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  “You can give me directions when we get close.” Simon closed her door with an expensive snick, then walked around the front to the driver’s side and got in.

  After slamming his door he reached out and brushed his fingers over her hair. At his touch Kess’s heart started galloping, anticipating another of his toe-curling, brain-melting kisses. Instead he untangled a twig from her hair. Tossing it out the window without comment, he started the car, then pulled out of the hangar, driving across the tarmac to the exit reserved for private-plane owners.

  Well, hell. That was like expecting a Barbie camper for Christmas and getting…socks.

  So she had tree parts in her hair. So what?

  Despite a night spent who knew where, he looked well groomed, his dark hair finger-combed off his face, his T-shirt and jeans clean. His boots were only slightly dusty from their tromp downhill. She, however, felt like she’d slept on the hard ground, and wished she at least had a hairbrush. She was sure her hair looked as though she’d stuck her finger in a light socket, and her clothes were as dusty and grimy as her lovely orange boots.

  A shower would take care of her grooming concerns. She’d been out in the bush for twenty-four hours, for God’s sake. But it did tick her off that Simon always seemed immaculate, while every time he’d seen her she looked as though grooming was a last thought. She was more comfortable in pants, preferably jeans, but when was the last time she’d even worn a dress? Her lips twitched. Probably the last time she’d had sex. Maybe there was a correlation. She should do a study on it.

  “Stop fiddling with your hair. It looks fine.”

  Damned by faint praise, Kess thought darkly, dropping her arms. She actually liked her hair, and thought it was her best feature. It was thick and slightly wavy, and usually had a nice shine to it, when it wasn’t full of shrubbery. She got a lot of compliments on the unusual shade of red.

  It was normally better than “fine.” So what if it wasn’t dark, like Simon’s Stepford wife-to-be. Kess folded her arms and glared out of the side window. He shouldn’t go around kissing redheads like that if he wanted to marry a brunette. Not that she wanted to get married anytime soon. She had a career to manage. Which, up until the day before yesterday, had looked quite promising. Now, not so much. She picked at a broken fingernail, considering the odds of the shit not hitting the fan, and everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours turning out to be a random bunch of bloodthirsty Hureni warriors, and an isolated incident.

  Kess, hating to place a losing wager, switched back to thinking of Simon. She wondered where he was staying. Not the small residential hotel where she was living, she’d bet. Either he was a guest of his friend the president or he was at the one and only resort hotel on the beach. It was the best hotel in Quinisela, which wasn’t saying one whole hell of a lot. The place was fifty years old and showed its age. Not a lot of tourism in Mallaruza.

  Kess wanted to change that. The area had a certain charm, and she envisioned a row of beautiful, luxurious hotels curved around the bay. She and the president had spoken at length about developing a tourist industry to rival the one South Africa had enjoyed back in the day. It seemed an odd location, but he was building an enormous church—no, it was bigger than a church—a basilica, right across the street from the beach and a few blocks from the hotel. While exquisitely beautiful, covered with creamy marble and enough hand carving to look like an expensive wedding cake, the enormous building pretty much blocked the view if any hotels should be built.

  But first she had to make sure that Mallaruza was in the news only for the good the leader of the country was doing. Her job was to accent the positive. Hard to freaking do when an entire team of medical personnel had just been butchered for no apparent reason. She’d put out a press release as soon as she got to her hotel, before the media discovered the horrific news.

  It was ironic that Simon had to show up now, of all times, Kess thought. Talk about bad timing, and the wrong guy. She didn’t have months to persuade him that brunettes weren’t that special. But damn it, she couldn’t get that kiss out of her mind. And she had to. There were a hundred and one reasons, not the least of which was that Simon had already told her point-blank who his dream woman was. And it wasn’t her.

  Kess glanced up at the darkening sky as they took the potholed streets into the city proper. Even if she and Simon were perfectly compatible, which she knew they weren’t, he was only here for a short-term visit.

