Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 (18 page)

“Right. Of course.”

She wrenched herself out of his grasp and took quick, determined steps toward the car.

“Bye, Warren,” she called over her shoulder, barely looking at him. Then she ducked into the backseat, never turning around, never looking back.

The old sedan groaned as Cedric put it into gear, coughing and roaring disproportionately to the slow speed with which he urged it toward the gate. Warren shaded his eyes with his hand as he watched. The guards had fled sometime after they found the bomb, so Alex got out of the car, retrieved the logbook from the sentry box and manually unlocked and dragged open the electronic gate. Cedric eased the car through and Alex repeated the process in reverse on the other side, the gate clanking as it shut. He got back into the car and within seconds it was gone, racing down the road away from the mine.

Finally alone on the enormous site, Warren shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He had a lot to get done today, and only a few hours before Bronnik and Dassie arrived. He had no time to stand around moping.

He tilted his head toward the brightening sky and took a deep, indulgent breath. The air was the freshest he’d tasted in months, free of the exhaust and industrial fumes that even the sea breeze couldn’t always banish back home in Cape Town. It was sweet, clean, full of the scents of rich earth, lush grass and the hundreds of flowers native to this small, fraught country in the center of a continent.

The last of the pre-dawn haze had dissipated, leaving nothing to obscure the infinite sprawl of the horizon. Even the clouds had fled, and the sky was clear and empty.

He yanked his hands from his pockets and rolled up his sleeves, casting a last glance at the rising sun. No doubt about it—it was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

Chapter Fifteen

Nicola tasted blood, sharp and metallic. She pulled her thumb away from her mouth—she’d chewed the nail so far down she’d broken the skin, and blood welled up from the tiny hole she’d bitten in the skin.

She pressed both hands into her lap, examining the damage to her fingertips. They looked raw and gnawed, all ten nails victims of her restless anxiety.

From the moment the car had pulled away from the mine she’d felt like something was wrong. And what sensible person wouldn’t? She was in the backseat of an old sedan that was barely roadworthy, slinking along pothole-ridden streets in the middle of a country on the brink of civil war, and she’d just said goodbye to the first man she thought she could—
did
—ever love. It should be no surprise she wasn’t exactly at yoga-class levels of peace and tranquility.

And yet some hitherto undiscovered instinct nagged that this was different, that there really was something wrong, that she needed to act. No matter how she rationalized her emotions, she couldn’t get over the overwhelming sense that she had to go back for Warren.

She knew better than to raise that notion with her companions in the car. They’d glided through Namaza as easily as if it were a quiet Sunday afternoon. The streets were deserted, the shops shuttered, and only a few crushed beer cans and piled cigarette butts bore testament to whatever drunken rowdiness may have marred the night before.

As they reached the outer boundary of the town she wondered why more people weren’t fleeing, why there hadn’t been a mass exodus of the informal settlement. Then she realized they probably had no cars, no money for gas, nowhere else to go.

If any unseen viewers had recognized them from Hambani, they hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it, and in no time at all they were chugging down the highway. But although they’d made a seamless escape, Dan behaved as if guerrillas were bearing down on them in fully armored tanks.

“You’re
sure
no one’s following us? You’re checking the mirrors? You’re absolutely positive no one tailed us out of Namaza?” he asked Cedric, rephrasing the question every five minutes until Alex twisted in his seat to face him.

“I’m the lookout, okay? And there’s been no one. We haven’t even seen another car in almost an hour.”

“I’m just checking,” Dan retorted testily, wringing his hands. “We have to be vigilant. What if they decide to come after us? What if they want us as hostages?”

“We abandoned the mine,” Nicola replied wearily, propping her elbow against the window frame. “It’s theirs for the taking, and it’s a bargaining chip worth way more than all our lives put together. Why waste their time with us? They have Hambani.”

They’d settled into a gloomy silence then, and she was sure they were all thinking the same thing she was. They didn’t exactly
have
Hambani, not yet. There was still one man standing between a growing rebel army and enough gold to finance the country for generations—and enough explosives to level half of it.

“We have to stop for gas,” Cedric announced, jerking her back to the present.

Dan bolted upright at her side. “There’s no way—we can’t stop. It’s not safe. In fact, it could be a trap—or worse. What if they’ve gone after the gas supplies? What if they’ve siphoned all of the gas out of the pumps and are using the stations to ambush people and rob them? What if—”

“We’re stopping at the next station,” Alex commanded, not bothering to turn around. “Otherwise we’re going to run out, and I’m pretty sure sitting in a disabled vehicle on the side of the road is a lot more dangerous than stopping at a rural gas station, miles from any of the towns and cities where the rebels are gathering.”

