A Hard-Hearted Man

by Melanie Craft

  Lilah managed to take care of her errands with a minimum of trouble, and then wandered through the city market, a winding area of corrugated tin stalls selling everything from African statues to beaded jewelry. By the time she remembered to check her watch, it was almost time to meet Ross.

  The Bradford office was on the fifth floor of one of the tall buildings on Kenyatta Avenue, in the busy center of the city.

  “Come on in,” Ross said as Lilah poked her head through the open door. The floor, and every other available surface, was littered with boxes and piles of paper.

  “You may not believe it,” he said dryly, “but I’ve cleared out most of what used to be in here. I don’t think my father ever threw anything out.”

  “I’ll bet he knew exactly where to find everything, though,” Lilah said, picking her way into the room and moving a stack of folders off a chair.

  “You’re right, he did.”

  Ross handed her a pile of letters. “Here’s the mail that’s come in for your group. I just need to make a quick call to the Park Bureau. The secretary left me an urgent message to phone them.”

  “I’ll wait,” Lilah said, thumbing idly through the letters.

  There were only two envelopes addressed to her; a large one from the university with some general information about the funding for the excavation, and the other a small white one with no stamp and no return address. Clearly it had been hand delivered. She fingered it curiously. Who would be writing to her from a local address?

  The envelope slit open easily, and with amazement, Lilah scanned the brief note inside. It was from Jake Wyatt himself, and in his thick, bold handwriting, he was inviting her to his house for further discussion of the “offer” he had made her.

  She gripped the paper, rereading it with growing excitement. Wait until she told Ross about—

  “What the hell?” Ross said into the phone, slamming one hand down hard on the desktop. “He did what? How?”

  Lilah looked up, surprised, and saw that his face had tightened into lines of anger and disbelief.

  “Where did he get the money to do that? He doesn’t have that kind of capital! Hell, no, if I knew I wouldn’t be asking you. When did you learn about this?”

  Ross sucked in his breath through gritted teeth as he listened, reaching up to rake his fingers through his hair. “Right. Fine. Find out everything you can, and call me at home, tonight. I’ll talk to you then.

  “Damn Jake Wyatt,” he said, hanging up. “I knew something was going on.”

  “What happened?”

  “This morning, out of the blue, Wyatt became more than a mere supporter of the factory. He somehow came up with hard currency equal to several million U.S. dollars, and is now the principal investor in the project.”

  “I didn’t know he was so wealthy.”

  “Neither did I,” Ross said grimly. “Neither did anyone. In fact, I would have bet the ranch—and I did—that he was definitely not that wealthy.”

  He stood up abruptly and strode over to the window, staring out, his shoulders square and tense.

  “This is going to change everything. The major problem with the factory project was lack of funding to get it off the ground. Now that won’t be an issue. Wyatt has done exactly what it takes to get the support he needs. Damn it! I never saw this coming. How the hell did he get all that money?”

  Lilah watched him anxiously, not knowing what to say.

  “And do you know what else is strange?” Ross continued, turning to face her.

  “What?”

  “The profit he’ll bring in as an investor in the factory shouldn’t be nearly enough to justify risking such a huge amount. It isn’t a deal I’d make, and Wyatt isn’t stupid.”

  “He must be convinced that this is the only way to have the factory. He must think you’d win otherwise.”

  “And he’d be right,” Ross said. “I know he wants that factory, but why does he want it so badly? It looks like he’ll do anything, even set himself up to lose money, to see it built. It makes no sense.”

  “Could this be a personal thing?” Lilah ventured. She had, after all, seen the looks they had exchanged that night at the embassy.

  “A vendetta against me?” Ross shook his head. “I might actually be flattered that he thought I merited several million dollars’ worth of hate, but no. Jake works by money alone, which can mean only one thing—he knows something I don’t. I need to find out what’s really going on here.”

  He walked back to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Something I should have done already,” he said, dialing.

  “Diane? This is Ross. Let me talk to Charlie. What? Yes, I know it’s 8:00 p.m. there. Well, you’re in the office now, why wouldn’t he be?”

  Ross frowned into the phone. “What do you mean,

  ‘because he has a life?’ Since when? Well, good for him. . Look, tomorrow morning I want you or Charlie to do a check on Jake Wyatt for me. Use any source you can. Bribe people if you have to, just get me a list of his international business connections. I want any financial information you can dig up—investments, hidden bank accounts, all of that. The sooner the better.”

  He hung up. “That may help, but I’m not counting on it. I’m going to have to see what I can find out locally about where that money came from.”

  “Does it matter? I mean, he has it. Isn’t that what counts?”

  “Maybe. But I find the whole thing very strange. I want information.”

  Information? About Jake Wyatt? Lilah glanced down at the note in her lap. If that was what Ross wanted, then she was in the perfect position to help him.

  And she would.

  “So, Miss Evans, I’ll get right down to it,” Jake Wyatt said, pouring Lilah a cup of strong amber tea. “I want to know if you’ve given any thought to what we talked about that evening at the embassy.”

  Lilah added a splash of milk to her cup, and a cube of sugar from the small bowl on the table.

