A Sinful Seduction

It had been the night of the company Christmas party, held downtown at the Hilton. At about eleven o’clock Cal had bumped into Megan coming out of the hallway that led to the restrooms. Her face was white, her mouth damp, as if she’d just splashed it with water. Cal had stopped to ask if she was all right.

She’d laughed. “I’m fine, Cal. Just a little bit...pregnant.”

“Can I get you anything?” he’d asked, surprised that Nick hadn’t told him.

“No, thanks. Since Nick has to stay, I’m going to have him call me a cab. No more late-night parties for this girl.”

She’d hurried away, leaving Cal to reflect that in all the time he’d known her, this was the first time he’d seen Megan look truly happy.

Was she happy now? He tried to picture her working in a refugee camp—the heat, the flies, the poverty, the sickness.... What was she doing here? What had she done with the money? The questions tormented him—and only one person could give him the answers.

* * *

Megan sank onto a bench outside the clinic, sheltered from the rain by the overhanging roof. The day had been hectic, as usual. The new mother and her baby were gone, carted off by her womenfolk early that morning. Her departure had been followed by a flood of patients with ailments ranging from impetigo to malaria. Megan had even assisted while the resident Tanzanian doctor stitched up and vaccinated a boy who’d been foolish enough to tease a young baboon.

Now it was twilight and the clinic was closed. The doctor and the aide had gone home to their families in town. Megan was alone in the walled compound that included the clinic building, a generator and washhouse, a lavatory and a two-room bungalow with a kitchen for volunteers like her. The utilitarian brick structures were softened by the flowering shrubs and trees that flourished in Arusha’s rich volcanic soil. The tulip tree that shaded the clinic had ended its blooming cycle. Rain washed the fallen petals in a crimson cascade off the eave, like tears of blood.

Closing her eyes, Megan inhaled the sweet dampness. She’d yearned for rain in the parched Sudan, where the dusty air was rank with the odors of human misery. Going back wouldn’t be easy. But the need was too great for her not to return. The need of the refugees for care and treatment—and her own need to make a difference.

She was about to get up and brave the downpour when she heard the clang of the gate bell—an improvised iron cowbell on a chain. Rising, she hesitated. If someone had an emergency she could hardly turn them away. But she was here alone. Outside that gate there could be thugs intent on breaking into the clinic for drugs, cash or mischief.

The bell jangled again. Megan sprinted through the rain to the bungalow, found the .38 Smith & Wesson she kept under her pillow and thrust it into the pocket of her loose khakis. Grabbing a plastic poncho from its hook by the door, she tossed it over her head as she hurried toward the sheet-iron gate. The key was in the rusty padlock that anchored the chain between the gate’s welded handles.

“Jina lako nani?” she demanded in her phrase-book Swahili. She’d asked for the person’s name, which was the best she could manage.

There was a beat of silence. Then a gravely, masculine voice rang through the rainy darkness. “Megan? Is that you?”

Megan’s knees crumpled like wet sand. She sagged against the gate, her cold hands fumbling with the key. Cal’s was the last voice she wanted to hear. But hiding from him would only make her look like a fool.

“Megan?” His voice had taken on a more strident tone, demanding an answer. But her throat was too tight to speak. She should have known that Cal wouldn’t give up looking until he found her—even if he had to travel halfway around the world.

The lock fell open, allowing the heavy chain to slide free. Megan stepped back as the gate swung inward and Cal strode into the courtyard. Dressed in a tan Burberry raincoat, he seemed even taller than she remembered, his gray eyes even colder behind the rain that dripped off the brim of his hat.

She knew what he wanted. After two years, Cal was still looking for answers. Now that he’d found her, he would hammer her mercilessly with questions about Nick’s death and the whereabouts of the stolen money.

But she had no answers to give him.

How could she persuade Cal Jeffords to see the truth and leave her in peace?

Two

Cal’s eyes took in the cheap plastic poncho and the tired face beneath the hood. Something in his chest jerked tight. It was Megan, all right. But not the Megan he remembered.

“Hello, Cal.” Her voice was rich and husky. “I see you haven’t changed much.”

“But you have.” He turned and fastened the gate behind him. “Aren’t you at least going to invite me out of the rain?”

She glanced toward the bungalow. “I can make you some coffee. But there’s not much else. I haven’t had time to shop...” Her voice trailed off as she led him through the downpour to the sheltered porch. Rain clattered on the corrugated tin roof above their heads.

“Actually I have a taxi waiting outside,” he said. “I was hoping I could take you to dinner at the hotel.”

Her eyes widened. She seemed nervous, he thought. But then, she had plenty to hide. “That’s kind of you, but there’s no one else here. I need to stay—”

He laid a hand on her shoulder. She quivered like a fawn at his touch but didn’t try to pull away. “It’s all right,” he said. “I spoke with Dr. Musa on the phone. It’s fine with him if you leave for a couple of hours. In fact, he said you could use a nice meal. His houseboy’s on the way over now, to watch the place while we’re gone.”