Dan slunk down in his seat, muttering unhappily, and she reverted to her previous train of thought—what, if anything, could she do about this desperate sense of unease about leaving Warren back at Hambani?

They’d been driving for almost two hours and were halfway to August Town, so she couldn’t exactly get out and walk back—not like that would’ve been a brilliant idea no matter how far away they were. By the time they got to August Town it would be too late to try to find a car and drive back, even if that wasn’t one of the dumbest ideas she’d ever had.

She sighed, yanking down the pinkie that had unconsciously found its way into her mouth. She was freaking out over nothing. Warren was a professional who knew exactly what he was doing, plus he had backup on the way. And as Warren had pointed out, there’d been plenty of opportunity to make good on the threats against the two of them. After all this time, all the warnings, why would the green-eyed man suddenly change tactics and do Warren harm?

Because everything was different now—everything had changed overnight. Because the bomb was the last edict, and by staying behind Warren had defied the rebels’ final order. Because Warren wouldn’t give up the gold or the explosives without a fight.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the panic and helplessness welling in her chest. She had to stay calm. She had to figure out what to do. And she had to do
something
.

The car protested as Cedric downshifted, and they pulled into a gas station with a faded sign and two outdated pumps. A bored-looking man sat in a folding chair beside the door to the bare-shelved convenience store, and he took so long to rouse himself and begin his passage toward their car that Dan started to breathe heavily, whispering something about the man giving the rebels a signal and that if he made any sudden moves, Cedric should—

“See? Perfectly safe,” Cedric announced, pointing to the Latadi police car pulling into the gas station from the other direction.

“That’s their trick,” Dan insisted, his voice rising with every word. “They’ve probably overrun the police force and are driving around in the cars so they can approach people. Keep going, Cedric—we can’t stay here.”

“Just look at the people in the car,” Alex grumbled. “I really don’t think they’re Matsulu rebels.”

The nearly simultaneous appearance of two cars had clearly stumped the gas station attendant, who stood a few feet away from the pump glancing between the two vehicles, probably trying to decide which looked likely to pay the bigger tip. Nicola leaned forward to peer around Dan’s bulk to see the passengers in the other vehicle, but as she opened her mouth to ask Dan to move so she could see, both front doors of the police sedan swung open.

As soon as the two men moved into view she understood what Alex meant. One blond, one brown-haired, they both easily surpassed six feet tall and moved with swift, deliberate efficiency. Apparently unwilling to wait any longer for the gas station attendant to make his choice, the blond lifted the nozzle on the pump. His companion moved to the front of the car and opened the hood.

His dilemma decided for him, the attendant jogged over to their car, but she barely registered the conversation he had with Alex through the open window. Something about their fellow patrons had caught her attention.

Both of them wore black T-shirts and olive-green cargo trousers tucked into high-laced boots. It wasn’t exactly a military uniform, but they didn’t look much like civilians either. They definitely weren’t Latadi policemen, but they weren’t soldiers. Were they defense contractors? Mercenaries?

Of course, they had to be—

Before she had time to process what she was doing she was out of the car, waving her arms as she hurried across the forecourt. Both men froze as they watched her approach, their postures changing from briskly effective to cautiously alert.

Belatedly she realized that rushing toward two probably armed men in a country on the brink of war wasn’t an especially well-thought-out strategy, but by then it was too late. Presumably she didn’t look too threatening as neither of them reached for weapons, just watched her approach. As she neared them, the blond’s expression remained suspicious, but the brown-haired man’s transitioned into interested bemusement.

“Everything all right?” he asked, stowing the oil gauge and slamming the hood shut.

South African accent. It had to be them.

“Yes, fine. Wait, I mean—okay.” She took a composing breath. “I think I know who you guys are.”

“Is that so.” The blond wasn’t looking at her as he cut the gas and stowed the nozzle, but around her at Cedric’s car. She followed his gaze to see three faces staring at her through the windows, eyes wide and mouths agape.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ll be gone in a minute.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“And you won’t?”

“Hopefully not.” She flashed her boardroom-perfect smile as the other man shut the hood and came around to stand beside his colleague. The sight of the two of them, tall and imposing with crossed arms, waiting for her to explain, was nearly as intimidating as presenting to a roomful of industry executives.

Nearly.

“You’re Warren’s friends—you’re on your way to Hambani. And you’re going to take me with you.”

