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.
Cal’s big hand rested beneath her elbow as he ushered her toward the restaurant. Megan was of average height, but she felt small next to him. He was almost six-three, broad-shouldered and athletic, with a hard-charging manner that defied anyone to stand in his way. John Wayne in an Armani suit—that was how she would have described him back in the day. Even tonight, in travel-creased khakis, he looked imposing. John Wayne in the old movie Hatari came to mind—maybe because it was also the name of the hotel bar. She’d always found Nick’s best friend overbearing. But there’d been times when she’d wished her husband was more like him.
She wasn’t surprised that he’d found her. Once he set his mind, Cal Jeffords could be as fiercely determined as a pit bull. And he’d come too far to leave without getting something to make his trip worthwhile. She’d told him the truth about the money. But he hadn’t even pretended to believe her. Her signature on the donation checks she’d endorsed and given to Nick to deposit had convinced him she was guilty. Megan’s instincts told her he had a plan to wear her down and make her pay. It would do her no good to fight. Cal was as much a force of nature as the storm raging outside. All she could do was wait for it to pass.
Sitting at their quiet table, she allowed him to order for her—filet mignon with mushrooms, fresh organic vegetables and a vintage Merlot. She could feel his gaze on her as the white-gloved waiter filled their wine goblets and set a basket of fresh hot bread between the lighted candlesticks.
“Eat up,” Cal said, raising his glass. “You need to put some meat on those lovely bones.”
Megan broke off a corner of the bread and nibbled at the crust. “I know I’ve lost weight. But it’s painful to