  She was here for the long haul. She had so much to prove to all her detractors. She was working quadruple time bringing Mallaruza and its president to the notice of the world; her boss was up for reelection in less than a week; the civil war on the border was escalating. And in six weeks she had to return to Atlanta for her court appearance.

  The thought of defending her actions in a court of law depressed her. But it was time to give her side of the debacle in the firm’s Atlanta office last summer. She sighed.

  “Okay?”

  “Hmm?”

  His brow furrowed. “You sure got quiet. I asked if you were okay.”

  Let’s see, she thought. She was in lust with a secretive man whose kisses made her dream of white picket fences. She had to salvage her reputation, tenuous as it was. For that she had to return to a city that had vilified her in the small public relations community and made her name mud. Yeah, no sweat. And she had to make sure that her boss was reelected in a country that thought killing was an acceptable form of communication.

  She was fine and dandy. “Sure.”

  Kess almost bit her tongue as the car dipped and bounced over a series of deep potholes impossible to avoid. The sun disappeared behind a bank of dark clouds, and the air felt thickly oppressive. It was going to rain. And when it rained here it was a downpour. She wanted to go home, shower, forget about Simon and Atlanta, and be in her city hall office before the deluge hit.

  “Damn. I just realized. My camera equipment was in your car. Someone will have to go and take pictures before they remove the bodies. Maybe there are clues—”

  “I took pictures.” Simon handled the big car with ease. Kess suspected he did everything with ease. Including commandeering a helicopter and producing a waiting car. “Already sent them in for analysis, and there’s a team on their way out there now to investigate and remove the bodies and return the remains to the families.”

  “You’re very efficient. What did you do? Give the SIM card to the pilots? What was it you said you did for a living? A builder, right?”

  “Contractor. Not builder. I’m a counterterrorist operative for an organization called T-FLAC.”

  Oh shit! That kind of contractor. Please tell me not. She’d known he was holding information back, and she hadn’t expected such an honest answer. “What does that mean? Are you saying there are terrorists for you to counter in Mallaruza?”

  “There are terrorists everywhere.”

  “But here in particular?”

  “I’m looking into it.”

  She believed him. Her eyes widened as she realized the connotation of his job. “Oh, my God, this is going to be a public relations nightmare.”

  “What is?”

  Kess waved her hands. “All of it.” Okay, she thought, her brain shuffling through options, maybe not. Simon would deal with the terrorists—she had every confidence that he could do whatever was necessary. And while he did whatever he did, Abioyne Bongani would still look rosy. She’d make sure of it. “Are you here to rout out terrorists, or to help train the president’s army?” Either way would look bad. Damn it to hell.

  “That was a pretty giant leap. But that wasn’t the plan. No.”

  Twisting one leg under her, Kess turned to look at him. “Is Mallaruza going to war?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Would you tell me if you did know? Because if that is the case I have to get things—”

  “Right now, we have seven people dead, two people missing in what has all the hallmarks of a
Hureni attack.”

  “True.” Kess chewed her lip, then after a few beats while she computed what he’d just revealed, asked, “What do you mean two people missing? How can you know that? There was so much…carnage.” She shook her head as she said the words. “That’s pure speculation.”

  “Wrong. What I saw at the camp doesn’t lend it self to multiple interpretations. Straus and Viljoen weren’t there.”

  “Wait. Are you saying that Dr. Straus and Judy’s bod—That they weren’t there?” He hadn’t said a word. Not one freaking word that two people were missing. Not yesterday. Not during the night. Not today. She tensed with brimming anger, and damn it, now, hope.

  “Two people were missing. Those two.”

  “You might have mentioned this before now. Do you think—They got away! Thank God. They must’ve found a cave like we did, and hidden while—”

  “Possible, but unlikely. The attack was fast. No one would have had any warning. So unless they were somewhere else at the time, I don’t think so.”

  “But they could still be alive? It’s possible, right?” Her pulse leapt, two people had survived that bloodbath. Thank God. She envisioned a sweet survivor story that she could write to Abi’s benefit.

  “Possible? Yeah, guess so. Probable? No.”

