Diamond Legacy (3 page)

“And what do you believe you will find?”

Blood diamonds. The trail led straight to Katanga’s door.

“Someone at the Center has interesting friends,” Matt replied. “I’m hoping for an introduction.”

Nik grunted his skepticism. “Whatever it is you are not telling me makes my brain ache. I don’t like it.”

“I need your trust on this one, Nik.”

His friend sat in silence, mulling it over. Matt gave him time and lifted his beer, finishing the bottle in one long draw.

“You worry me, Bennett. Things have a way of blowing up or becoming bullet-ridden when you’re involved.” Nik’s troubled gaze dared him to deny the facts. “I need assurance you’ll take care. Katanga is the pride of Gaborone’s scientific community. They will not take kindly to its destruction.”

“What sort of lout do you take me for?” Matt scoffed and set the empty on the table. “I like animals. Some are even my best friends.”

Nik narrowed his eyes.

“Scout’s honor!” Matt tried to recall the hand salute from the year his straight-laced uncle made him join the boy scouts.

“I am crazy to even consider it,” Nik said.

“Don’t beat yourself up. No one can resist me when I’m at my most charming self.”

His friend snorted. “Give me a couple days to make arrangements. Call on Friday. I’ll have details for you then.”

Matt grinned. “I knew I could count on you.”

Nik grabbed his beer and took a long pull, like a man who needed to drown the insanity of his decision. He stared at the half empty bottle and shook his head. “Just do me one favor.”

“Name it.”

“Get out of this alive. No one else gives me half as much grief, but Botswana would be a lot worse off without you.”

Miranda shielded her eyes against the glare of Botswana’s late afternoon sun and descended the plane’s rollaway staircase. The last leg of their journey had been the longest—that final hour of airtime between Johannesburg, South Africa, and Gaborone, Botswana.

Katanga Wildlife Center wanted them here fast, which translated into a rigorous flight schedule with no real breaks. She and Jason snatched what sleep they could, dined on airport fare, and for the past twelve hours, her insides vibrated like the whir of a jet engine.

“Thirty-six hours across ten time zones and the international date line.” Jason sounded every bit as worn out as she felt. “All in a day’s work, eh?”

She managed a half-hearted laugh as they trudged across the tarmac. Sweltering heat radiated off the concrete, threatening to sap what little energy she had left. Off in the distance, the heat wavered, warping the brown savanna landscape and defying the onset of cooler autumn temperatures. Then the doors of Khama International Airport whooshed open, luring them inside with the promise of air conditioning.

They followed the flow of travelers past a short oval of boarding gates to a large open room split between ticket counters on the right and baggage claim on the left. Noisy and chaotic, the place overflowed with activity and little room to squeeze through.

Jason pointed to a far wall where the crowd seemed thinner, and they maneuvered through a maze of bodies to reach it. Miranda wearily leaned against a convenient column and yawned, brushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “I really hope Zimbali Lodge comes through with the driver they promised.”

“Amen to that,” Jason replied.

A loud buzzer rang, signaling the arrival of a baggage train. The crowd surged forward, leaving the outer fringes open. A wave of relief washed over Miranda.

“Here, hold this.” Jason handed over his new camera bag, and she lifted a brow in question. “If you promise to guard it with your life, I’ll get our luggage.”

With no inclination to argue, she accepted his offer, content to stay put. He disappeared into the dense crowd, and she leaned her head back, well past tired and craving several hours of sleep.

Until a loud, bone-jarring crash jolted her clean to her toes.

Fifty feet away, the glass doors to the parking lot slammed open, and a very thin, very frantic man burst through at a dead run, another guy right behind him.

They raced in her direction. Within seconds, they were close enough she could see panic in the lead man’s face. Close enough she could feel the rush of air when the pursuer lunged into a floor-slamming tackle.

They rolled, struggled, and the panicked one cursed loudly. He fought like hell’s worst demon had him cornered. A wild kick brought down a gumball machine and its glass globe shattered against the floor, shooting rainbow marbles of gum in every direction.