“Well, since it’s all arranged...” Her voice trailed off.

“Dr. Musa also mentioned that you’re doing a great job here.” That part was true, but Cal made a point of saying it to flatter her.

She shrugged, a slight motion. The old Megan would have lapped up the praise like a satisfied cat. This thin-drawn stranger seemed uncomfortable with it. “I’ve just finished cleaning up in the clinic. I’ll need to wash and change.” She managed a strained laugh. “These days it doesn’t take long.”

“Fine. I’ll open the gate for the cab.”

As Cal slogged back across the compound, he spared a moment to be grateful that he’d thought to bring a pair of waterproof hiking boots before his thoughts returned to his encounter with the woman he’d come to find. Meeting Megan tonight was like meeting her for the first time. He was puzzled and intrigued, but still determined to get to the bottom of the money question. If this new Megan tried to play on his sympathy—and she likely would—it wasn’t going to work. So help him, whatever it took, he was going to nail her to the wall.

Minutes after the cab pulled up to the bungalow, Benjamin, Dr. Musa’s strapping young servant, arrived. Megan emerged from her room wearing a white blouse, fresh khaki slacks and a black twill jacket. A corner of the folded plastic poncho stuck out of her beat-up brown leather purse—Gucci, he noticed the brand. Some things at least hadn’t changed.

Giving Benjamin her pistol, she thanked him with a smile and a few words. Cal lifted a side of his raincoat like a wing to shelter her as they descended the porch steps and climbed into the cab. Her face was damp, her hair finger-combed. She hadn’t taken more than ten minutes to freshen up and change, but it had worked. She looked damned classy.

“When did you get in?” she asked him, making small talk.

“Plane landed a couple of hours ago. I registered at the Arusha Hotel, cleaned up and headed for the clinic.”

She’d been looking straight ahead, but now she turned toward him with a frown. “Is something wrong, Cal? A crisis back home?”

He managed a wry laugh. “Not that I know of. I could say I was just passing through and decided to stop by...” He saw the flash of skepticism in her caramel-colored eyes. “But you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

“No.” A smile tugged a corner of her luscious mouth. The sort of mouth made for kissing. Though he had never warmed to her personally, he’d never denied that she was an attractive and desirable woman. When was the last time she’d been kissed? he caught himself wondering. But never mind that. He was here for just one reason. Although, if getting to the truth involved kissing her, he wouldn’t complain.

“I know you better than that, Cal. I left you with a lot of questions. But if you’re here to charm the answers out of me, you could’ve saved yourself a trip. Nothing’s changed. I don’t know anything about where you could find the money. I’m assuming Nick spent it—which, I suppose, makes me guilty by association. But if you’re looking for a big stash under my mattress or in some Dubai bank account, all I can do is wish you luck.”

It was like her to be direct, Cal thought. That trait, at least, hadn’t changed. “Why don’t we table that subject for now. I’m more interested in why you left and what you’ve been doing for the past two years.”

“Of course you are.” Something glimmered in her eyes before she glanced away. The cab’s windshield wipers swished and thumped in the stillness. Rain streamed down the windows. “For the price of a good steak, I suppose I can come up with a few good stories—entertaining, if nothing else.”

“You never disappoint.” Cal kept his voice as neutral as his comment. He had yet to pin down this new Megan. The inner steel she’d always possessed gleamed below a surface so fragile that he sensed she might shatter at a touch.

He knew she’d been sent here for rest and recovery. Nothing in the documents he’d seen explained why, but Dr. Musa, the tall, British-trained Chagga who ran the clinic, had expressed his concern about her health and state of mind to Cal over the phone. Cal needed to learn more. But right now, he was still taking in her presence.

He recalled the perfume she used to wear. The fancy French name of it eluded him, but he’d always found it mildly arousing. There was no trace of that scent now. If she smelled like anything at all, it was the medicinal soap used in the clinic. But strangely, her nearness in the cab was having the same effect on him as that perfume used to have back then.

Things were different now. Back in San Francisco she’d been his best friend’s wife. Megan had been widowed for two years, and if there was anyone else in her life, there was no mention of it in Crandall’s report. As long as the end justified the means, bedding her would be a long-denied pleasure. A little pillow talk could go a long way in loosening secrets.

If nothing else, it would be damned delicious fun.

* * *

Megan had spent little time outside the clinic since her arrival, so the remodeled nineteenth-century Arusha Hotel was new to her. Catering to wealthy tourists, it featured a lobby decorated in rich creams and browns with wing-back chairs and dark leather sofas, a bar and a restaurant with an international menu. Through the glass doors at the rear of the lobby, she glimpsed a large outdoor swimming pool, deserted tonight except for the rain that whipped the water to a froth.