Saida had been just fifteen, a beautiful child with liquid brown eyes and the doelike grace of her people, the Fur. Because she spoke fair English, and because her family was dead, Megan had given her a translating job at the camp infirmary, with an out-of-the-way corner for sleeping. Bright with promise, Saida had one failing. She had fallen in love with a boy named Gamal, and love had made her careless. Checking on the patients late one night, Megan had found Saida’s pallet empty. Earlier, the starry-eyed girl had mentioned her trysting place with Gamal, a dry well outside the camp. That had to be where she’d gone.
Leaving the camp at night was forbidden. Beyond the boundaries, bands of rogue Janjaweed mercenaries prowled the desert like wild dogs in search of prey. No one was safe out there. Megan had known that she needed to find the two foolish youngsters and bring them back before the unthinkable happened. Arming herself with a loaded pistol, she’d plunged into the darkness.
Now the dream swirled around her like an evil mist. She was sprinting through pools of shadow, the waning moon a razor edge of light above the naked hills. Behind her lay the camp; ahead she could make out the gnarled trunk of a dead acacia, its limbs clutching the sky like the fingers of an arthritic hand. Beyond the tree lay the well, a dry hole marked by a cairn of stones.
Near the cairn she could see the two young lovers. They were locked in a tender embrace, blind and deaf to everything but each other. A turbaned shadow moved behind them. Then another and another. Raising the pistol, Megan cocked it and aimed. Time slowed as her finger tightened on the trigger.
Before she could fire, a huge, sweaty hand clamped over her mouth. Pain shot up her arm as the pistol was wrenched away. She tried to fight, twisting and scratching, but her captor was a wall of muscle. Powerless to move or cry out, she could only watch in horror as a knife sang out of the darkness and buried itself to the hilt in Gamal’s back. He dropped without a sound.
Saida’s screams shattered the darkness as the Janjaweed moved in. One of them flung her to the ground. Two others pinned her legs as the circle of men closed around her. Megan heard the sound of ripping cloth. Again Saida screamed. Again and again...
Megan’s eyes jerked open. She was shaking violently, her skin drenched in sweat beneath her light cotton pajamas. Her heart slammed in the silence of the room.
Easing her feet to the floor, she brushed aside the mosquito netting, leaned over her knees and buried her face in her hands. The dream always ended the same way. She had no memory of how she’d managed to escape. She only knew that Gamal had been found dead outside the camp the next morning, and Saida had vanished without a trace.
She’d soldiered on, hoping time would help her forget. But even here in Arusha the nightmares were getting worse, not better. Maybe Dr. Musa was right. Maybe she did have post-traumatic stress. But so what if she did? As far as she knew, there was no simple cure for the malady. Otherwise, why would so many combat veterans be suffering from it back in the States?
All she could do was go on as if nothing had happened. If she could control her fears, she could still do some good. One day she might even be able to live a normal life.
But normal in every respect? She shook her head. That would be asking too much.
* * *
Wednesday was vaccination day at the clinic. While the aide managed the paperwork, and Dr. Musa took care of the more urgent cases, Megan spent the hours giving immunizations. Most of her patients, babies and children, had departed squalling. She loved the little ones and was grateful for the chance to help them stay well; but by late afternoon she’d developed a pounding headache.
Taking a break as the stream of people thinned, she gulped down a couple of aspirins. She couldn’t help wondering where Cal was. He’d promised to come by the clinic, but she hadn’t seen him for two days. Had some emergency come up, or was he just avoiding her?
But why should she care? Cal wanted to stir up memories she would be happy to keep buried. Seeing him again would only sharpen the loss that had dulled over time.
Dared she believe he’d given up on her and left? But that wasn’t like Cal. He’d come here seeking satisfaction, and he wouldn’t walk away without it. Was it just the money? Or was he looking for some closure in the matter of Nick’s death? Either way, he was wasting his time. She had no insight to offer him.
But her conflict over the prospect of spending time with him went deeper than that.
The other night when the calming strength of his arms had temporarily eased her panic, she’d been grateful for his comfort—and troubled by how it made her feel. Cal was a compelling man, and he’d touched her in a way that had sent an unmistakable message. There was a time when she would have found him hard to resist. But when he’d held her so close that his arousal had hardened against her belly, it had been all she could do to keep from pushing him away and running off into the rain. Only when he’d stepped back had she felt safe once more.
Over the past months, it was as if something had died in her. The things she’d witnessed had numbed her to the point where she doubted her ability to respond as a woman.
The issue had come to light a few months ago when a volunteer MSF doctor in one of the camps had invited her for a private supper. He’d been attractive enough, and Megan had harbored no illusions about what to expect. Such things were common enough between volunteers, and though she’d never indulged before, she’d actually looked forward to a few hours of forgetting the wretched conditions outside. But when he’d kissed her, she’d felt little more than a vague unease. She’d tried to behave as if everything was all right; but as his caresses grew more intimate, her discomfort had spiraled into panic. In the end she’d twisted away, plunged out of the tent and fled with his words echoing in her ears— What the hell’s the matter with you? Are you frigid?
By the next night the doctor had found a more agreeable partner. Megan hadn’t attempted intimacy again. She’d hoped it had been a fluke, but her reaction to Cal had confirmed her suspicions.
Her problem hadn’t gone away, and most likely wouldn’t. If Cal had seduction in mind, the man was in for a letdown. For that, and for every other reason she could think of, it would be best if she never saw him again.
But that was not to be. The next morning, as Megan was eating a breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee, he roared through the gate in an open jeep that bore the logo of one of the big safari companies. A flock of brown parrots exploded from the tulip tree as he pulled up to the bungalow.
Dr. Musa stepped out of the clinic, grinning as if in on some secret joke.
Cal vaulted out of the jeep. “Pack your things, Megan,” he ordered. “You’re coming with me—now.”
“Have you lost your mind, Cal Jeffords?” She faced him on the porch steps, her arms folded across her chest. “What gives you the right to come in here and order me around as if I were six years old?”
His eyes narrowed, glinting like granite over a sharklike smirk. “I’m the head of the J-COR Foundation and you’re a volunteer. Right now I’m volunteering you to come with me on safari for ten days. I’ve already cleared it with Dr. Musa.” He glanced toward the doctor, who nodded. “Your replacement’s flying in this afternoon, so the clinic won’t be shorthanded. Everything’s been arranged.”
“And I have no say in any of this?”
“Dr. Musa agrees with me that your work here isn’t giving you enough rest. You need a real break. That’s what I’m offering you.”
“Offering? Does that mean I can refuse?”
“Not if you’re smart.” He stood his ground at the foot of the steps, his slate eyes level with hers.
“What if I say no? Will you haul me off by force?”
“If I have to.” He didn’t even blink, and she knew with