Night Fall

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Preview of Night Secrets

  Also by Cherry Adair

  Praise for Cherry Adair

  Copyright

  Also by Cherry Adair

  THE EDGE BROTHERS TRILOGY

  Edge of Danger

  Edge of Fear

  Edge of Darkness

  OTHER TITLES

  White Heat

  Hot Ice

  On Thin Ice

  Out of Sight

  In Too Deep

  Hide and Seek

  Kiss and Tell

  One

  MALLARUZA

  CENTRAL WEST AFRICA

  “Morning,” Kess Goodall said absently as she and Simon Blackthorne passed in an upstairs hallway of the city offices of Mallaruza’s state capitol building. Tear and sweat tracks painted pale lines through the dirt on her sunburned cheeks, and her gray eyes were shadowed. Something was up. She made no effort to hide it; in fact Simon observed that despite the greeting, she was barely aware of those she passed, and probably wasn’t even seeing individuals as she speed-walked by.

  Intrigued, he turned to watch her retreat.

  Cute ass.

  She was publicist for Abioyne Bongani, Simon’s old college friend and current president of Mallaruza. Goodall had held up well in the past two months, considering that she’d been banished to this tiny country in midwestern Africa. No one wanted to hire her back in Atlanta, Georgia, where she was from. The PR community there had closed ranks on her. Instead of looking for a job anywhere else in the United States, she’d opted for a time-out here in Africa.

  She hadn’t chosen easy, that was for sure.

  Escalating skirmishes on the border between Mallaruza and Huren, an outbreak of some deadly virus, and the upcoming elections were all keeping her out of trouble and on her toes.

  As far as Simon could tell, she’d done a pretty decent job of promoting the good Abi was doing for his country. Since Abi was becoming suspiciously more saintlike as the day of his reelection approached, her duties were of the cheerleader variety—exactly what the untidy, yet vivacious, Ms. Goodall excelled at.

  She wasn’t going to hinder Simon’s investigation in any way. Intel divulged that she’d been fired from the PR company she’d worked for. Being phenomenal at her job had saved her cute ass every time she’d pulled some insanely over-the-top stunt. Like attacking one of the other members of the staff, or throwing a vase full of flowers at a client.

  She was impulsive, volatile, and unpredictable.

  Simon had a wary respect for unpredictable.

  His work as a T-FLAC/psi operative made unpredictable the norm. But an unpredictable civilian, right in the middle of what had the potential to be an extremely volatile conflict between two small countries, was not good.

  His job here was simple. As president, Abi Bongani had called him in because he suspected an other wizard might be manipulating the skirmishes on his border with Huren. The Hureni were a violent people, but they usually kept their fighting internal. Recently they’d started sending sorties deeper into Mallaruza.

  Pillage, murder, rape, and general mischief. The Hureni were full-service bad neighbors, and bad for Abi’s campaign.

  As a friend, Abi didn’t want Simon doing any more than tracking down the wizard responsible. He had his own ways of finding out why.

  Simon was happy to have an all-expenses-paid vacation in Africa. The ocean was nearby and he was between ops. Why not? It had been years since he and Abi had tossed back a few beers and caught up on college memories.

  Hmm. There’d been a redhead then, too. Or had it been a blonde? Since Goodall was reportedly a magnet for trouble, and wanting to know what the tears meant, he decided to follow her, undetected, into Abi’s office. Loose cannons tended to go off in the worst possible situations.

  The wide hall was filled with people rushing about. Simon strolled into a nearby public rest room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He checked the stalls, making sure the men’s room was deserted.

  He shimmered, invisible, back into Abi’s opulent office to hear what she had to say. Of course Abi, being a Half wizard, sensed that he was there. He lifted his head and frowned in Simon’s general direction before he waved Goodall to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “How was the trip?” Abi asked, his deep voice holding only a hint of Africa beneath his American high school and college English. He was an intelligent guy, with a capacity to do good like few people Simon knew.