  It was late afternoon, and they were sitting on wicker chairs on the front porch of Jake’s house, surrounded on all sides by savanna. She knew that the canyon, and the Bradford ranch, were only a few miles to the east, but insignificant things like roads and fences somehow vanished into the expanse of green land and blue sky.

  “Call me Lilah, please,” she said, glad that her voice sounded more relaxed than she felt.

  She had volunteered to meet with Jake, to find out what she could about this startling development in the factory plans, but she had realized as soon as she arrived that it wouldn’t be as simple as she had thought. The days since the embassy party had faded her initial impression of Jake, but now she was getting the same feeling that this man was dangerous.

  “Lilah, then,” he said, her name rolling smoothly off his tongue. “Well, Lilah?” His azure eyes bit into her.

  She smiled at him. “Maybe you could tell me exactly what you have in mind.”

  “It’s very simple. Time...for you to have your excavation. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “More than anything. But how can you promise me that?”

  “Believe me, I can. Is Ross still clinging to his idea about the wildlife reserve?”

  “Very firmly,” Lilah said, trying to keep irony out of her voice. That certainly was an understatement.

  “Pity for him, then. The factory is going up on that land and it’s going up soon. Even if he tries to back out now, the government will force him to give up the property. You’re in the right place right now, my dear. This is the winners’ circle.”

  “Lucky for me,” she said blandly. She was experiencing a problem that she hadn’t had to deal with the last time she spoke with Jake—the desire to use a swift right hook to take that self-congratulatory smirk off his face. “But what makes you so sure?”

  Jake bolted the cooled remains of his tea in one shot, as if it were whiskey. “Why am I sure? Because I just put enough
money into the factory project to show the government whose side to be on. Does the equivalent of three and a half million American dollars convince you, too?”

  “Well,” said Lilah, letting false warmth color her voice. “It just might. Congratulations, it sounds like you’ve won the game.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he said. “And you’ve won, too. I’ll give you all the time you want at that canyon.”

  “That’s a very generous offer.”

  Jake smiled benevolently. “I’m a generous man.”

  “Are you an archaeology fan?”

  “Oh, I’m interested in all sorts of things,” he said. “You could say that I enjoy doing favors for my friends.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Of course, I always assume that my friends would do the same for me, given the opportunity.”

  Aha, Lilah thought. She’d suspected from the start that he wanted something from her. Finding out what that was would be both interesting and useful.

  “That sounds fair,” she said.

  “Good. Because there’s a way you can help me. I want...” He paused, frowning. “Just a minute.”

  There was a low mechanical rumble in the distance which had been there for a while, getting steadily louder, but Lilah hadn’t paid any attention until Jake did.

  She looked past him to see that a truck was lumbering up the dirt road toward the house. It was medium-size and heavy, the size of the typical freight trucks Lilah had seen traveling along the Mombasa highway. But this one was mud-splattered and dusty, with no identifying marks. The back was canvas-wrapped and secured with ropes, and as Lilah glanced curiously at it, she thought she saw the shapes of several large crates loaded inside.

  It was a generally uninteresting truck. What was very interesting, though, was Jake’s reaction to its arrival. With lightning quickness, a flash of anger exploded across his profile, and he sat up, stiffly straight, and stared at the truck.

  But the expression was gone in a flash, leaving Lilah wondering if she’d imagined it. The porch was dappled with shadows of sun shining through leaves and wicker, and it was hard to be sure of what she’d seen.

  He turned back to her, totally composed. “That must be the shipment of building materials I ordered. It’s arrived early. I don’t like being interrupted when I have a guest.”

  “Oh, that’s fine,” Lilah said brightly, watching him, her heart suddenly thudding in her chest. “I can wait while you deal with it.”

  “Come inside,” Jake said. “You can look at my African statue collection while you wait.”

  His tone left no room for objection. Lilah stood up, allowing him to guide her into the house as the truck approached. She glanced back to see that the road dead-ended at a large garage building about a quarter mile past the house.

  “I have some pieces you’ll like,” Jake was saying to her. He had one hand on her shoulder, and was walking close to her. “Good ones from Zaire and Nigeria. This way.”

  He walked her into the living room, where a number of carved wooden statues were displayed on shelves.

  “This won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Lilah listened as the sound of Jake’s footsteps moved down the hall. What was going on? Had she really seen that flash of fury on Jake’s face?

  She moved quietly across the room, and cautiously eased open the hall door. The hallway was empty, but Lilah could hear the faint sound of Jake’s voice coming from a room far down the hall.

  He was indeed angry, she realized, as she moved closer, testing the wood floor for squeaks. His words were rapid and sharpened into muffled staccato beats.

  She leaned toward the door and listened.

  “...three days early, goddamn it!” Jake’s voice was a snarl. “This is sloppy, and I do not do sloppy business. What the hell do you think we’re dealing with?”

  There was a pause, and Lilah heard the creak of floorboards as Jake began to pace. “Goddamn right it won’t happen again. This isn’t what I pay you for. One more time and you’re finished. Permanently. Do you understand me?”

  There was another pause.

