Diamond Legacy (2 page)

Her father had been ecstatic when she’d called him that afternoon. When she expressed her hesitation, he threatened to barrel out of his wheelchair and personally drag her “nincompoop brain” to the plane. So what if he nearly died over there? If she let that prevent her from taking advantage of an adventure like this, he’d never forgive her. And her sister Erika all but ordered her to go. But as of this moment, she still hadn’t decided for certain.

Boscoe, her orange tabby cat, rubbed against her leg with a mighty purr, and she reached down to absentmindedly scratch his head. Hank seemed a little edgy tonight, probably due to that unspoken question of his looming on the horizon.

What should come first? His ultra reserved proposal? Or the mention of her spontaneous trip to a war-torn continent to perform a root canal on a rare and valuable albino hippo?

She broke off a tiny chunk of Parmesan cheese and handed it to Boscoe. The tabby pranced out of the kitchen with his prize, and she opened the fridge to toss in the remaining cheese and leftover lasagna.

Hank stepped up behind her, slid his arms around her waist, and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a wonderful cook, Miranda. You’ll make someone a fine wife one day.”

Please,
she prayed,
not yet
. “I’d hold off on that judgment until you’ve tried the dessert.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve known you over two years now, and in the six months we’ve been dating…let’s just say I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

She captured her lower lip in her teeth and turned in his arms to face him. Shouldn’t such a declaration come with a feeling of euphoria? Was something wrong with her?

“Hank, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He angled his head to give her a sideways look. “Not quite what I hoped to hear.”

“I know.” She breathed a heavy sigh. “But I received an unusual offer today.”

Hank stiffened, and despite his perpetual stoic demeanor, Miranda clearly saw dismay. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, her decision suddenly twice as hard. He released his hold on her, reached for the last of the Shiraz, and refilled their glasses.

“Tell me about it.” He handed over her crystal goblet.

“Geoff Maxwell has been contacted by a game reserve that requested my veterinary specialty. They have a hippo with an abscessed tooth.”

“Which reserve? The Xanadu Ranch in upper Texas?”

She shook her head. “Not Texas. Africa.”

He choked on his wine. After a brief coughing spell, he lowered his glass to the counter and stared at her in watery-eyed disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“The Katanga Wildlife Center in Botswana already made travel arrangements. It’s an all-expense-paid trip to southern Africa, a once-in-a-lifetime chance.” She echoed Jason’s earlier words.

Hank pulled out a barstool from the small kitchen island and sat down. “Katanga.” His voice sounded flat. “Isn’t there a civil war going on over there?”

“Diamonds, not civil war. They fight over diamonds. And I’m not likely to encounter any of that where I’d be going.”

He stared at her with zero enthusiasm. “It still sounds dangerous. You shouldn’t risk it.”

She’d heard those words before. Mom constantly warned Dad against the more dangerous aspects of his job. Dad rarely paid any heed, claimed it was part of the territory. Now here she was, daring history to repeat itself.

“Risk will be minimal,” she replied. “I promise to be back in five weeks, safe and sound.”

A sour look crossed his controlled expression. “You’ve already accepted.”

“No,” she denied. “I have until Monday.”

“Don’t do it, Miranda. Stay here. Marry me instead.”

The demand came so unexpectedly, she nearly dropped her grandmother’s crystal goblet. She’d known for a couple weeks that he had planned to propose, but not like this. Not at the expense of her dream. It wasn’t fair.

“Hank, I—”

“Listen to me. You’ve too much going for you right now. Animal dentistry is in its infancy, and you’ve made great strides in the field. Leaving now may jeopardize your chances at USC. I went to considerable effort to get you that interview. You can’t miss it.”

“Surely, it can be rescheduled. Africa will be an experience like no other, a place I’ve dreamed of going. Think of the resume credentials!”

“You don’t need more credentials. You’re already a shoe-in for the teaching position. Look, you’re twenty-nine years old and way ahead of most in your field. Isn’t it time to start thinking of settling down? Raising a family? With me?”