  He and Abi had lost touch over the years, but Simon knew his old friend was an idealist, a champion of lost causes, and had a competitive streak a mile wide. Simon had been intrigued to get the call asking for his help.

  Crossing his arms, Simon took up position near a zebrawood bookcase holding leather-bound, foiled, first editions. None read. Just for show. But a classy show.

  He considered himself a good study when it came to women. The bedraggled, baseball-cap-wearing redhead, walking to some internal tragedy, would not normally have garnered his attention. He liked women a great deal, but he had an aversion, a strong aversion, to sloppy and ill-kempt. When he had time to indulge himself, he usually went for sophisticated, well-educated, well-groomed, brunettes.

  Goodall was a bit too straight up and down for his taste. And her red hair wasn’t just red. What he could see of it was wild, grab-your-attention, screaming orange. The color matched the bright orange hiking boots on her small feet. Subtle, she wasn’t.

  What she was was hot.

  No matter what the hell his eyes conveyed, the message got tangled en route to his brain. Oval face, tender mouth, big eyes, freckles, and long lashes. The small, messy package that was Katie Goodall was sexy as hell, no matter how disheveled.

  The president remained standing until his publicist sat in one of two fussy high-backed chairs in front of his mile-wide desk. Abi was an okay-looking guy. Not quite as tall as Simon’s six three, and a little paunchy, but attractive enough to get his fair share of the ladies back when they’d at tended MIT together. The conservative light gray custom-made suit and white shirt complemented his dark skin.

  The somber, businesslike attire was a good choice for his position, but not Abi’s usual taste, which ran to garish, flamboyant colors, and in the case of his office, baroque and ostentatious.

  Goodall fell more than sat in the chair. Her cheerful bravado had apparently left her at the door. Beneath the dirt and the smell of clean perspiration was the scent of warm woman. For some in explicable reason, and stunning him to the core, Simon felt his body tighten. For her? His senses be came sharper as he looked beyond the too-baggy khaki pants, the filthy, once-white T-shirt, the base ball cap, and the orange hiking boots.

  Now that she was somewhat sedentary—somewhat being the operative word since the woman moved even when she was seated—Simon reevaluated his first impression.

  She whipped off the khaki cap and pulled out the elasticized blue fabric tying her hair back. “We were too late,” she said morosely, running her fingers through curly, dust-dulled hair and dislodging a shower of sand and debris.

  Abi’s brow folded into a frown at her words. Like Goodall, he was oblivious to the bits of grass and twigs litteri
ng his carpet. He rubbed a broad-palmed hand across his mouth, his black eyes shadowed. “Terrible. How many dead?”

  “Five entire villages, all the way upriver.” She scooted forward to perch on the edge of the deep seat. “Mr. President, I know you’re doing everything you can to help. But I really think we need to ask the World Health Organization to step in. Whatever this virus or disease is, Konrad—Dr. Straus—none of the doctors can keep up with it. Thousands of your people are dying every day while they try to figure out how the disease is transmitted. We have to find someone who can get an immediate treatment. And we have to do it now.”

  “I’m well aware of the situation, Kess,” he told her gently, and Simon could tell that the news, while expected, was a blow. Beads of perspiration dotted Abi’s forehead, and he absently removed the decorative red silk hankie from his top pocket and wiped his face with it. “Rest assured I’m doing everything in my power to discover the cause and cure.” He balled the damp cloth in his fist. “Where is the medical team you traveled with?”

  “Still in the last village we came to. It’s—God. It’s horrific.” She rubbed grimy fingers across her eyes as if by doing so she could stave off the vision of what she’d seen. “They’re trying to save as many people as they can. I only came back for supplies, and to see if we can get them more help.”

