who wasn’t sick or dying.” She let out a heavy sigh. “But what can you do? I knew exactly what I was getting into when I signed on for this gig.”
Her blunt tone and frank words intrigued him. When he’d set up this bogus interview, he’d expected to hear a bunch of praise for the Doctors International organization and heartfelt speeches about saving the world and making a difference and all that jazz.
“Sounds like running this clinic is a tough task,” he remarked.
“Tough is an understatement.” A beat. “Aren’t you going to take notes?”
Right. Notes. That was what journalists did.
He bent down and removed a notebook, ballpoint pen and mini tape recorder from his messenger bag. Holding up the recorder, he met Julia’s big hazel eyes and said, “Mind if I record this?”
“Not at all.”
As he set up the recorder and opened his notebook to a fresh page, Julia shot him another one of those no-nonsense looks. “I read some of your articles online this morning. You’re a good writer.”
Thank you, Eva.
Sebastian made a mental note to be nicer to Tate’s fiancée next time he saw her. He hadn’t been Eva Dolce’s biggest fan when the woman had come into their lives. Then again, when a mysterious chick showed up asking your commanding officer to risk his neck and kill a man for her, were you really expected to bust out the trust parade?
But in the end, Eva had proven to be trustworthy, and thanks to her, Hector Cruz, the leader of the rebel group currently terrorizing San Marquez, was out of commission.
Also thanks to Eva, Sebastian had a fake writing career all over the internet. It had only taken Tate’s hacker fiancée a day to establish Sebastian Stone as a bona fide freelancer, mostly by hacking into newspaper sites and changing the by-lines. The story wouldn’t hold up under deep scrutiny, but they’d figured Julia Davenport and her colleagues wouldn’t have time to do a thorough background check on the man who was coming to write a glowing piece about their organization.
“Thanks,” he said, hoping Julia didn’t ask him any specific questions about his “work.” “Though I’m surprised to hear you have internet access here.”
“We do in the clinic, but it’s expensive, so we only use it for work purposes. Communication-wise, we’ve got a radio we use to connect with other clinics on the island, and a sat phone for emergencies.”
“What about cell phones? I noticed mine kept losing its signal the closer I got to the mountains.”
“There’s a cell tower somewhere around here, but my phone rarely gets a signal either. Last night the signal lasted for almost an hour, and the midwife we have on staff actually got to talk to her grandson for more than five minutes.” She flashed another one of those dry grins. “I swear, we throw a party every time someone sees one bar on their phone display. It’s like frickin’ Halley’s Comet just flew overhead.”
He chuckled, and for a moment, he totally forgot he was supposed to interview her. He was enjoying simply talking to Julia Davenport. It had been so long since he’d had a conversation with someone other than Tate or Nick, about something other than the damn targets painted on their backs.
“Anyway, off-topic again,” she said with a chuckle of her own. “Interview away, Mr. Stone.”
“Sebastian.”
“Sebastian,” she echoed.
“All right, well, why don’t you start by telling me a bit about the setup you folks have going here.”
With a nod, she leaned back in her chair and gave him a quick rundown of the Doctors International organization. She described their goals, the way the organization was structured, the equipment they had on hand. Every now and then, Sebastian interrupted with a question to give credibility to the whole interview thing, but in his head, he was trying to figure out the best way to broach the dying patients in the next room.
“So you do have an MRI,” he cut in, pretending to be fascinated.
She nodded, her dainty fingers toying with the end of her long brown braid, which fell over one shoulder. “We do, but we don’t have an on-site expert to handle the results. The scans are sent to the central lab in Merido, and the diagnoses and results are emailed back to us.”
He asked a few more questions without really caring about the answers, except he found himself incredibly fascinated the more he listened to Julia Davenport talk. She wasn’t like any doctor he’d ever met. She actually spoke English, for one, and not that complicated medical jargon that made people’s heads spin like merry-go-rounds.
And he liked the sound of her voice—it was soft but controlled, husky enough to be sexy but still professional. A rush of heat skated up his spine as his gaze moved to her mouth, those pouty lips that pursed each time she paused to organize her next thought.
Damn, he was getting all sorts of turned on courtesy of Dr. Julia Davenport. He definitely needed to nip this strange attraction in the bud. Now.
“So what you’re saying,” he said with another laugh, “is that you’re overcrowded, understaffed, short on equipment and pretty much doing the best you can by the skin of your teeth.”
Her answering laughter summoned another jolt of heat. “Pretty much,” she confirmed.
He studied the random questions he’d scribbled down in his notebook, pretending to think about his next line of inquiry. “What about the rebels?” he asked. “Are you getting any resistance from the ULF soldiers in the area?”
“Actually, no.”
Sebastian was surprised. It was no secret that the United Liberty Fighters resented the alliance between San Marquez and America. For the past ten years, San Marquez had seen nothing but strife and turmoil thanks to the ULF. What started out as an admirable movement to fight a genuinely oppressive government had transformed into violence, unrest and borderline terrorism.
“I’ve been here for six months and so far the rebels have left us alone,” she went on. “They might not appreciate American interference in their political affairs, but I believe that many of these rebels truly care about the country’s citizens. They won’t achieve anything by causing trouble for the medical workers who are attempting to help the people the ULF claims to be fighting for.”
“That’s a good point.” Readjusting in his unbelievably uncomfortable chair, he carelessly crossed his ankles together. “Let’s shift gears for a moment. Tell me about the inpatient care you offer. Simone said you have several AIDS patients staying here in the clinic …” He feigned ignorance. “And something about malaria?”
Julia nodded. “We do treat a handful of AIDS and HIV patients, but as you probably discovered in your research, this area isn’t heavily afflicted by either one. We tend to see more outbreaks of cholera and malaria.”
“So at the moment you’re dealing with a malaria outbreak?” he asked casually.
To his frustration, she smiled and shook her head. “No. We’re keeping about a dozen or so patients for observation, but only until their blood test results come back. It’s a precaution to test for malaria if the
