her with his drink. “As for the accent, old habits die hard.”
“I know what you mean,” Melanie murmured. She realized then why he looked so familiar to her. The evidence was there in his face. The excesses and the abuses. But it was his eyes that were the true giveaway. They were flat, emotionless, empty. She’d seen those same dead eyes years ago, in rehab. And in the mirror.
“So what do you do here?” she asked him.
He toyed with his glass. “Right now I’m working for an American oil company that has a drilling site about thirty miles north of town. Kruger Petroleum. Ever heard of it?”
Melanie almost choked on her drink. “I don’t think so.”
“They’re a small, independent outfit, but they appear to be flush with cash. The owner, Hoyt Kruger, is a hands-on kind of guy. He supervises every aspect of the operation.”
“What kind of work do you do for him?” Melanie tried to ask casually.
“I run the infirmary. I’m a doctor.”
It was all she could do not to spew juice from her nose. He ran the infirmary? Then he had to know about the break-in last night. Was that why he’d sought her out? Because he knew she was responsible? What was this? Some kind of fishing expedition? A trap?
“Santa Elena is a small place to have two doctors,” she said carefully.
He glanced down at the bandage on her wrist. “I take it you’ve made the acquaintance of our illustrious Dr. Wilder. Nothing serious, I trust?”
“No. Just a careless accident.”
“I sympathize.” His smile was rueful as he ran a finger down the scratch on the side of his face. “What happened? If I’m not being too forward by asking.”
Melanie hesitated. “I…broke a mirror in my hotel room. Luckily, I’m not the superstitious type.”
“Then you obviously haven’t been in Cartéga long enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a very superstitious country. The Cartégans love their legends. Haven’t you heard about la Encantadora who lives in the cloud forest and uses the mist to lure men to their death? Or the ghosts of the Mayan priests who wander the ruins—” He broke off as his gaze went past Melanie’s shoulder to the street. “Speak of the devil…”
Melanie turned to see what had drawn his attention. Her breath caught when she saw the man from the clinic climbing out of his jeep.
She whipped back around, trying not to show her distress. “Do you know that man?”
Bond’s mouth tightened. “He works for Kruger. Euphemistically speaking, he’s in charge of security, but…” His voice trailed off and he glanced away.
Melanie, sensing something in his tone, leaned toward him slightly. “But? What were you about to say?”
Bond looked suddenly uneasy. “Let me put it this way. He may be in charge of security for Kruger, but if I had a daughter, Jon Lassiter would be the last man on earth I’d want her to be alone with.”
Melanie nervously glanced over her shoulder. Lassiter was making his way down the street toward the café. She didn’t know whether he’d spotted them or not, but she wasn’t about to wait around and find out.
She rose from the table. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go.”
Bond gazed up at her in surprise. “So soon?”
“Yes. I…just remembered an appointment. It was a pleasure meeting you, though.”
“Oh, believe me, the pleasure was all mine, Melanie.”
When she reached into her bag for money, he held up his hand. “No, please. Allow me. I insist.”
Melanie hesitated. “In that case, thank you very much. Maybe I’ll see you here again. The drinks will be on me next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
She could feel his gaze on her as she walked away, but it wasn’t the leer of an older man admiring a younger woman. It was more innocent than that. For all his obvious vices and hard living, there was something guileless about Angus Bond. Something a bit sad.
But Melanie didn’t have time to dwell long on the Australian, because as she left the patio and headed down the street, she turned and saw that Jon Lassiter had entered the café. He glanced up suddenly, and when he saw her, he said something to Angus, then started toward her.
Melanie spun around and headed in the opposite direction. Halfway down the street, she spied him again. He was even closer now, gaining on her steadily, although they were both trying not to draw attention.
Up ahead, a group of tourists had disembarked from a decrepit bus. Melanie hurried to infiltrate them, hoping to disappear among the chattering, excited vacationers.
Turning a corner with the crowd, she grabbed a peasant blouse from an outdoor rack in the market and hurried inside the dim shop.
“¿Me puedo probar esto, por favor?”
The ancient shopkeeper lazily waved a palmetto leaf fan in front of her face as she pointed to a dressing area in the back—a ragged blanket strung across one corner.
“Gracias.” Melanie dashed to the back and scurried behind the blanket. She fervently hoped that Lassiter would follow the tourists down the street, at least for a block or two. By the time he discovered she was no longer with them, he’d have no idea where she’d gone—
“Perdón.”
Melanie’s legs trembled at the sound of his voice. She shrank back in the corner, hoping the shopkeeper wouldn’t give her away.
“I’m looking for an American,” he said in Spanish. “A young, blond woman. Very attractive. Have you seen her?”
“I saw the Americanos go by here,” the shopkeeper replied. “They talk and laugh very loudly, but they don’t spend their money in here.” Her voice held a heavy note of regret. “Something for you perhaps?” she asked hopefully. “A gift for su esposa? Su amiga?”
“Nothing today,” he said curtly. “Gracias.”
When their voices fell silent, Melanie assumed he’d left the shop, but she didn’t want to press her luck. She remained behind the curtain for several minutes longer, then glancing around to make sure he’d gone, she carried the blouse to the shopkeeper and pulled some bills from her bag.
The old lady gave her a toothless smile of gratitude.
“Thank you for not giving me away,” Melanie said. She glanced around. “Could I ask another favor of you, por favor?”
“Sí.”
“Is there a back door I can use?”
“Sí, por aquí.” She got up