  “Kess, you know that out of the four million people living in my country, over a million are in need of humanitarian assistance…Yes. I know. I know. One group at a time. All right. We’ll send them more aid. They’ll get as much help as they need,” Abi told her, his tone grim as he reached for the phone. “I don’t want you going back there. If y—”

  “I promised I would. I’m careful, you know I am, but I can’t not go back with the supplies and do what I can to help. Please?”

  “Kess.” Abi’s tone gentled. Simon could tell how much his friend liked the scruffy woman seated before him. “You’re neither a doctor nor a relief worker. Let the professionals do what I pay them to do. Your job was merely to observe.”

  “Please.”

  She was as hopeful as a puppy, and apparently Abi wasn’t immune to her luminous gray eyes. “All right,” he said again, his tone heavy, his face ashy with fatigue. “But you have to listen to what Dr. Straus tells you to do. You must promise not to jump in headlong to help people just because you want to help. Leave it to the professionals, all right?”

  “I promise.”

  Yeah right. Her eyes, wide and sincere, said it all. This was no look before she leapt kinda woman. Impulsive was her middle name, and damn the torpedoes.

  He’d bet his custom Taurus 1911, rosewood grip and all, that she would jump in where angels feared to tread, and get in everyone’s way while she was at it. Enthusiasm didn’t make up for actual knowledge. He’d better keep a trained eye on her while he was here. Screwing up wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

  Abi’s government couldn’t provide security or services for the millions who needed it. He was doing a herculean job as it was. Added to his own people, whom he had to feed and protect, were millions of refugees he was allowing to cross his borders for protection.

  The fighting between government and rebel forces was resulting in attacks and human rights violations against civilians. The north of Mallaruza was in a state of crisis as civilians were caught between rebels, government forces, and armed bandits.

  Abi had his job cut out for him on every front.

  The least Simon could do was help him with his small request. Find the wizard tango who thought he could manipulate Abi for his own, as yet unidentified, purposes. Easy enough to do both.

  Abi picked up the phone. While he gave his aide instructions to equip Ms. Goodall with everything she’d asked for, Simon ran a critical eye up and down the woman, sitting hands clasped between her knees. She was practically vibrating with impatience. To get out of there? To kiss a boyfriend good-bye before she left? To grab a shower before her hasty departure? he thought dryly.

  “All right. Your supply trucks and three doctors will meet you outside in four hours. You can lead them to the village. Then you stay clear while they do what they can.”

  “Four hours?!” Horrified, she shot to her feet. “That’s way too long—”

  “It’s as long as it’ll take to gather what you need, and collect the doctors from their various posts.”

  She stuffed her fists deep into her pockets, then visibly relaxed her shoulders. “I know. Sorry. It’s just that…” she trailed off, frustrated.

  “I know, Kess. I know. Those are my people dying.” Abi rose and walked around the edge of his desk to clasp a large hand on her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, then stepped back, his expression somber. “Be careful.”

  “I will,” she assured him, already striding to the door and her getaway. She hesitated, hand on the ornate brass door handle. “It’s a privilege working for you, Mr. President. I hate to think how many more millions of your people would be dead if not for your compassion. Thank you.”

  Simon barely had time to shimmer across the room and whisper in Abi’s ear, “Tell her you want your friend to go back with her. I’ll leave Nomis with you.” Nomis was Simon’s name for his alter persona. Being able to be in two places at once was one of his powers. A good one to have in the counterterrorist business. T-FLAC frequently got two for the price of one with him.

  “Kess, just a minute.” Abi halted her before she could pull the door open. “As a precaution I’d like my good friend Simon Blackthorne to go with you. I don’t like the idea of you driving back on your own. Especially as the village is so close to the border.”

  A slight frown pulled Simon’s brows together. She hadn’t mentioned the location of the village. Unless they were working off of previous intel, which was possible.

