Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 (12 page)

Instead she smiled. “You’re not going anywhere. I promise.”

In that moment he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. It was a raw, primal, possessive need, and it glowed in his stomach like a stubborn ember.

“Go back to the cabin and get washed up,” she instructed, stepping out of his grasp. “I’ll meet you at the car in an hour.”

He had to smile at her tone, which brooked no argument. Who knew taking orders could be so much fun?

Nicola was perched on the hood of car when he arrived, one bare leg crossed over the other. She arched an appraising brow as he approached.

“You clean up okay, Sergeant.”

“Occasionally I make an effort.” He opened her door and helped her into the high cab, then climbed in beside her.

“Cedric drew me a map.” She switched on the dome light and unfolded a piece of paper on the dash. Cedric’s instructions were spare but precise.

“We’ll find it.” He started the engine. “Namaza’s only got about five streets. How hard can it be?”

Warren regretted his arrogance as soon as they pulled away from the mine. The site’s industrial glow disappeared as they rounded the first bend, leaving him to navigate the unevenly paved, pothole-pitted road in complete darkness. He flicked on the high beams and settled in for a long drive.

Between the poor visibility and torn-up asphalt it took over an hour to make the thirty-minute trip into Namaza, but with Nicola chattering happily at his side the time passed quickly. Nonetheless he was relieved to pull up in the restaurant parking lot and cut the engine. While Nicola stood to one side he quickly shined a flashlight on all four tires to check for obvious punctures.

“I’ll check the pressure when we get back to Hambani, but everything looks okay.”

“If I’d realized the road would be that hard to drive at night, I would’ve suggested sneaking food from the canteen back to the cabins.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He took her arm and led her to the door. “It takes a lot more than a few potholes to stop me.”

“That sounds like a challenge. I don’t suppose—oh.”

He looked past the door he’d held open for her and immediately understood her disappointment. Café Madeleine had an impressively preserved façade, with a series of pastel-painted arches supporting a second-story verandah, with a placard at the topping of the building announcing its construction in 1930.

The interior was a different story. What had probably been beautiful hardwood floors were scratched and scarred, the walls were papered in an ugly floral pattern that peeled as violently as if it was protesting its own existence, and the dining area consisted of a series of mismatched tables of varying sizes and qualities arranged in uneven rows.

And it was completely empty.

“
Bonsoir mademoiselle et monsieur, bienvenue.
” A reedy waiter with a red-striped tea towel draped ambitiously over his arm rushed to the door to greet them. He gushed in rapid-fire French, ushering them to a table and yanking out Nicola’s chair with a deep bow.

“I guess we’re staying,” he muttered, taking the seat opposite hers. The waiter handed out menus then retreated to the bar, watching them keenly from the other side of the room.

“Think of it as an investment in the local economy.” She opened the menu. “What do you think?”

He scanned the short list of entrees. “Stick to what’s probably sourced locally. With all the power cuts they get around here, you can’t trust anything frozen.

“Shrimp is out, then.”

“And the Norwegian salmon.” He’d barely glanced up and the waiter scurried over, pad at the ready.

“
Mademoiselle?
”

Nicola ordered grilled chicken and two glasses of wine, and Warren pointed to what he was fairly confident was the steak. The waiter seemed inordinately pleased as he rushed off to the kitchen, and with the exclusion of the bartender idly wiping spotless glasses, they were left alone in the expansive room.

“So.” She folded her arms on the table. “Are we on a date?”

“Of course not. This is either a business meeting or foreplay. Entirely up to you.”

“Someone’s in a better mood,” she remarked.

“Well, which is it?”

“Who says it can’t be both?”

“Do you normally mix work and pleasure?”

“Never.” She smiled coyly. “Do you?”

“My work tends to be a pleasure killer.”

“How so?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Cape Town’s not a small city, and I’m its best explosives expert. I’ve had to suddenly excuse myself from a lot of romantic dinners.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Stuff happens.”