Total domestication stared her in the face. A part of her wanted the life he had described. Another, bigger part of her just got mad. He was asking her to give up her dream. No, that’s not entirely true. He was asking her to replace her dream with something every woman desired. But why now? Why couldn’t he be as thrilled as she over the prospect of going to Africa? How could he blithely say “don’t go”?

“That’s not fair, Hank. It’s only five weeks. USC will wait.”

“What about me, Miranda? What about us?”

Time for brutal honesty. Erika had summed it up best this afternoon.
Hank’s nice, sis, but I don’t see any chemistry between you. He’s the nine-to-five nesting type. You’re not. No matter how much you pretend otherwise.

She sighed. Her
type
hadn’t exactly worked out either. The last decade had been more like a comedy of errors. But Erika was right. The one constant in her life centered around her work. And Africa? Deep down she’d known all along she’d be going. And that was just plain sad because she really liked Hank; he was a good friend. Therein lay the problem.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” she admitted softly. “I have to go.”

He expelled his breath in a whoosh and sat there staring at her.

“I—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Never mind, it’s fine. I knew you were going the minute you brought it up.”

“Please understand, Hank. My work is more than a job. It’s a legacy, a way of life since I was old enough to follow my dad around. He’s been to Africa and his stories are legendary. How could I pass this up and not regret it?”

He shook his head and stood. “The regret is mine. I always knew I’d come in second to one of your expeditions one day.” Hank didn’t sound angry, just stoic and listless.

Miranda stared at him in conflicted silence, hating to cause him pain. But she couldn’t accept his proposal. Couldn’t be the kind of person he wanted her to be. Adventure ran in her veins, but even deeper ran animal welfare. She itched for field work. How could she set that aside, get married, and spend the remainder of her career teaching?

She couldn’t. Not if it meant passing up on an animal care facility in Africa or missing an opportunity to test her skills on a hippo in need. Not if it meant turning her back on a rare chance to continue working on a theory her and Dad had discussed for years.

She couldn’t live with that kind of regret, even if it meant their relationship was over. Taking a deep breath of resolve she said, “I can’t walk away from who I am, Hank.”

He dropped his head on a sigh. “No, I suppose not.”

His body language indicated acceptance, or maybe resignation, but he didn’t say the words. Instead, the silence stretched out between them, and he moved toward the living room. She followed, watching him grab his hat from the rack by the front door.

Not knowing what else to say, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

He hesitated before squeezing her tight. “I can’t believe you’re saying goodbye.”

Something caught in her throat. “You’re a good friend, Hank.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Call me when you return.”

The door shut behind him with a soft click and a dizzying wave of competing emotions. Heartbreak battled with the elation of freedom, a rush of adrenaline threatened to overpower guilt, and the effort it took to suppress it all made her knees wobble.

Boscoe chose that moment to prance over with his tail held high. She scooped him up and gave him a fierce hug, pressing her face into his warm fur. When he squawked in protest, she released him and aimed for a built-in bookcase lining one wall. She stood there, staring at a prized possession on the shelf, an intricately carved wooden giraffe, a gift from her father when he came home from Africa. A trip that nearly killed him.

He had taken insane risks and had always come out on top. Until Africa. Until the day he’d faced down well-armed poachers and came away with a paralyzing spine injury. Everything had been lost—luggage, med kits, his ability to walk, but he swore the recovery time spent with the Maasai people had been well worth the cost. He claimed an awe-inspiring sense of wonder at a land rich in natural history, and his countless stories gave credence to that fact.

Miranda ran a finger softly down the graceful neck of the giraffe. Now it was her turn. She closed her eyes as a shiver of anticipation raced across her skin.

No, that wasn’t right. More like nervous energy, fear of failure, or the fact she stood on the edge of realizing the same dream that nearly cost her father his life.

She’d no idea, but ready or not, she was headed for Africa.

The bar was more a glorified lean-to, not the worst the town of Kanye offered, but close and obscure enough to suit Matt Bennett’s purpose. Employees here were used to looking the other way. From his table in the back, he could observe every patron, and at this early afternoon hour, he didn’t see many.