The two men exchanged glances, and while the blond kept his eyes fixed on the car, his companion focused on her, his expression simultaneously assessing, expectant and bordering on impatient.

“Explain.”

“I’m Nicola Holt, the head of corporate social responsibility at Garraway Gold. I’ve been working with Warren since he came out here—we met on the flight from Johannesburg. He told me he had two colleagues on the way, he told me his whole plan to singlehandedly guard the site while disposing of the explosives left in the mine, and he told me he would be absolutely fine. And for some ridiculous reason, I believed him.”

At that point the blond lost interest in the car, and she had both men staring at her like she’d just cheerfully announced she was a spy working for the US government.

Forcing herself to be undeterred by the surprise and incredulity she read on their faces, she pushed on. “I shouldn’t have left him on his own to clean up the huge mess my company created—I shouldn’t have let him talk me into leaving. That’s why I’m going to get in your car and ride back to Hambani.”

For almost a full minute silence reigned at the dilapidated gas station, punctuated only by the shuffling feet of the attendant as he waited for someone to acknowledge that he was owed money for two vehicles’ worth of gas. Nicola held her breath. This was her only chance, and she hoped she’d done enough. She
had
to have done enough. Otherwise she’d be on her way to the airfield in August Town, drowning in impotence and misery.

When the blond spoke again his tone was gentler, though still firm. “Have you considered that he said he’d be fine because he will? Or that he thought it’d be safer for you to leave than to stay?”

“Look, I know I’m being reckless. Of course he’s capable of taking care of himself, and of course it was safer for me to leave. But I can’t—” She stopped herself, her voice cracking on a sudden wave of emotion. Desperation, exhaustion, the panicked, trembling awareness that this was her last shot to get back to the man she loved more than anything.

She closed her eyes, inhaled. When she spoke again she sounded much steadier than she felt.

“I have to get back to him. I know the risks, and I take responsibility for anything that happens to me because of my decision. But I want to go.” She lifted her chin. “So will you take me?”

They looked at each other, then at her, but neither spoke. The moment stretched on for so long she shifted her weight, listened to Cedric pay the attendant and urge him away, began to wonder if these two were psychic when the blond spoke again.

“All right.” He shrugged. “Get in.”

Her jaw slackened. “Seriously?”

“Quick, before I change my mind.”

The two men turned an abrupt about-face and she hurried after them, looking over her shoulder just long enough to wave at the three men in the busted-up sedan and call, “I’ll be fine, see you later,” before yanking open the police-car door and sliding into the backseat.

The brown-haired man was paying the attendant, and as she shut the door behind her the blond turned to look at her from his position in the front passenger seat, the metal grate separating the front from the back doing nothing to diminish the intensity of his expression.

“I think you already know this, but I feel like I have to say it. You should stay with your friends. Going back to the mine with us is dangerous and stupid.”

“I do know that, but thank you. It turns out self-preservation isn’t always the most important thing in life.”

He grinned, and it was in such stark, unexpected contrast to his serious demeanor that she couldn’t help but mirror it.

“I know exactly what you mean. I’m Bronnik Mason, by the way, and this—” he indicated the brown-haired man ducking into the driver’s seat, “—is Dassie Jones.”

“Oh good, does this mean I missed the introductory small talk?” Dassie turned the key in the ignition and put the car into gear.

Bronnik winked through the grate. “Don’t mind him. Too many complimentary drinks on the plane last night.”

“And that damn shop was completely empty,” Dassie grumbled. “Not even a warm can of Coke.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Copley’s spent all day cooking a gourmet feast for when we arrive. Or, you know, saved you a handful of peanuts.”

“I’d take it.” Dassie glanced at her in the rearview mirror as he pulled back onto the road. She met his gaze, deliberately refusing to look at Cedric’s car lurching into motion, heading in the opposite direction. She’d made her choice. There was no turning back now.

“So,” he began, eyes flicking back to the road ahead. “I’d ask how well you know Warren, but something tells me you’re going to say it’s a long story.”

She shook her head. “Nope, not at all. In fact, it’s very short.”

With Dassie at the wheel, what had been a two-hour drive away from Hambani only took an hour and a half in the opposite direction. Her anxiety about driving into Namaza in broad daylight was quickly dismissed by the two men in the front of the car, and when they gunned through at top speed she understood why.

She looked out the back window as they left the town behind. The streets were packed, but the atmosphere wasn’t raucous or violent. If anything, it reminded her of the time she’d been stranded in Miami as the city prepared for a hurricane. The mood was resigned. Expectant. Calmly bracing for the storm.