“So, in five minutes I stand up and walk out the door, leaving you to eat dinner and drive home on your own. That’s fine?”

She arched a brow. “You think I’ve never eaten alone?”

“You don’t strike me as someone who needs to.”

“Flatterer,” she teased. A few minutes later the waiter appeared with their meals, trailed by the bartender, who held two glasses of wine. They exchanged a glance and set down the plates and glasses in one smooth, synchronized motion, then retreated again to their posts.

“The truth is, when you’re a high-flying, mega-powerful mining executive—” she paused to wink at him, “—you spend a lot of time by yourself. Airports, hotels, overnight layovers in cities you don’t see an inch of. Want to know what it’s like to feel totally isolated while surrounded by hundreds of people? Be a woman at a mining conference. You don’t even need a social responsibility agenda to repel those around you. Breasts will be more than sufficient.”

The steak was surprisingly succulent and perfectly cooked, but that’s not what made his mouth water. “Rest assured, I don’t find your breasts remotely repellent.”

“I gathered as much.”

“But it’s worth it? The lonely meals in hotels and asshole commodity traders on airplanes—the job makes it all worthwhile?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Nicola lowered her fork and took a long look out the window. When she turned back, her expression had lost its playfulness. “I don’t know. Hambani is something else.”

He nodded for her to elaborate.

She sighed. “The wounds in this country are so fresh they’re practically bleeding. The atmosphere in the settlement was so hard, cynical, like they’re sick of white people rolling in and peddling hope that’s never delivered. And the mine, all those weapons—I’ve never seen anything like it. It feels like this whole place is sitting on a stack of dynamite and someone’s holding a match—we just don’t know who or why or where.”

“I can’t disagree,” he replied honestly. “But we’re not done yet.
I’m
not done yet. We’ll get to the bottom of this, and we’ll leave this place better than we found it.”

Her smile was evidence his words had the desired effect. If only he could believe them, too.

They finished their unexpectedly delicious entrees, split an equally tasty dessert and lingered over coffee until it was after nine o’clock. Although their waiter had been excessively helpful and friendly, Warren didn’t want him to have to make his way back to whatever remote part of town his salary afforded too late into the evening. He signaled for the bill, paid, and soon they were on their way out to the car.

As in most of the small mining towns he’d visited, by this time the streets had emptied of everyone but young men, most of whom were in the process of blowing their wages on gambling or alcohol. Five men loitered around a white pickup parked on the opposite side of the road, and he kept a careful eye on them as he opened Nicola’s door.

“Check that out.” She clucked her tongue. “That can’t be real blood, right?”

She pointed at a poster on the wall of a building, in which the newly inaugurated president—a Kibangu on the victorious side of the recent civil war—smiled benevolently in a public service ad. It was in French, so Warren couldn’t make out exactly what the president was exhorting people to do, but it didn’t matter. He was far more focused on the graffiti slanting across the politician’s face.

“What’s that supposed to be? A sheep? I don’t get it.” She leaned forward, squinting at the crude markings scrawled in animal blood.

What had Cedric said that morning? About the Matsulus and the old ways?
The lion, the gorilla, the jackal…

“It’s a goat.”

She turned sharply. “What?”

“Look at the horns. It’s a goat. It must be a Matsulu sign of disrespect.”

Even in the poor lighting of the parking lot he could see the color drain from her face. She was thinking the same thing he was—remembering the bared teeth, the eyeless sockets.

He glanced back at the pickup across the street. Two men had left and two others had climbed inside. The fifth stood in the open driver’s-side door, staring straight at him.

It was too dark to see the man’s eyes, but Warren didn’t need to. He knew they were green.

“Get in the car,” he urged without looking away. He reached to the small of his back, slowly withdrew the Glock but held it out of sight.

“Warren, what’s going on?”

“Get in. We’re leaving.”

Chapter Ten

“You’re sure it was him? The same guy from the settlement?”

