see you, Doctor,” Blanca said in Spanish.
“English, please, Blanca.” Dr. Wilder barely glanced up. “What does he want?”
He still held Melanie’s hand, and Blanca’s curiosity turned into a scowl of disapproval as she continued to observe them from across the room. “He said it was official business. A matter of extreme importance,” she said in heavily accented English.
“He’ll have to come back.” Dr. Wilder released Melanie and began gathering supplies to suture her wrist.
“Wait a minute,” Melanie said. “He could be with the Ministry of Health. Maybe you should see him.”
Dr. Wilder gave a scornful laugh. “The minister won’t even return my phone calls. I highly doubt he’d send an emissary in person to meet with me.”
“What should I tell him?” Blanca asked.
“Just what I said,” Dr. Wilder replied curtly. “I’m with a patient. He’ll have to come back later. In an hour.”
Blanca’s mouth tightened, but she left the room without a word and closed the door more soundly than necessary behind her.
“She seemed upset,” Melanie said. “Maybe you should go see who this man is.”
Dr. Wilder shrugged. “Blanca is quite capable of taking care of the matter.”
“She does seem efficient,” Melanie said carefully. “How long has she worked for you?”
“A few months. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just get the impression she’s very protective of you.”
He turned away quickly, but not before Melanie saw a look of embarrassment flicker over his features. “I’m going to give you a local, but it may still sting a bit.”
He was hiding something, she decided. Obviously, he didn’t want to discuss his relationship with Blanca, but why? Was there something going on between them that Melanie had somehow missed?
If so, that would go a long way in explaining Blanca’s attitude, particularly if she regarded Melanie as a potential rival for Dr. Wilder’s affection.
But if she only knew, Melanie thought with a grimace. Romance was the last thing she needed. And besides, what man in his right mind would ever understand, let alone accept, this…thing she could do?
Melanie didn’t even understand it herself, but she knew instinctively that no good would come of it.
Where science is corrupted, evil often flourishes.
Dr. Wilder’s warning suddenly came back to her, and her hand jerked reflexively.
He looked up. “I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?”
“Not much.”
“I’ll try to be quick.”
He was as gentle as he could be, but thirteen stitches later, Melanie was fervently wishing for a hit of the Percocet she’d seen in the infirmary last night.
“I’M DR. WILDER. My nurse said you wanted to see me?”
“Jon Lassiter.”
Neither man offered the other his hand. Instead, Dr. Wilder walked around his desk and motioned to a chair across from him.
“Thanks, but I prefer to stand,” Lassiter said.
“As you wish.” Dr. Wilder took a seat and folded his hands on the desk. “What can I do for you?” His voice was surprisingly calm, considering how tense he’d seemed when Lassiter had been ushered into his office.
“I work for Kruger Petroleum. We had an intruder in our compound last night.”
Wilder lifted his brows. “I’m sorry to hear that, but what does it have to do with me?”
“The only thing missing were antibiotics. An odd choice, considering there were several opiates within easy reach, including morphine. Not a big demand on the black market for tetracycline.”
Wilder grimaced. “You obviously aren’t aware of the latest epidemic.”
“I know about the fever,” Lassiter said. “I also know that you have a patient here at the clinic, a girl about five years of age, who has typhuslike symptoms. Correct me if I’m wrong, Doctor, but the treatment for an infection caused by rickettsia bacterium is heavy antibiotic therapy, preferably tetracycline or chloramphenicol.”
Something flickered in Wilder’s eyes, but his expression never changed. “Are you accusing me of stealing your antibiotics, young man?”
“You don’t match the description of the thief.”
“Then I ask you again, what does any of this have to do with me?” Impatience had crept into Wilder’s voice, but something else was there, too. Lassiter had the distinct impression Wilder was protecting someone.
“The thief was wounded in the robbery,” he said. “I need to know if you treated anyone late last night or sometime this morning with a fairly deep cut, probably on one of her hands?”
“Her?”
“The intruder was a woman.”
Dr. Wilder shook his head. “I’ve seen no one, male or female, with such an injury.”
“What about a gunshot wound?”
Alarm flashed across his face. “A gunshot wound?”
“The intruder came under heavy fire,” Lassiter explained. “She might have been wounded.”
Wilder’s mouth tightened. He suddenly looked very angry. “I’ve seen no gunshots wounds, either.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Positive.”
Lassiter knew the man was lying. The infinitesimal tick at the corner of his left eye gave him away. “I understand you have a young woman working at this clinic who does match the description of the intruder. Blond. About five foot seven.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Dr. Wilder said coolly.
Lassiter placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. He could see something dark in the doctor’s eyes. Fear? Contempt? A little of both? “Let me give you a warning, Doctor. I don’t like playing games any more than I like being made a fool of in front of my employers.”
Wilder said scornfully, “You would place a higher premium on your pride than on a child’s life?”
Lassiter straightened. “Then you admit the drugs were brought to this clinic.”
“I admit no such thing.” Dr. Wilder pushed himself back from his desk and rose. “But if they had been, any rational man, any moral man, would see that the end justifies the
