Fever

Hired gun Zak Chambers expects to provide a simple escort service to philanthropist Sara Ambrosini, but nothing is as simple as it seems, especially love.

Zak Chambers is a disillusioned hired gun who longs for a connection with life beyond her sat-phone and assignments she can’t share with anyone. Her boss lines up a cushy escort job to Africa to give her time to refocus.

But the country she loved as a child holds memories she isn’t ready to face. Adding to her ambivalence about returning is the immensely attractive Sara Ambrosini, head of Ambrosini Philanthropic, who sees everything through the rose-colored glasses of wealth and privilege. Zak’s task is to provide security for Sara until they reach the future site of her primary school for tribal children in the bush country. But Zak soon discovers that Sara’s stubbornness and independence aren’t the only obstacles to the success of her assignment.

Fever

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Fever

© 2010 By VK Powell. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-341-9

This Electronic book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,

New York, USA

First Edition: February 2010

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Shelley Thrasher and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri([email protected])

To Protect and Serve

Suspect Passions

Fever

It would not be possible to do the work I love without the support and encouragement of amazing friends. Each of you brings a special gift to my life, and I am grateful.

To Len Barot, deep appreciation for allowing me to be a “writer.” It makes my heart sing. And to each person in the amazing Bold Strokes family who reads, tweaks, massages, and improves my imperfect product, I say thank you.

For Dr. Shelley Thrasher, much gratitude for your guidance (subtle and otherwise), suggestions, and kindness. You help me view my work with fresh eyes.

To all the readers who support and encourage my writing, thank you for buying my work, visiting my Web site (www.powellvk.com), sending e-mails, and showing up for signings. You make my “job” so much fun!

To the four fantastic women who shared my once-in-a-lifetime vacation: Dawn S. Chaney, Julia Huff-Jerome, Carole Morse, and Carol Place. Thank you for the memories.

The heavy London rain sounded like birdshot against the aluminum hull of the small corporate jet. Zak Chambers struggled not to bolt as wind gusts rocked it where it sat on the tarmac. Confined places didn’t usually bother her, but any sound resembling weapons fire made her antsy. She flattened her back against the wall beside the open doorway and surveilled the area outside the plane. Satisfied that things were as normal as usual at Heathrow around dusk, she grabbed the sides of the door and leaned out, hoping the prickly raindrops that washed over her face and chest would restore a sense of control to her little piece of the universe.

Zak scraped her fingers through her thick mop of short hair, wishing the motion would contain the unwanted feelings that had haunted her for days. Then she chastised herself for her momentary weakness and returned her attention to the aircraft. In less than half an hour a new client would arrive. She still had to load supplies and review her flight plan before this ritzy hotel room was airworthy.

She transferred the last case of bottled water from the loading platform, trying not to inhale another lungful of jet fumes and saturated night air. According to Captain Stewart, this assignment would be more of a vacation than work. Some corporate do-gooder wanted to build a primary school for tribal children in the African bush and needed an escort to the site. She could hear Stewart’s voice clearly. “It’s a pie job, Ebony. Easy in, easy out, easy money. Take a few extra days and enjoy yourself.” But this certainly wasn’t the kind of assignment for which the Company had trained her and at which she had excelled for the past twelve years.

Fourteen months earlier she’d insinuated herself into the life of a bright young woman with a promising future, Mark 235. Knowing her real name would have personalized her and rendered Zak professionally impotent. She was to seduce 235 and determine how fully she was betraying government secrets. During their time together 235 was suspected of espionage, blacklisted from government work, and faced criminal charges. Through it all, Zak pretended to be a devoted lover, comforting and consoling, until she learned that Mark 235 had been framed. Then, against Company policy, Zak remained in play long enough to clear 235 before she relinquished her role. But the bitter taste of deceit clawed its way up her throat as she remembered the devastation on the woman’s face when she walked out of the apartment, saying only that it was over.

Explaining was not usually possible in her line of work, but for the first time in her career Zak actually wanted to. And for the first time she needed to recharge her depleted energy, repair her bruised defenses, and rein in her frayed emotions. But she hadn’t had time. She felt raw and unprepared for another assignment, especially one with the potential to stir up old feelings.