  The finality in his tone dashed her hopes. “Maybe animals dragged them off somewhere.” Just the thought of it made Kess shudder and rub the goose bumps on her arms.

  “Possible, but I walked a mile in each direction. I didn’t see any drag marks or blood trails. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. My people will do a more thorough search in the surrounding area.”

  All the blood left her head. “We have to go back and look. Maybe—No. They wouldn’t be alive, would they? Of course not.”

  “I don’t believe animals took them.”

  “I don’t know whether to be relieved or—Are you implying that the Hureni kidnapped them?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m not even sure the Hureni were responsible.”

  Kess frowned, her intellect taking another giant step. “You think local Mallaruzi villagers killed them? Why? The doctors were there to help them. That doesn’t make any sense at all. Maybe t—”

  “How about giving that fertile imagination of yours a rest until I get some answers?”

  “I’ll certainly try,” Kess said dryly. Yes, she should stop conjuring up worst-case scenarios. But wasn’t that her job? She had to be ready to spin this to the president’s advantage. Not that a war with the neighbors could in any way be construed as an advantage. Damn it. She had to find out if the killings had been an isolated incident or the tip of a bigger problem.

  “Take a left at the next light even if it flashes red. It’s been broken as long as I’ve been here, then turn right onto Zende.”

  “This isn’t for you to figure out, Kess.” Simon shot her a glance before he turned. “Let me handle it. It’s what I do.”

  “Are you a mind reader?” she asked with a rueful smile. “You’re right. I’m not equipped to deal with this. But it is my job to know and deflect any bad press.”

  “I’ll give you a heads-up when I discover anything. Fair enough?”

  “That’s the hotel on the left—Yes. Fair enough.” He’d have to see her again.

  Simon pulled the car under the portico and a porter, seeing the president’s car, came out as if jet-propelled. “Thank you for being there. I would have been totally freaked if I’d arrived alone to see that.”

  Simon waved the porter off. “Don’t go out of town alone again, Kess. In fact, try not going any where alone. As civilized as Quinisela appears, it’s still Africa under the veneer of civilization. If the Hureni were bold enough to kill those people four hours away they might be bold enough to come into the city.”

  “I’ll ask the president’s aide, Thabo Chizobi, to give me another gun.”

  “Know how to use it?”

  “Of course.” Not that she ever wanted to. But there was no point in having a gun if she didn’t know how to use it. “Thabo gave me some lessons. I’ve practiced every day.”

  “Good. I’ll find you something lighter than the Browning. What do you have planned for today?”

  “I’ll be in my office in about an hour. I’ll be there the rest of the day, why?”

  “I’ll have a new weapon and ammo for you when you get there. I’ll send Chizobi to pick you up and bring you into the office. An hour?”

  “It’s only a couple of blocks—”

  He touched her cheek. Probably subtly wiping grime off her face. “Humor me, okay?” Simon’s fingers felt cool against her hot skin, and his touch lingered for several very fast heartbeats before he dropped his hand.

  He beckoned the porter who raced across the parking area and whipped open Kess’s door, letting in a blast of ozone-smelling, muggy air.

  She got out, awkwardly waiting for Simon to say something wonderful.

  “See you.” He leaned across the car and tugged at the passenger door.

  The second it closed, he drove off.

  Kess stared after the car as the wind tossed her hair around her head. “See me when?”

  “—Noek Joubert.” Simon finished telling Abi the details about yesterday’s mass execution. They’d talked briefly on the sat phone late the night before, but Abi wanted to hear everything again this morning. At the retelling his friend seemed to age ten years.

  “Is Joubert the wizard you were talking about?”

  Abi frowned. Simon wasn’t sure if it was at what he’d just said, or something his friend was watching on the silent plasma TV on the wall. “I was talking about?” Abi asked absently, still watching the news.

  “Yeah, Abi. The one you suspected was working with the Hureni. The one you wanted me to find?”

  Abi’s face smoothed out, but his skin had taken on an ashen cast. “I don’t think so. No. I’m sure this isn’t the guy.”

