Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 (13 page)

“Did any of those other visits involve getting shot at?”

“I was in a taxi in Caracas when there was a drive-by on the other side of the street. Does that count?”

“They were aiming at someone else. Not really the same.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the headquarters building, which seemed as dark and uninhabited as the road they’d just sped down. “I guess everyone’s gone to bed. Maybe we should drive back to the cabins. I’m not sure either of us is up to the walk.”

She didn’t reply, and when he looked down he found a battleground of warring emotions on her face.

“Hey.” He curved his index finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “What isn’t? We’ve got sheds blowing up, illegal weapons hidden around the property, safety standards that would give the risk department a heart attack, random animal parts turning up on my doorstep, and now we’ve barely escaped being kidnapped. I pride myself on my due diligence and flexibility, that I can turn up to any of Garraway’s mines anywhere in the world and jump straight in to help. But at Hambani? I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Or if I should be here at all.”

He watched her for a few seconds, saw the self-doubt and helplessness and frustration fighting for dominance. He understood. Any one of those was preferable to fear.

“Are you always this hard on yourself?”

“Only when I fail this badly.”

“You haven’t failed,” he told her with absolute conviction. He cupped her cheeks, which were as soft and smooth as the skin of a ripe plum. “You’re smart and resourceful, and you’ll find a way through this. I’ll be right behind you when you do.”

She opened her mouth, ready to protest, so he silenced her with a kiss and smiled inwardly at her tiny squeak of surprise as their lips met.

As her body melted against his and her arms slipped around his waist, he forced himself to keep the pace slow and even. When he’d kissed her in the kitchen last night, he’d been so pumped full of adrenaline and anger that he’d responded with an instant, barely contained hunger. So much had happened in the short time since then, from their night in her cabin to the moment he sent Roger to the floor. He wanted this to be different. He wanted her to know there was more to him than fistfights, gunshots and a bad temper.

He poured his heart into the kiss, and he felt her respond in kind. The movement of their mouths together was alternately tender and fevered, bold and wary, playful and earnest, and every bit as complicated yet persistent as the burgeoning connection between them seemed to be.

Soon he felt the hot delirium of arousal pulling at the edges of his awareness, accompanied by its throbbing physical manifestation. He fought to hold himself together, to contain the raw lust that tugged ever harder at his rational mind. He eased his hands beneath her jacket to encircle the narrow contours of her waist.

As her teeth grazed the inside of his lower lip, he felt his control slipping. He spread his palms over the taut curves of her behind, his tongue relentlessly pursuing hers, and as the haze of desire clouded over the last clear part of his brain, he jerked her against his body. Any self-consciousness about the press of his erection was banished by the moan that escaped from her throat just seconds before she closed her mouth on his lower lip, sucking hard.

He ground against her with an impatient growl, full of irrational annoyance at their location and its lack of feasible surfaces for lovemaking. She crossed her wrists behind his neck and pulled back in his embrace, peering up at him with an expression of playfulness that failed to fully conceal the disbelief in her eyes.

“Do you really think I can still do some good here?”

She deserved the truth, and he sorted through his thoughts before answering, alert for a hint of skepticism or resignation. The absence of either surprised him. Had he gone from being someone capable of finding the negative in anything, to actually believing in someone?

“Yes. I do.”

She dropped her hands to curl her fingers in the belt loops on his jeans. “Why do I get the sense that was hard for you to say?”

“I’m not used to having faith in anyone but myself.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her smile more closely approached her usual confidence, but self-doubt lingered at the edges. His heart sank in empathy. It was clear she loved her job and excelled at it. He hoped Hambani hadn’t ruined everything.

He was on the brink of saying something else, trying to find the right words of encouragement when the office door burst open. Instinctively he edged in front of Nicola and drew his weapon, then lowered it when Alex’s eyes widened in panic and he flung his palms into the air.

“Sorry.” Warren shoved the Glock back in its holster.

“You can apologize by buying me a new pair of boxers,” Alex muttered, then regarded them with fresh interest. “Everything okay in town? You both seem a little jumpy.”

