Читать книгу Million Dollar Dilemma - Judy Baer - Страница 10

“Or just plain crazy,” Adam muttered as his new neighbor babbled her way to his front door.

Turning away from the sight, he opened the cupboard to see what he and Pepto would be having for supper. There were two cans of sardines, a can of tomato soup and some mixed fruit he’d purchased with the delusion that he might actually make something out of it. There was probably some of that frozen fake egg goop and bacon in the freezer if he had the energy to find it. Best of all, in the back of the cupboard, shoved behind a double stack of cheap napkins, was a can of the kitten food he’d fed Pepto when he’d first found him. The robust, barrel-bottomed cat now twining himself around Adam’s legs had then looked like a starving rat with bad fur and attitude.

“Well, guy, we’re going to eat well tonight. Quit kissing up to me, you mangy fur ball.”

Adam grinned slightly as he worked the can opener. Pepto had really done a number on his new neighbor. Maybe he and Pepto were more alike than he’d realized—both good at intimidating women and scaring them off.

He’d felt her caramel-colored eyes on his back as she’d shadowed him into the building. Her gaze had practically seared holes through the leather jacket that had withstood strafing, blistering heat, frigid snow, pellet shot, short knives with sharp blades and, once, even a branding iron. She was definitely a woman who could make a mark on a guy—if he’d let her. But Adam wasn’t in the mood to even think about a woman, let alone get entangled with one.

He was bone tired, gravel eyed, hungry and dirty. He’d missed three planes, four meals and two nights’ sleep to get home. He didn’t want to deal with either a psychotic cat or the big-eyed woman with a mass of astounding red hair who’d apparently rented the empty apartment upstairs while he was away on assignment. His nerves were open wounds, raw, exposed and agonizingly tender. He was exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally, and right now neither the banshee at his feet nor the dewy-eyed feminine apparition who lived upstairs was much to his liking. All he wanted was a bed to collapse into. But instead of indulging himself, he opened the curtains and unlocked the windows to flood light and air into the dusty gloom.

He rolled his shoulders to release the muscles in his neck, but they were so stiff and tight that he felt the movement halfway to his calves. Being a punching bag for the travel industry was not for wimps. Endless hours on the plane, more on the ground in airports without air-conditioning, dehydration and whatever faux food could be hermetically sealed and sold for exorbitant prices from carts in airports had taken its toll. Then Pepto, who’d taken a liking to his babysitters, Adam’s cousin Chase Andrews and his wife, Whitney, had thrown a fit at the idea of going back into his crate and had given Adam a full set of toenail scratches on the back of one hand.

And the new little neighborhood cheerleader had given him flowers. He didn’t bother to tell her that if he were to get flowers every time he did a touch-and-go in this apartment, the place would be a dead-bouquet graveyard. He eyed the strange conglomeration of flowers that was mostly daisies with a single carnation and a bird-of-paradise thrown in. It was odd, but he rather liked it.

He turned around and was astounded to see her still standing in his doorway. Adam observed her anxious expression, wringing hands and the way she stood like a penitent child. Not a child, exactly. The aquamarine knit top she wore skated smoothly across her curves and the body beneath the crisp white slacks was long legged and fit. All she wore for jewelry was a gold necklace from which hung a simple cross. Her fingers were bare of rings, but she wore a slender gold toe ring on her second toe that peeked tantalizingly from her sandal.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She would excuse him, wouldn’t she? It alarmed Adam a little that she looked as though she’d settle in for the duration. She was eyeing his tattered leather luggage plastered with old decals, port-of-entry and customs stamps and held together with a sturdy leather belt, and comparing it to the pristine cowhide carrying case for his laptop computer.

“I don’t know what you do for a living,” she murmured, “but it must be very interesting.”

“Don’t mind the bullet hole. A minor accident. No one was hurt.”

“Hmm.” She bent to drag a dainty pink-tipped finger over a burn mark on the corner of the suitcase. It was a memento of a spirited argument around a campfire during which one of his companions had tried to throw both Adam and his luggage onto the pyre.

Mentally Adam renewed his vow to find another job. This one was just too hard on him.

Though he was tempted to encourage Cassia to mind her own business and get back to her apartment, it occurred to him that there was no casual inquisitiveness or recreational prying in her expression. She was genuinely interested. He could hardly fault her for asking questions, since he made a living doing the same thing. Her face was completely open and without guile, a quality so scarce he’d barely recognized it. Her loneliness and embarrassment were apparent. Adam prided himself on his ability to read people and their emotions. It was disconcerting to realize that, for this woman at least, he actually cared what she felt.

Touchy-feely he was not. Or hadn’t been…until recently. But despite the fleeting compassion he felt for Cassia, he was relieved when she finally backed through the doorway waving goodbye.

Man, oh, man, did he need a shower and a nap.

The little skeleton twitched as though it were still alive. It couldn’t be, of course. There was nothing left of the child but tissue-paper-thin skin stretched across an emaciated body. Its skull was too large for the wasted body and the eyelids, like bits of waxy paper, did not quite close, revealing slits of white fringed by sparse lashes.

Dazed and drunk with misery, Adam picked up the shovel and began to dig another grave. Surely he was hallucinating from heat and exertion. The eroded earth was hard and dry as chalk, over-grazed by cattle on this marginal land, leaving it unprotected and exposed to the elements.

He couldn’t go very deep with this one. Taking off his brimmed canvas hat, he wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. He tasted the saltiness of his lips and felt the visibly shimmering heat embracing him. His water bottle was back in the tent and his tongue was growing thick and parched. He’d have to get this done soon and go back to rehydrate. There weren’t many good-sized rocks in this area either. Not enough to cover a grave. He’d used them all for the others. Perhaps there weren’t enough rocks and dirt in Burundi to cover all the dead bodies. Even though there’d been a tenuous peace in Africa’s Great Lakes Region since the end of the civil war, famine was just as efficient at eradicating life as war had been. Sadly, it took the infants and children first.

He did the best he could, scratching out a shallow hole in the hard earth before turning to pick up the tiny carcass he’d come to bury. He cradled the frail frame in his arms for just a moment. It was like holding a cluster of pencils—tiny sticks of arms and legs, limp and nearly weightless….

Adam heard himself scream as the fragile form moved in his arms. Eyes, large and dark as black holes in a distant universe, opened to stare at him.

“You’re dead! Dead!” Adam shouted. But the baby wasn’t dead, not quite. The eyes stared at him accusingly, as if he were the one responsible for its suffering.

At least he could wake himself up from these dreams, Adam thought, taking deep breaths. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, shivering and damp from head to toe with sweat and nerves, a sheen of perspiration glistening across his pectorals and the soft, dark furring of his chest. He worked his jaw and willed himself to relax. His pajama bottoms rode low on his hips, and he felt a rivulet of sweat pouring down his backbone to soak the elastic at his waist. As he stood at the kitchen sink slugging back glasses of ice water, he began to shiver. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn he had the shaking, chills, muscle aches and exhaustion of malaria. He would have traded the dreams that haunted him for malaria any day. From this side of sleep, a nap no longer seemed such a good idea.

Groping toward the shower, he stumbled over Pepto, who had stationed himself in the hall in front of the bedroom door. The cat who, abused as a kitten, could be provoked into a frenzy at the sight of anything closely resembling a human attack, didn’t even flinch. Even Pepto, the most self-absorbed creature ever born, sensed that Adam had reached his limit.

As Adam stood in the shower, welcoming the sharp pinpricks of water on his body, he wondered anew when…if…the dreams would ever stop.