Matt tilted his head back and downed a heavy shot of
mampoer
, Africa’s fiery version of moonshine. It was the only thing that cut through the kimberlite dust that permeated everything in the region, spewing from godforsaken diamond mines in a cloud of greed. The giant pits left in their wake had slashed open wounds into the land, feeding the insatiable hunger of corporations and governments alike.

He shoved a now empty shot glass to the center of a rough-hewn table. From beneath the bare lightbulb overhead, tiny prisms of light reflected in the remaining drops of liquor. They looked like diamonds, those glittering chunks of carbon that pumped two and a half billion dollars annually into Botswana alone.

That kind of wealth corrupted, absolutely.

“About time you surfaced, Bennett.” Nik Labestu’s deep voice carried an accent of native Setswana. Midnight black skin and eyes that penetrated your soul, Nik was the one man in a sea of high level officials that Matt trusted. He was also his only link with the International Diamond Security, the folks who currently issued his paycheck.

“Have a seat,” Matt said.

Nik handed him a bottle of barely cool beer, which Matt accepted gratefully. April was upon them and summer had officially ended, but the heat lived on.

“How are you, my friend?” Matt asked with a quick twist to pop the top and indulged in a long drink.

“The drive from Gaborone jarred my teeth.” Nik scraped a chair out across from Matt and sat. “Where have you been? You missed our last rendezvous. I began to worry.”

With a glance around the near empty bar, Matt leaned forward and rested his drinking arm on the wooden table. “I’m on to something, Nik,” he said quietly. “Something big.”

“Again? That last time nearly got me killed.”

Matt snorted and relaxed back in his chair. “That little bullet could hardly be called life threatening. It probably stung no worse than a bee.”

Nik’s grimace displayed a row of even white teeth, stark against the darkness of his skin. “I should have known better than to expect sympathy from you.”

“Try living for weeks in vermin-infested holes to flush out the dregs of humanity,” Matt fired back. “Then talk to me about sympathy.”

“No thanks. That’s your job. You bring them in. I put them away.”

“This one won’t be that easy.”

His friend eyed him with interest. “What have you found?”

Matt took another long pull from his beer. He and Nik were exactly alike, in a totally opposite kind of way. Both had secrets, both wanted to keep them, and both hated the diamond cartel. Nik preferred to stay behind the scenes. Matt dug in the trenches. Between them, trust was complete.

This time, though, Matt kept the incriminating details to himself. He needed to dig deeper, and the less Nik knew, the better he’d sleep at night.

“What is the biggest threat Botswana faces?” Matt asked.

“Diamond theft.”

“Think bigger.”

“Civil war in our neighboring nations.”

“Bull’s eye.” Matt pointed to his friend with the beer bottle. “Diamonds are a warlord’s best friend. He steals them, sells them, and buys weapons.”

Nik leaned forward, concern etched over his face. “You sign your death warrant going after someone like that.”

“I’m not that suicidal.”

“Good to know,” Nik said.

A face floated across Matt’s memory, distant but clear, and his jaw hardened. Warlord or not, justice would be served. “I believe I can shut down a pipeline,” he said flatly.

Nik’s expression sharpened as he carefully set his beer on the table. “Are you talking about blocking weapon shipments?”

“I am.”

Interest glittered in his dark eyes. “You tread dangerous waters, my friend.”

Matt gave a cavalier shrug. “I’m used to it.” It was his friend he worried about. He needed Nik’s help, but curiosity got people in trouble. Matt had more than one scar to prove it.

Shifting in his chair, Nik crossed muscular arms in front of his leather vest. “I’d like to know what pushes you, Matthew Bennett. Why do you risk your life the way you do?”

Definitely not open for discussion. “Too long a story.”

Nik stared hard with that penetrating gaze of his, but the familiar intimidation technique wasn’t going to work; Matt knew the man too well. He offered no other information.

“As you wish.” Nik accepted defeat. “What do you want from IDS?”

“Access to Katanga Wildlife Center outside Gaborone. Get me clearance. Better yet, make me an employee, a janitor. That way I can move around without drawing attention.”

Nik’s gaze swept the room with nonchalance, yet Matt knew he missed no detail. Not in the dilapidated bar and not in the ramifications of the request.