“No, not okay at all.” Nicola drew a deep breath. “A group of men in a pickup chased us back to the mine. Warren has seen one of them before, here onsite when the shed blew up, and in the settlement when we visited. They were trying to shoot out our tires, but Warren got them first.”

Alex swallowed hard. “What did they look like?”

“Latadians,” Warren supplied. “Matsulus, I think. Why?”

“Roger drives a pickup. He and his truck have been missing since dinner.”

“Missing?” she echoed hollowly, her posture sagging.

Resisting the urge to slip a reassuring arm around her waist, he turned to Alex. “How do we know he’s not drinking himself to sleep in one of the sheds?”

“Maybe he drove into town for a few drinks,” Nicola suggested.

Alex shook his head. “He was different at dinner. Quiet, and stone-cold sober. He said he was going to bed early, and he offered me a lift back to our cabins in the golf cart. I wanted to stay behind and get some work done. When I got to our cabins about an hour later, he wasn’t there.”

“So he changed his mind.” Nicola shrugged. “There’s no need to get all—”

“You don’t understand. It wasn’t like he’d left. It was like he’d been taken.”

The air seemed to tense around them. Nicola shivered in a suddenly cool breeze, and for the first time Warren noted the change in temperature. He glanced at the sky, where clouds obscured the moon. It was going to rain.

“One step at a time,” he instructed calmly, automatically switching into professional mode. “You said his car was gone. Doesn’t that imply he drove it out of here?”

“Or he was forced to drive it at gunpoint.”

“Did you check with gate security?”

“Dan went down there about twenty minutes ago. He called me a few seconds before I came outside and found the two of you.” Alex’s expression turned rueful. “The guard was watching a little portable TV. He recognized Roger’s vehicle and waved it through without really looking at it.”

“And the closed-circuit camera?”

“Doesn’t show anything. Since the driver never had to roll down the window to flash his ID, all you can see is the reflection of the lights on the glass.”

Nicola shifted her weight uneasily, wrapping her arms around herself. The night was getting chillier by the minute.

“You said it looked like he’d been taken,” Warren reminded Alex, who nodded vigorously. “What gave you that impression?”

“There was no broken glass or anything, and the door was shut, but he left three-quarters of a cup of tea that was still warm when I got there. And his laptop was open, and the lights were on. It just didn’t feel like Roger. He’s anal about conserving energy and not wasting anything. When I first arrived onsite he gave me a big lecture on fully shutting down my computer, not leaving it on standby, even if I’d only be gone an hour. It seemed like he’d been interrupted.” He frowned. “Do you think I’m reading too much into it? Like I said, there were no obvious signs of a struggle.”

“Maybe it was someone he knew.”

The three of them stood in thoughtful silence for a minute, digesting that possibility. Then Nicola turned toward Warren.

“What’s your professional opinion? Do we panic yet?”

“We should call the police,” Alex asserted with sudden conviction.

“What police? Those four guys with nightsticks who share a building with the post office?” Warren shook his head. “We’re on our own, at least for now. And while I’m not sure this is necessarily a red-alert situation, I think we’d do well to be on guard until Roger turns up.”

“Should we look for him?”

“Not without a clear idea of where to start. I’ll take a look at his cabin, but unless there are obvious signs he was kidnapped, I think the best thing to do tonight is batten down the hatches until morning.”

“I need to call my boss,” Nicola murmured, the last word obscured as the wind whipped up to flap the poorly secured tarp on a nearby earthmover.

“Looks like we’re in for a good old-fashioned Latadi downpour.” Alex squinted at the sky, which was filling with heavy clouds. “If you need to use your phones, do it now. The line infrastructure out here is terrible, and we lose signal when it rains.”

“Where’s Dan?” Nicola asked.

“Should be here any second. He was going to give me a lift back to the cabins, so we’ll run you two back.”

“I’d like a look at Roger’s cabin on the way.”

Alex nodded, and a second later a set of headlights swung around the corner of the office unit. Dan’s normally ruddy face was sallow and drawn, and he leapt out from behind the wheel of the golf cart with uncharacteristic agility.

