suspected that he knew exactly what she was thinking. They were strangers, two people joined in a common cause—saving Lanny McCroskey’s life. After all, her father was their only bond, the only reason they’d met. Neither wanted or needed to become better acquainted. Each feared the other, on a purely primitive level. And despite their shared interest in Lanny’s welfare, they didn’t quite trust each other.
Silence separated them as surely as if it were a tangible wall. Murdock prepared the sandwiches and tea, then placed a plate and mug in front of Catherine. He eased his large frame down beside her on one of the stools, then lifted the thick sandwich to his mouth. She sipped the tea and eyed the man-size sandwich he’d made for her.
“The war messed your father up pretty badly.” Murdock laid down the sandwich and lifted the mug in both hands, gripping it firmly. “You know. Mentally and emotionally. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be the man he’d been before…he just couldn’t be.”
“Why didn’t he get help? A psychiatrist could have—”
“All the doctors in the world couldn’t have put Lanny McCroskey back together. Believe me, Catherine, he wanted to be a good husband and father. And he did try. For a couple of years. But once he realized he was hurting your mother…and you…by being in your lives, he split.”
“And became a mercenary?” Catherine nervously circled the rim of her mug with the tip of her index finger.
“He was a trained soldier. It was the only life he knew. And…” Should he tell her? Murdock wondered. It wasn’t as if she were still a kid who needed protection from the truth. She was a grown woman. “I think your old man had a death wish.”
Her full, pink lips formed an oblong oval as she gasped softly. “A death wish?”
“I was with him the day he…well, the day I thought he died. One of the last things he said to me was that he’d been living on borrowed time ever since Nam.”
“You were with him when—”
“We were on an assignment in Zaraza. We were trying to get through enemy lines in order to get a vital message to a contact.” He couldn’t tell her details of the mission or explain that the U.S. government had been playing a part in the ongoing revolution for the past twenty years. “Your father sent me with the message, knowing that by staying behind, he was saving my life and sacrificing his. So you see, if he’s still alive and there’s some way I can get him out of Zaraza, then I’m going to.”
“Because you owe him your life?”
“Yeah. Because I owe him my life.”
Catherine lifted the mug to her lips and sipped the tea. She preferred it with neither cream, sugar nor lemon and apparently Murdock liked his the same way. They ate and drank in silence, each avoiding any eye contact. After Catherine ate half her sandwich and drank all her tea, she slipped off the stool and, with her back to Murdock, made her way across the room.
She paused momentarily and asked, “Which bedroom should I use?”
“The one on the left of the bathroom,” he told her.
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone for a while.”
He watched her disappear into the small guest bedroom that he used mostly as a study. Perhaps he should have given her his room, which was larger and less cramped. But the bed in the extra room was an old double bed, which meant his feet would hang over the footboard. One of the drawbacks of being six foot six.
Busying himself cleaning up the kitchen, Murdock started trying to figure out just how to handle Catherine Price. A man would have to be dead not to notice how attractive she was. But a smart man would keep his distance from a lady who so obviously considered him as nothing more than a necessary means to an end. No doubt, she wouldn’t give him the time of day, if she didn’t need him to get her and her hundred thousand into Zaraza and secure her and Lanny’s safety.
He had known her type back in Mississippi, where he’d done yard work for rich families when he’d been a teenager. Sweet little innocent Southern belles liked to flirt and give poor boys ideas. And Barbara had been the society type, too. Rich and pampered. She’d led him on, making him believe she loved him, when all along she’d had no intention of making a commitment to him. That had been years ago, but he’d learned his lesson well. Barbara had been an excellent teacher.
He knew Catherine wasn’t Barbara. Physically they didn’t resemble each other at all. But her superior attitude, her air of snobbery, the slightly condescending way in which she looked at him reminded him of a woman he thought he’d long since not only cut out of his heart, but exorcised from his soul. Like the demon she had been.
If he didn’t owe Lanny McCroskey his life, no amount of money could induce him to spend the next few days with Catherine. She was the kind of woman he avoided, at all costs. The moment he’d seen her, he’d known they would mix like oil and water. He might not be the smartest guy on earth, but he had