“Positive.” Warren’s jaw was clenched so tightly that every angle stood out in stark relief. Nicola realized she was wringing her hands in her lap and wrenched them apart, shoving them under her thighs.

The road back to Hambani seemed impossibly long, as though it had tripled in distance while they had been sitting in the restaurant. Warren’s initial haste had already clunked them in and out of a couple of potholes, but when he slowed the car to be more careful her sense of claustrophobic entrapment only grew. With no streetlights and only a sliver of a moon, the world beyond the windows was so dark they might as well have been in an underwater tunnel instead of a rural road in the middle of sprawling countryside.

“But he said he has no problem with us, right? We should have nothing to fear from him.”

“He told us to leave.”

“So?”

“We’re still here.”

She sank her teeth into her lower lip. Okay, so some random guy told them to leave Latadi, and now they’d spotted him in town. That didn’t mean anything, not really. For all they knew he could be a total crackhead, spouting all kinds of nonsense at anyone who would listen.

Although he’d been at the mine, too. Was he an employee there? It would be hard to find out without his name—the HR database didn’t have a search function for eerie green eyes. Maybe he wasn’t a permanent employee with all the access that granted. He’d probably just snuck in on a borrowed ID card in a borrowed boiler suit.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure which was worse. That he had legitimate entry to the site, or that he was capable of evading its dense security.

“I’m sure it’s a just a coincidence. It’s not like Namaza has that many places to go out. I bet he doesn’t even remember your conversation in the settlement—he was probably drunk.”

Warren’s silence wasn’t the reassurance she’d hoped for.

“Anyway,” she persisted, “so what if he
does
remember us? That doesn’t necessarily mean he has some sinister plan, or that he has harmful intentions. Maybe he was trying to give you an honest warning that he thought was for your own good. Maybe he’s not the type to hurt anyone, let alone—”

“We’re being followed.”

“What?” she squeaked, her voice suddenly taking on an unattractively high pitch that she couldn’t bring down. “By who?”

“I can’t see yet. They’re hanging back.”

She twisted in her seat. A single pair of headlights punctuated the inky black, dipping and weaving as the vehicle evaded the same potholes they’d snaked around minutes earlier.

“How do you know they’re following us? Maybe they’re—”

“Where does this road go?”

“Hambani.”

“Any turnoffs?”

“Not from this point, not after—”

“And who’s allowed access to the mine at this time of night?”

Needlessly she glanced at the clock on the dash, her heart sinking even before she registered the time. “The site’s closed to visitors. The night shift’s admitted at nine o’clock and there’s no further entry until six.”

She dropped back in her seat. “What do we do?”

“Watch. Wait. Hope they don’t do anything stupid.”

“What would you consider stupid?”

“Fucking with me.”

And with those three words her heartbeat slowed, her panic subsided. It might prove to be her most reckless judgment call, but in that instant she trusted Warren implicitly. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She was as safe in this car as in her own bed.

Emboldened, she looked out the back window, ready to sneer at the idiocy of their pursuers.

Instead she felt her arrogance wilt like a week-old bouquet. “Have they gotten closer?”

He didn’t reply, his gaze darting between the road and the rearview mirror. She leaned around the edge of her seat, daring another look. The headlights loomed bigger and nearer than before. They were gaining ground.

She wasn’t sure which happened first—Warren’s urgent shout for her to get down, or his sudden grip on her arm as he shoved her below the headrest. She was still trying to figure out the sequence when the first shot rang out, sharp and echoing, sending her heart leaping into her throat.

“What the hell?” she shrieked, ducking in her seat. “What’s going on?”

The engine roared as he floored the accelerator. “They’re trying to hit the tires.”

“But why?”

“We’re clearly more use alive. Maybe they want information. Or hostages.”

Another bullet glanced off the back of the truck with a metallic
clink
. Warren fought to keep the car steady, never losing speed as he swerved to compensate for the impact.