  “I won’t be alone, I’ll have—”

  “Medical personnel doing their jobs.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. Simon’s gut tightened. Must be indigestion. No way would his libido kick in with “Kess.” No way. Hell, he even knew why. One of his worst foster mothers had been slovenly, with a mean right hook and a glint in her eye that said if it weren’t for CPS knowing where six-year-old Simon was, he’d be dead.

  Simon required his women to be fastidious and well groomed, so having his pulses jump, and his libido rise—for Goodall, was an aberration. Disconcerting to say the least. Fortunately, it would pass.

  “Right,” she said, resigned to having a babysitter on the return trip. “Okay. As long as he’s ready to go right away.”

  He was. Because while Abi had told her four hours, he suspected she’d be gone the second she could get out of here.

  She was already a pain in his ass.

  Simon shimmered outside Abi’s office door. A quick glance up and down the wide marble-floored corridors showed him he was alone. He materialized and knocked.

  She opened the door, a small frown between her red brows. “I—” she glanced from Simon to Abi and back again.

  Abi waved him in. “Kess, meet my friend Simon Blackthorne. Simon, Kess Goodall, my publicist.”

  “Oh.” The guy she’d seen in the hallway. “Hi,” Kess managed. Holy crap, he was gorgeous. Tall, broad, and tanned, with dark green eyes that seemed to see clear into her brain. She blinked to dispel the notion. Normally she wasn’t tongue-tied around a guy, no matter how attractive, well dressed, and suave.

  While he was a gift of sartorial splendor, even wearing plain jeans and a bright white T-shirt, she was a mess. After traveling, at breakneck speed, for four hours through the bush in an open jeep, and after spending three nights sleeping on the ground, she needed a shower and change of clothes. Desperately. He’d smiled in the hallway, but he wasn’t smiling now.

  She probably stunk to high heaven. “I have to go home and change. And shower,” she tacked on quickly.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “You’ll go w—” Her heart did a little tap dance at the image of this man squeezed i
nto her tiny shower stall with her. Wet skin. Soap. Slippery skin on slippery skin. “What? No,” she said a little too vehemently. “I mean, no, just wait for me downstairs. I’ll be back in an hour.” Fifty-six minutes of that scrubbing off bushveldt.

  He glanced back at President Bongani. “The backup supply trucks will be here—”

  “At three,” the president told him.

  Kess wasn’t waiting another four hours to start back. “Oh, yeah. Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs at three. You’ll need to bring a sleeping bag and enough supplies for three or four days.”

  “No problem.”

  She bet not. The man looked like he could handle just about anything. Good to know, because he was in for a shock when he saw the condition of the villagers. “I hope you have a strong stomach.” She wanted to put him off. She really, really didn’t want the distraction of him in the medical camp. “It’s really bad. Lots of blood, people throwing up everywhere. No proper toilets—”

  “I get the picture,” he said, cutting off her litany of gross things he should anticipate.

  “Don’t worry, Kess.” The president clasped his friend on the shoulder. “Simon can handle any thing.”

  “I’m sure he can.” She sounded as gloomy as she felt. It was going to be impossible to concentrate with the guy around. Kess wanted to lean into him just a little, to inhale the dizzying fragrance of his skin. Damn he smelled good. There was a faint tang of citrus mixed in with the fresh smell of the sea. He smelled…lickable.

  Oh, please. Get a grip, she told herself sternly. She was hallucinating. She just wasn’t accustomed to people smelling as…clean as this guy did. The men and women she’d been with for the last couple of weeks had to wash where and when they could. A shower was an unheard-of luxury. Yeah. He smelled clean. She didn’t. That was it.

  No it wasn’t. Everything about him made her want to fling herself into his arms and yell “Take me, take me.” She bit back a grin at what his response to that would be.

  Pulling on her baseball cap, she snugged it down low on her forehead. She hadn’t had sex in—three years? No wonder she was salivating. Simon Black-whatever was great-looking and exuded sex appeal. A few days spent at the medical camp would dirty him up some, and she’d be too busy to have lusty thoughts about him. She hoped.