His Mysterious Ways. Amanda Stevens
Melanie followed her to the back of the shop and down a grim little corridor that opened into a foul-smelling alley.
Stepping outside, Melanie glanced back at the woman who hovered in the doorway. “Muchas gracias.”
The woman nodded, her black eyes gleaming with an emotion Melanie couldn’t define. “That man, he is a bad one. A devil,” she said in halting English, then, crossing herself, lapsed back into Spanish. “Vaya con Dios.”
Melanie had no trouble making the translation. Go with God.
Chapter Three
A few minutes later, Melanie hurried into her room, bolted the door, then stood leaning against the frame as she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath.
That had been close. Way too close.
But how long before Lassiter found her here?
And he would find her. In a place the size of Santa Elena, it would be easy to check all the hotels. Even if he didn’t yet know her name, he had a description of her. He might even be knocking on her door within the hour.
Question was, would he come alone or would he bring the police?
In hindsight perhaps the better option would have been to face him back at the clinic or at the café where witnesses were present. After all, what had she done that was so terrible? She’d stolen drugs to save a young girl’s life. Even if Jon Lassiter couldn’t appreciate the distinction between that and petty thievery, surely the authorities would.
But what if Lassiter, or even Kruger himself, wouldn’t let it go? What if they pressured the police to arrest her? Make an example of her? Spending the next twenty years in a Cartégan jail wasn’t Melanie’s idea of growing old gracefully, but then, there were ways out of almost any prison, as she well knew.
She could have used those ways to get away from Lassiter earlier, but she hadn’t wanted anyone on the street or the old lady in the shop to witness her vanishing act. Melanie had come to Santa Elena looking for answers, which meant she had to ask questions, and the last thing she needed was for the locals to become suspicious of her, let alone afraid of her.
She crossed the room and dragged her suitcase from the closet, but not to pack. Instead, she removed the stack of letters from inside, then lay down on the bed and propped herself against the headboard.
Plucking the top envelope from the packet, she stared at the handwriting. Her father’s handwriting, she now knew. The letter had been sent from Cartéga six months ago.
She didn’t open it because she didn’t have to. She knew the contents by heart.
…I want to see Melanie on her birthday. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her in the clouds…
Melanie didn’t recall much about her father—what he’d looked like or even the sound of his voice—and yet the meaning of his words had come to her instantly. And with it, a memory of the last time they’d been together.
Melanie had been five years old, small for her age, but adventurous even then. And impulsive. Already looking for that next thrill.
“Push me higher, Daddy!” They were in the backyard of their home on Long Island, testing out the new swing set she’d gotten for her birthday. “Higher!”
“You’re going high enough, Melly Belly,” her father had laughed. “If your mother could see you now, she’d have my head.”
Funny how Melanie could remember the conversation so vividly and yet she still couldn’t picture her father’s face. Couldn’t conjure up the sound of his voice no matter how hard she tried. Only his words came back to her.
“Higher!” she’d screamed. “I want to touch the clouds with my toes!”
“I know a place where you really can touch the clouds,” he’d told her.
“Take me there!”
“Someday I will.”
“Not someday. Tomorrow!”
“It’s a long way from here, in a little country called Cartéga. I’ve been reading about it. You have to go way up into the mountains to touch the clouds. We can’t go tomorrow, but we will soon. You and me and Mommy. We’ll all touch the clouds together.”
“Then push me higher,” Melanie demanded, “so I can touch that cloud right now!”
Presently, her father stopped pushing her, and Melanie leaned back so far to look at him that she almost tumbled from the swing. “Why did you stop?” she pouted.
“Careful, you’ll fall out,” he warned.
“No, I won’t.”
“Hard head,” he said affectionately. But there was a look in his eyes that made Melanie sad for some reason. “You think you’re invincible, don’t you.”
“I don’t know. I think I want you to push me some more.”
“I can’t. I have to go inside and…take care of some things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Work kind of things.” He knelt and placed his hands on her shoulders. “This trip we talked about. Let’s keep it a secret for now, okay? Don’t mention it to anyone.”
“Not even Mommy?”
A shadow flickered across his features. “No, not even Mommy. We’ll let it be a surprise. Right now, I have to go in and get some work done.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. You stay outside and play. I won’t get anything done with you around.”
“But it’s no fun out here without you,” she protested.
“Sure it is. You just keep swinging. Pump your legs the way I taught you. That’s it.”
Melanie continued to swing after her father had gone inside, but her heart really wasn’t in it. She didn’t like being alone. She let the swing come to a stop, then lazily rocked herself back and forth with her toes.
After a bit, she began to have a strange feeling that she wasn’t alone. She looked up, hoping her father had come back outside, but instead, she saw that a man had entered through the back gate.
Even though the day was warm, he wore a long, dark coat and a hat pulled low over his eyes. Melanie had the impression he’d been watching her for several minutes, and her heart started to pound in fear. She didn’t like him watching her. He scared her. She wanted to get off the swing and run inside the house as fast as she could, but even if she could make her legs work, he blocked her path to the back door. So she sat on the swing, watching him watch her.
“Hello, Melanie,” he finally said.
His voice made creepy crawlies go up her spine. She clutched the chains of the swing.
“You need to come with me now,” he said, and Melanie shook her head. She wanted to scream for her father, but she couldn’t make her throat work, either. It was like having a bad dream with a monster coming for you and you couldn’t move.
The man walked slowly toward her. Her voice broke free then, and she screamed for her father. She screamed and screamed. “Daddy! Daddy!”
He didn’t come out of the house, though, and as the man moved even closer to her, Melanie suddenly realized that someone else had come up behind her. The second man grabbed her, and before she had time to struggle, he pressed a cloth over her mouth and nose.
And that was Melanie’s last memory until four years later.
She was sitting in that same swing, rocking herself to and fro and marveling at how easily she could touch the ground now. The back door opened, and Melanie looked up, hoping to see her father, but instead, her mother was the one who came out. At least, she thought it