“I saw the muzzle flash in the rearview,” he muttered, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Only one weapon’s been fired. Shooter’s in the passenger seat.”

A third shot thudded into the road beside them.

“Okay, two weapons.”

Nicola pressed her back against the seat. She squeezed her eyes shut, indulging in a single moment of unrestrained fear. Then she swallowed her swelling panic, took a deep breath and sat up.

“What do we do?”

He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Switch places.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of phoning the security booth at Hambani.”

“They’ll never reach us in time. Shift over here. If you climb into my lap, you can take over the pedals while I move out from under you.”

“Only because you bought me dinner first.” She released the catch on her seatbelt and scooted across the gearbox. He tugged her into the space between his thighs and the bottom of the wheel. She took over steering just in time to avoid a deep pothole, jerking the truck to the left and then back to the center of the lane.

“Forget the clutch, just keep the speed up and stay in gear. Are you ready?”

“Not at all.”

“Perfect.”

Before she had a chance to panic he slipped out from under her, and she slammed her foot on the accelerator. The shafts of illumination from the headlights bounced and juddered along the uneven asphalt, and she had to squint through the windshield to see the road.

Warren slid into the passenger side and she dropped into her seat, instantly realizing it was pushed so far back to accommodate his long legs that she could barely reach the pedals. She hunkered forward, perching on the very edge, her calf straining as she floored the accelerator.

Another gunshot cracked through the night. She squeezed the wheel until it dug into her palms, weaving between two potholes, the muscles in her legs trembling from the mix of adrenaline and terror.

He was kneeling on the passenger seat, facing backward, gun propped beside the headrest. She glanced at the rear of the car, then snapped her gaze back to the road.

“What are you going to—”

This time the shot was right next to her ear, and followed by the dull sound of coated glass slivers scattering onto the asphalt as the back window shattered. She jumped at the unexpected noise, nearly sending the car into the ditch beside the road.

“Think you could warn me next time?” she snapped, raising her voice to be heard over the roaring engine.

“Sorry,” he called. “I’m going to shoot out their front tires. Shout if there’s a big pothole. I don’t want to miss.”

“Will do.”

He hunched forward, peering down the barrel of the gun. She stole a look at the back window in the rearview mirror. Splintered glass hung around the edges, leaving a hole that couldn’t be more than nine or ten inches in diameter. The dual beams of the pursuing headlights seemed closer than ever, throwing the jagged shards still clinging to the frame into sharp relief.

“Gotcha,” Warren murmured, and fired.

This time she was ready for the shot, but not the hollow
bang
and metallic screech that followed. The interior of the car seemed like a nightclub with a short circuit as the headlights behind them jolted and swung, streaking across her mirrors in a bright flash before they disappeared altogether.

She kept the pressure on the accelerator, not daring to hope they were in the clear. “What happened?”

“I took out one tire and the driver lost control. Keep going, they may be able to change it and come after us.”

Her leg was numb from stretching to reach the pedal but she held it to the floor, scooting forward to exert as much pressure as she could. A shallow pothole appeared on the right-hand side and she steered to avoid it.

Suddenly the wheel was loose in her hands, the whole steering shaft vibrating as the back end fishtailed, sending them toward the ditch at the edge of the pavement. She fought to keep control and that’s when it all registered—the distant gunshot, the impact on the rear door, Warren’s hissed curse as he scrambled into the backseat and returned fire through the hole in the window.

“Don’t stop,” he shouted, but she didn’t have much choice. As the car skidded she slipped off her precarious perch, her foot coming off the accelerator as she hurried to regain her seating. She slammed it back in place, praying the car hadn’t come out of gear, recovering her grip on the wheel just in time to yank it to miss a wide pothole.

But not quickly enough to avoid the even bigger one beside it.

The front left wheel dropped into the crater with a sickening crunch. The whole car tilted heavily, sending her sliding into the driver’s-side door as the engine stalled. In barely a second they went from hurtling down the road to completely stationary, stranded halfway out of a pothole. The night seemed eerily quiet, the silence punctuated by the low buzz of insects.