  Really? What were the odds that two powerful wizards were wandering around Mallaruza looking for trouble? “Heard of him?” Simon asked, leaning back against the leather chair in the president’s opulent office. He brought a gold-rimmed china cup of fragrant coffee to his mouth. The coffee was excellent, strong and aromatic. The fragile, ornate cup was all for show, and damn hard to handle. Simon cradled it in his hand as he glanced out of the window behind Abi, waiting for an answer.

  Fat drops of rain splattered apathetically against the windowpane and the gunmetal gray sky filled the view. Kess was probably in her small office down the hall by now. While the drops were fat, it wasn’t raining that hard. Yet. But he suspected it would be a bitch of a storm when it did. He drank the last of his coffee as he waited for Abi to answer.

  “Joubert?” Abi’s brow creased into a deep frown. “Name doesn’t sound familiar. You’d think it would. A wizard that powerful.”

  Beep! Wrong answer. Shit. Simon didn’t believe him, although Abi had hidden his reaction extremely well. He’d most certainly heard of Joubert. Knew him. Or knew of him. Simon wasn’t sure. But the name had elicited a small tightening of the muscles around Abi’s eyes. And a telltale tremor in the hand holding his saucer so that the cup rattled as he placed it casually on the desk.

  Interesting. “I have feelers out.” Simon crossed an ankle on his knee, perfectly at ease. Where had Abi’s and Joubert’s paths crossed? More important, why keep it a secret? “Should know more b—”

  “Excuse me. I want to listen to this.” Abi grabbed up the remote and pointed it at the TV.

  “…current government of Mallaruza has a primary responsibility to protect its civilian population, and must therefore stop the army, including the presidential guard, from committing human rights abuses,” Jungo Kamau said grimly, looking directly into the camera.

  Abi’s opponent, and currently the county’s financial compass, was spit-and-polished for his interview, but had the air of a man who’d had little sleep and carried a shitload of problems on his narrow shoulders
. With just cause, Simon thought.

  “While I applaud President Bongani’s efforts, he must hold perpetrators accountable.” Kamau’s hands, clasped on the desk in front of him, went white-knuckled. “Human rights agencies have to be allowed to establish a presence here. We can’t do this alone. Especially with this virulent sickness sweeping through our country.”

  The reporter, a white South African woman with cotton-candy yellow hair and large blue eyes, assumed the faux, overly concerned expression used by most television journalists. “The president has offered asylum to anyone who needs it. Some consider him a saint.”

  “Some might,” Kamau said flatly. “But look around you. We can’t support our own people. Inviting millions of refugees into our country, while seemingly altruistic, is just straining our already overburdened resources.”

  “What do you think of the president’s construction of Africa’s largest cathedral, Mr. Kamau?”

  “I don’t think—I know. Mr. Bongani is spending hundreds of millions we don’t have to—”

  “Just a faggot shooting off his mouth.” Abi turned off the TV, tossing the control onto his desk. “He doesn’t have any idea what the fuck he is talking about.”

  Since the guy was the country’s comptroller, Simon suspected Abi’s opponent knew to the penny what he was talking about. He’d brought up some good points. But Abi was clearly pissed off by the interview. “Abi, about Joubert—”

  There was a sharp rap at the door. A second later Chizobi, Abi’s assistant, came in. His closely cropped hair glittered with scattered raindrops, and he wiped his damp face on a pristine white handkerchief. “Excuse me, ubaba.” He stuffed the cloth in his suit pant pocket.

  An elemental itch on the back of his neck made Simon set his cup back in the saucer on the edge of the desk and give the older man a more thorough inspection. In his late fifties, five-ten Chizobi was as skinny as a garden snake. He was in a position affording him respect, and relative wealth, in a country that saw its people eking out an existence as best they could, and he dressed the part in a shiny navy suit and white shirt accompanied by a skinny black string tie. He reminded Simon a little of the late Sammy Davis Jr. Without the glass eye.