  “Good,” Jake said, and something about his tone made Lilah realize that she had caught the very end of the phone conversation. She turned quickly, and stepping as softly as she could, fled back toward the living room, closing the door hastily behind her.

  She wasn’t a moment too soon. Barely two minutes after she stopped in front of the statue shelves, the door opened and Jake walked into the room.

  Lilah pressed her lips together hard, trying to calm her breathing, and kept her head ducked away from Jake as if she were absorbed in looking at the metal mask she had blindly grabbed.

  “I’ve taken care of it,” he said evenly. “Sorry. I’m putting a new addition on the kitchen, so I had to be sure they left the bags of cement in the right place.”

  “Oh, really?” Lilah looked up with a smile as her breathing quieted. “You’re doing it yourself?”

  “Yes, bloody lot of work, but I think it’ll be worth it.”

  She could hear the rumble of the truck coming back along the road by the house, and she could tell by Jake’s quick glance toward the window that he did, too.

  He moved forward. “How do you like my collection? I bought that mask you’re holding in Zaire. That’s gold, you know, not brass.”

  Lilah stroked her finger over the almond-shaped eyes and long, straight nose. “It must be valuable.”

  “Very. Every one of these pieces is either rare or antique. This collection should be in a vault. I wouldn’t waste my time on worthless art.”

  “Of course,” Lilah murmured. The metal was cool in her hands and she ran her thumbs over its cheeks, which were decorated with complex, carefully hammered designs. “What are these patterns for? They look like they must have some ritual meaning.”

  Jake shrugged. “I didn’t ask. Heavy, isn’t it? That’s a lot of gold. You wouldn’t believe how much it cost me.”

  He shifted on his feet, and raised a hand to wipe the sheen of sweat on his face. “Let’s go back out to the porch. It’s too bloody hot in here.”

  Outside, the savanna around Jake’s house was as quiet and peaceful as if the mysterious truck had never come to disturb it. The breeze rustled the tall grass beyond the road, and birds twittered from the branches of the trees nearby.

  Lilah shot a quick glance toward the distant storage building, but it appeared undisturbed.

  “How long do you expect to be working on your kitchen?” she asked casually as she settled into her wicker chair.

  Jake, positioning himself opposite her, looked up with narrowed eyes. “As long as it takes.”

  “Oh. Well, do you plan to—”

  “It just occurred to me that I’ve forgotten something,” he said suddenly. “I should congratulate you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “On your excavation. I hear you’ve made interesting new discoveries down there.”

  “Yes...” Lilah said, astonished. How had he heard about that? It had only been a few days since they started turning up artifacts, and they hadn’t discussed it with anyone yet.

  Jake was watching her with a smooth, satisfied expression, and she realized that he had neatly turned the tables on her.

  “How did you hear about the new finds?”

  “I told you that I’m interested in all sorts of things.”

  “But we haven’t made it public yet.” Lilah couldn’t believe it. Was he paying someone down at camp to report to him? One of the workers they’d hired, maybe? But no, that couldn’t be it. They hadn’t had any extra help since the previous week. It was only her group at the site now.

  He smiled at the look on her face. “I have ways of keeping myself informed.”

  “I can see that,” she said, disturbed.

  “This must give you even more reason to want to keep working at the site,” he said.

  “Yes. It
does.”

  “Then I think we can help each other.” Jake’s flat eyes made Lilah think of a winter sky, pale blue and spiked with needles of ice. She could read nothing in them.

  He leaned forward. “There’s something I want you to get for me....”

  Chapter 12

  The paint on the inside walls of the summerhouse was peeling, Ross noticed, as he stacked boxes of old papers on the floor. For some reason, it bothered him. The tiny building was one of the places he’d always thought of as his own.

  Although it was only a few hundred feet from the ranch house, it was separated by a thicket of aloe and sisal plants, and all of its windows overlooked the savanna. He wasn’t sure why it had been built in the first place, except that everyone in the area also had one, so it must have been the fashion once.

  Theirs had never been used much. It would have served as an extra bedroom if the house had ever overflowed with guests, but Ross couldn’t recall that happening. He had played in here when he was young, and his mother had come here to write letters or have tea with friends, but after Ross left for school, and Claire died, it had become a storage area.

  Boxes were now piled on the faded cushioned seats, and he was having a hard time facing the chore of sorting through them all. He sighed, remembering how he had once wished for siblings. That wish still held. A brother or sister to help with all of this was just what he needed.

  There was a soft knock on the open door, and he looked up to see Lilah standing there.

  “You look lost in thought,” she said. “May I interrupt?”

  “Absolutely.” He was glad to see her. Her appearance chased away all of the melancholy, cobwebby feelings creeping around inside him, and brought him back to the present, which was where he’d far rather be.

  Especially with Lilah here, framed by the sunny space of the doorway, her blue dress making her look as if she’d just come from a garden party.

  He couldn’t help noticing the curve of her waist under the soft cotton, and the shadowy outline of her legs as the sun filtered through her skirt. Ross pulled his gaze away, rubbing a hand over his forehead. He hadn’t seen her since Nairobi, and he’d swear he was having withdrawal symptoms.