She cast a terrified glance in Warren’s direction, scared less of his reproach than his disappointment.

He didn’t even look at her, remaining focused on the darkness beyond the rear window.

“Don’t panic. Put the car in gear and keep going.” His tone was calm and reassuring, without a hint of irritation.

She righted herself and stole a second to drag the seat forward so she could finally reach the pedals. She propped her right foot above the accelerator, left above the clutch, and desperately tried to remember how she’d gotten the damn thing started at the airport.

Nope, she had nothing.

“Put it in neutral and hold down the clutch,” he instructed, as if he could sense her confusion. “Turn the key in the ignition.”

“And then raise the clutch while pressing the accelerator,” she concluded, her ability to think sloshing back into her head like a bucket of soapy water.

“It has a high biting point so let the clutch get halfway up.”

She did, and in the next instant the engine was doing its rugged equivalent of purring. She eased the vehicle out of the pothole, then hastened up the gears until they were once again racing along the road toward the mine.

“Any sign of them back there?”

“Not yet.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Warren was crouched on the backseat, gun aimed out the broken window.

“You should put on your seatbelt. I don’t want to get a ticket.”

“The way you drive, my seatbelt is the least of our concerns.”

“Say something about women drivers and you’re walking the rest of the way.”

“I would never.”

He appeared at her elbow, hauled himself into the cab and dropped into the passenger seat. She eyed him cautiously, allowing a tiny ember of relief to flare in her chest.

“Are they gone?”

“For now. Even if they put on a spare, we’re nearly to Hambani. I don’t think they’ll chance getting any closer.”

“What did they want?”

“Not to kill us. Their aim wasn’t that accurate, but those were wounding shots. They definitely planned to take us alive.”

“Take us?” she echoed hollowly.

“I doubt anyone would instigate a high-speed chase on an empty road because they just wanted to talk.”

For a minute she said nothing, digesting the escalation of a few minor criminal incidents to a full-scale assault. The mine wasn’t the only target, now. They were, too.

“So the goat head—”

“Suggests we’re dealing with Matsulu rebels. Probably leftover guerrilla fighters who managed to evade capture at the end of the civil conflict.”

“Is that better or worse than greedy thieves trying to steal guns and gold?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe they have principles, an ideology—an agenda much bigger than us or Hambani. Or maybe they’re just hungry and angry and tired, and trying to hit out at the conquering powers wherever they can.”

“From our perspective, which would we prefer? Which is easier to fight? Radical political motives or unhappiness and desperation?”

“Desperation,” he replied immediately. “A starving man can be persuaded by three square meals in prison. But a believer? He’ll die for his cause. Every time.”

She guided the car around a bend and there it was, the bold, bright lights of Hambani piercing the heavy darkness. It loomed large on the horizon, an industrial citadel with backlit barbed-wire shadows embroidering the ground and high walls forbidding entry to any without a job to do. The faint sound of clanking machinery promised that Hambani never slept, that it was stalwart, that the digging and drilling and blasting would continue unabated, immune to the whims of those who dared challenge its purpose.

Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, ripping up the earth in pursuit of ancient metal. It was beautiful in its immutability, its unapologetic self-insistence. But as Nicola slowed the car in the approach to the gate, she asked herself a question for the first time in nearly a decade of working in mining.

Was it worth it?

Warren helped Nicola down from the cab with an unsteady hand. The high-adrenaline sense of invincibility that had powered him through the chase was gone, leaving him drained and exhausted.

She seemed even worse, stumbling as she set foot on the ground, her knees buckling. He wrapped his arm around her waist and she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, teetering but staying upright.

“I’ve spent years visiting some of the most destitute places on earth, and now one little car ride has me practically fainting. Guess I’m not as hardcore as I thought,” she muttered ruefully.