Beverly Barton - Murdock's Last Stand

Her full, pink lips formed an oblong oval as she gasped softly. “A death wish?”

“I was with him the day he…well, the day I thought he died. One of the last things he said to me was that he’d been living on borrowed time ever since Nam.”

“You were with him when—”

“We were on an assignment in Zaraza. We were trying to get through enemy lines in order to get a vital message to a contact.” He couldn’t tell her details of the mission or explain that the U.S. government had been playing a part in the ongoing revolution for the past twenty years. “Your father sent me with the message, knowing that by staying behind, he was saving my life and sacrificing his. So you see, if he’s still alive and there’s some way I can get him out of Zaraza, then I’m going to.”

“Because you owe him your life?”

“Yeah. Because I owe him my life.”

Catherine lifted the mug to her lips and sipped the tea. She preferred it with neither cream, sugar nor lemon and apparently Murdock liked his the same way. They ate and drank in silence, each avoiding any eye contact. After Catherine ate half her sandwich and drank all her tea, she slipped off the stool and, with her back to Murdock, made her way across the room.

She paused momentarily and asked, “Which bedroom should I use?”

“The one on the left of the bathroom,” he told her.

“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone for a while.”

He watched her disappear into the small guest bedroom that he used mostly as a study. Perhaps he should have given her his room, which was larger and less cramped. But the bed in the extra room was an old double bed, which meant his feet would hang over the footboard. One of the drawbacks of being six foot six.

Busying himself cleaning up the kitchen, Murdock started trying to figure out just how to handle Catherine Price. A man would have to be dead not to notice how attractive she was. But a smart man would keep his distance from a lady who so obviously considered him as nothing more than a necessary means to an end. No doubt, she wouldn’t give him the time of day, if she didn’t need him to get her and her hundred thousand into Zaraza and secure her and Lanny’s safety.

He had known her type back in Mississippi, where he’d done yard work for rich families when he’d been a teenager. Sweet little innocent Southern belles liked to flirt and give poor boys ideas. And Barbara had been the society type, too. Rich and pampered. She’d led him on, making him believe she loved him, when all along she’d had no intention of making a commitment to him. That had been years ago, but he’d learned his lesson well. Barbara had been an excellent teacher.

He knew Catherine wasn’t Barbara. Physically they didn’t resemble each other at all. But her superior attitude, her air of snobbery, the slightly condescending way in which she looked at him reminded him of a woman he thought he’d long since not only cut out of his heart, but exorcised from his soul. Like the demon she had been.

If he didn’t owe Lanny McCroskey his life, no amount of money could induce him to spend the next few days with Catherine. She was the kind of woman he avoided, at all costs. The moment he’d seen her, he’d known they would mix like oil and water. He might not be the smartest guy on earth, but he had sense enough to know that dealing with Lanny’s daughter was going to be one big headache.

Even though she’d promised to take orders, something told him that if she ever disagreed with his commands, she’d buck him. Before they left for Peru, he had to make certain she truly realized the dangers that confronted them and that one wrong move could cost both of them their lives.

With loud, marching steps, Murdock stormed across the room and into the square hallway that separated the two bedrooms. The guest room door stood open just enough to give him a glimpse of Catherine lying across the bed, the red spread in place beneath her. He paused, his hand hovering in midair. Maybe she was asleep, he thought.

Their talk could wait, couldn’t it? She’d be in a better mood once she’d rested, perhaps more willing to truly accept his leadership in their joint venture. If she were a sensible woman, she’d realize that following his instructions could easily mean the difference between success and failure, between life and death—for her and her father.

The moment Murdock walked away from the bedroom door, Catherine opened her eyes. She had sensed his presence and feigned sleep. She couldn’t deal with Murdock. Not now. Later perhaps. She knew it was only a matter of time before they would have to discuss their trip to Zaraza. She suspected she would have no choice but to accept Murdock’s being in command. She dreaded the thought of letting him boss her around. She’d been an independent woman all her life. Even as a teenager, she’d made her own decisions and taken care of herself. Her mother had been dear and sweet and kind. But Mae Beth McCroskey had been a weak woman whose life had crumbled into loneliness and misery once she lost her husband. But Catherine was made of stronger stuff. She had sworn no man would ever have that much power over her—enough power to break her heart and destroy her life.

She had never needed anyone. Not even Rodney. Her husband had understood and accepted her need to control every aspect of her own life and he had never asked for more than she’d been willing to give.

Catherine sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, then let her bare feet touch the polished hardwood floor. Rising from the bed, she stretched, then lifted her suitcase and set it on the arms of the wooden rocker in the corner. The best way to avoid Murdock tonight was to take a bath and go to bed. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to deal with the big man again.

She removed her toiletries case and set it on the small, cluttered desk to her right, then lifted her pajamas, robe and slippers from the suitcase. As she reached down for the vinyl case, her hand accidentally knocked a manila folder off the desk and onto the floor. With her clothing draped over her arm and her slippers secured in one hand, she reached down and picked up the folder, intending to return it to the desk. But just as she lifted it, she noticed her name scrawled across the top in a large, bold handwriting that she felt certain belonged to Murdock. Tossing her clothing and slippers on the bed, she flipped open the folder. As she scanned the thick report, her hands tightened around the folder, crushing the edges of the papers she held.

Damn him! How dare he! What gave him the right?

In her bare feet, Catherine stormed out of the guest room and ran into the living room. Murdock sat in one of the big leather chairs, his feet resting on the matching ottoman, a book in one hand. He glanced up at her, his gaze casual.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said.

Catherine held up the crumpled file folder as if she were confronting him with a murder weapon in a trial. Her gaze narrowed angrily on his expressionless face.

“Is something wrong?” He slid his feet off the ottoman and onto the floor, then laid his book on the arm of the chair and stood to face her.

“This is a report on me,” Catherine told him, her voice trembling with rage. “You know every detail of my life from birth to the present. You have a copy of my birth certificate, my marriage license, even my dental records. How dare you invade my privacy this way?” She rushed toward him, flung the file folder in his face and screamed, “You had no right to do this!”

“You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing.”

She hated the calmness in his voice, hated the rational, emotionless way he was acting. “How would you like it if I’d had an extensive report compiled on you? Would you like for me to know everything there is to know about you?”