Maybe Stewart sensed her growing discontent with jobs that constantly subverted her basic beliefs. Maybe he was trying to give her that much-needed respite. If so, why this Africa assignment? More so than most, Stewart knew the bittersweet connection she had with the country and its people. It had been three years and she was in no hurry to go back, even on a drop-off. Too many things could, and often did, go wrong in Africa.

Zak pulled the remaining items from the platform, along with her worn black leather rucksack. This sixteen by twenty-four-inch bag contained everything she owned and valued. She took it everywhere. If it wasn’t in this bag, she didn’t need it. Less than forty-eight hours ago she took a final dip in the Indian Ocean off the west coast of Australia, packed her bag, and left the only place she’d called home since early adulthood. Though it had been the site of a mission, it had started to feel more like a home.

So maybe a hiatus was exactly what Zak needed. Time could be a friend or an enemy, and for now she wanted it to crawl slowly by while she put herself back together and figured out what she really wanted. Certainly nothing or no one kept her in London, Paris, or anywhere else she’d been in her career, so Africa was probably as good a place as any to get answers. It was, after all, where all the questions started.

Zak picked up the manifest, checked off each item one final time, and wondered about the woman she would accompany. The boss had given her very little information about the client, and the pilot was equally tight-lipped, even after she offered him a hefty bribe. He’d just smiled and said, “Some things you have to experience for yourself.”

After stowing her rucksack under the seat directly behind the pilot and closest to the exit, Zak slid down the wet step railing and did a quick external check of the plane. She wanted nothing more than a quiet nine-hour flight during which she could refocus and prepare for the assignment. She needed time to stuff her feelings about Mark 235 and Africa back into a nice tidy mental compartment.

She finished her examination, scooted under the belly of the aircraft, and climbed the steps, mentally calculating the minutes of solitude before she was on the job again. “Too few,” she mumbled aloud as another shower soaked her and a white stretch limo pulled onto the tarmac. “Always too few.”

*

“For God’s sake, Rikki, let me close the privacy screen.” Sara Ambrosini wiggled out of her lover’s clutches and pushed the divider button, giving her driver an apologetic shrug.

“Fuck it. I need some farewell nooky. Fucking Africa.” Rikki ripped off her shirt and pulled up her skirt in one swoop, all the while nodding toward the chauffeur. “That’s one of the perks of hiring friends. Lois has seen us naked before.”

“Not in the back seat of the company limo.”

Rikki straddled her partner’s lap, reaching for Sara’s hand. “Touch me, baby.”

As Sara let Rikki guide her to the desired spot between her legs she couldn’t help but wonder where her lover’s ardor had been the night before. Their layover, after the six-hour flight from New York, hadn’t been as intimate as Sara would’ve liked. Rikki insisted on spending the evening at the Lair, a new lesbian hot spot, instead of enjoying the romantic farewell dinner at home that Sara hoped for. She acceded to Rikki’s wishes, again.

Sara eased her fingers inside Rikki’s hot opening and was amazed, as always, at how wet and ready she was. Rikki’s head rolled back and forth with Sara’s touch, her long blond hair sliding across her perky breasts like a windblown scarf. Grinding into Sara’s palm, Rikki squeezed her own breasts and pinched the nipples until she screamed. Rikki would come in a few seconds, and Sara wondered, not for the first time recently, why Rikki needed her at all. She was quite adept at satisfying herself, or if rumors could be trusted, at finding someone to do it for her in Sara’s absence.

But Sara chose not to believe the rumors. She and Rikki had been together nine months and were considering a more permanent commitment. Part of that commitment included buying a home and eventually becoming partners in the business, so trust was paramount. Rikki hated being alone, but Sara had to believe she would honor their relationship.

“Oh, yesss, baby, yes, that’s it.” Rikki slid her sex across Sara’s hand one final time and collapsed against her. “You’re so damn good.”

Before Sara could respond, Rikki was getting dressed. She paused as if reconsidering, then unenthusiastically reached for the buttons on Sara’s blouse. “What about you, baby?”

“I’m okay. Besides, we’re almost at the airport. There’s no time.”

She really
wasn’t
okay. She’d hoped for a quiet evening, just the two of them, to say her good-byes. Sara needed the connectedness of real intimacy, not a quickie in the back of a limo. But she wanted their last night together to be memorable for Rikki, so she’d given in.