“Thank God you two are safe,” he gushed, throwing up his hands. “I was so worried they were picking us off one by one.”

“Warren says Roger’s probably off drinking somewhere,” Alex fibbed. “We’ll take a quick look at his cabin, then let these two get to bed.”

“At your service.” Dan gestured to the golf cart, and they all piled in.

By the time they’d stopped off at Roger’s cabin and then proceeded to his and Nicola’s, the moon had been obscured by heavy black clouds and the trees bent in the charging wind. As the taillights of the golf cart receded into the distance, the first low boom of thunder rumbled distant and ominous.

Nicola’s voice was hushed, as if she was worried about being overheard. “What did you think of Roger’s cabin?”

“Hard to say. There are signs he left in a hurry, but not that he was forced.”

“What’s your theory, Sherlock?”

“I’m a tactical operative, not a detective. But if I had to guess, I’d say he had an unwelcome but not unexpected visitor. Maybe he owes someone money, and they came to collect. Remember all the unlicensed guns onsite? He had to buy them somewhere.”

“If I find out he’s brought all this trouble on this mine…” She shook her head. “Anyway. I need to call my boss.”

“And I’m going to call a couple friends in Cape Town. I’m starting to think we might need them.”

“Come next door when you’re ready. If you feel like it,” she added hastily.

He smiled, reaching for a lock of her hair and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Let me check out your cabin before you go inside. Then we’ll both make our calls, and I’ll be over as soon as I’m done.”

He preceded her into her cabin with his weapon raised, surveying the interior for any sign of disturbance. The windows were latched, the lights were off, and he exhaled in cautious relief when he noted the towel still heaped on her laptop case, in the same position he’d seen that morning.

“Looks all right, but make sure nothing’s missing.”

He remained in the doorway while she accounted for her passport and laptop.

“All good. Not that I have that much worth stealing.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he murmured, imagining all the proprietary information that must be stored in her computer. Even if their culprits didn’t have a financial interest in Hambani, they could sell that to someone who did.

Another, louder roll of thunder echoed in the small cabin. She glanced at her phone. “I’m already low on signal. Go make your call. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

He repeated the surveillance procedure in his own cabin, then locked the door and took out his phone. The lights flickered with the next clap of thunder and he hurried to scroll through his contacts to Bronnik Mason’s name, adding the South African country code—two-seven—before pressing the button to dial.

“Hello?” His colleague’s voice was gravelly and distracted.

“Sorry,
bru
, did I wake you?” Warren frowned at his watch. South Africa was an hour ahead of Latadi, but even so it was barely ten o’clock in Cape Town.

“No, you’re fine. I was just—nothing. What’s up?”

“What, were you—oh.” A snapshot of Lacey Cross, Bronnik’s pretty American fiancée, flashed in his mind. “Uh, should I call you back?”

“What is it, Copley?” The sharpening of Bronnik’s Afrikaans-speaking accent broadcast his growing impatience.

“If you’re going to have a tantrum about it, I’ll call Dassie instead.”

“Why didn’t you call him in the first place?”

“My contacts are ordered alphabetically. Your name comes up before his.”

“You realize I’m going to evaluate every request you make from now on in that context. Am I really the only one who can do this favor, or was he too lazy to keep scrolling down?”

Warren dropped into a chair and propped his feet on the flimsy desk. “The truth is everyone’s filed by last name, except you’re under B for beautiful. Because you’re a beautiful person, Mason. I mean that.”

“Please, stop, you’ll make me cry.” There was a sound of shifting, like Bronnik was settling in to give the call his full attention. “What’s the story? How’s life as a hired gun?”

“Not as easy and lucrative as I thought.” Lightning illuminated the curtains, followed by a crack of thunder. “Storm’s rolling in so I’ll make this quick. How much vacation time do you have?”

“You know I live for our romantic getaways, but—”

“I’m serious. There’s something wrong at this mine, and it’s a lot bigger than a bit of corporate sabotage or disgruntled workers. I think we’re dealing with guerrilla fighters left over from the civil conflict. I’m still figuring out what they want, but I’m pretty damn satisfied they’re a legitimate threat.”