“You’re going down, slimeball!” Harsh determination rang in the tackler’s voice.

She believed him. Especially since he rolled right over top of jagged bits of glass and seemed oblivious to the pain. An agile move landed him on top, pinning the skinny one down.

It didn’t last long. Wiry, limber, and far from subdued, the guy snapped up a bony knee and jammed it into the tackler’s back, knocking him sideways. With a deft twist, he broke free, launched himself up, and turned to run.

The gathering crowd surged backward, but just as fast the chaser snagged an ankle, bringing him down again.

“Stinking cop!” The man screamed his fury. “I’ll kill you first!” He kicked at his attacker, missing his head by inches.

“Not…today…dirtbag!” Struggling to contain his thrashing quarry, the tackler locked onto the man’s knees and swept up a handful of gumballs and glass, flinging them at his face. When the other man jerked up his arms to block the missiles, the cop pounced.

Adrenaline thudded in Miranda’s veins. Her first real bust! Africa had a reputation for lawlessness, but she’d only been here half an hour.

The dirtbag screeched, arched his back, and dug in his heels to prevent being flipped onto his stomach. He threw a desperate punch and landed a hard clip to the cop’s jaw, knocking the larger man backward.

In a split second, the bad guy snatched something from under his pant leg, scrambled to his feet, and leveled a revolver at the cop.

A collective gasp echoed in the cavernous room. Someone screamed. A stampede began as bystanders raced for cover.

Time slowed as Miranda watched him pull back the hammer and take aim. With no thought for consequences, she tightened her fist around the strap of Jason’s camera bag, rushed up behind the gun-toting offender, and leveled a power swing against his head.

The dirtbag dropped like a stone.

Dead silence reigned for a matter of seconds. Then everyone began shouting at once.

She stood frozen, fascinated as the cop kicked the gun out of reach, rolled the guy over, and slapped on handcuffs. He then yanked a bandana from his pocket, grabbed the firearm, and unloaded ammo in a few efficient moves. He had it all wrapped up nice and neat as airport security rushed onto the scene.

“All yours, gentlemen,” the cop said as he handed a guard the disabled weapon.

Miranda couldn’t stop staring. It wasn’t polite, she knew, but looking away wasn’t an option. He brushed off his hands in satisfaction and turned to face her. There was blood on his cheek and a long scratch on his arm, but he smiled, calm as you please.

“Nice piece of work, lady,” he said to her. “What’s in the bag? Lead?”

She registered a slight British accent. And he had the most incredible tawny-colored eyes she’d ever seen. They were warm, earthy, and ablaze with curiosity. The man could have walked from the pages of any outdoor enthusiast catalogue, complete with athletic build, five o’clock shadow, and tousled sandy hair. In short, exactly the type she’d sworn off months ago.

She wanted to run the other way. Instead she lifted Jason’s bag. “Nikon camera, when you want to capture the moment.”

His laugh brushed her senses like mellowed whiskey. It was disorienting, delicious, and she stared like an adolescent girl with her first crush. What was the matter with her?

“A woman of action.” Something in his eyes sparkled. “I like that.”

Images of champagne, fiery tango music, and mind-melting kisses popped into her head. So exhilarating that it set off every alarm bell she possessed. “Stow the flattery,” she said, trying to kick up her defenses. “I reacted because the bad guy wasn’t playing fair.”

Masculine interest flared in the quirk of his brow, and her stomach did a warning somersault. He was pure trouble, wrapped in rugged good looks, broad shoulders, and—

“Playing fair an important concern of yours?”

She yanked herself back on track. “Shouldn’t it be for everyone? Especially a cop?”

A strange expression shadowed the warmth of his gaze. “Sometimes life isn’t fair. And I’m not a cop.”

Her gaze shot to the handcuffed guy lying on the floor. “But—”

“Jesus, Miranda!” Jason swore as he raced over, his expression a mix of anger and horror. “Are you all right?” He grabbed her hand and gently pried his camera bag out of her death grip.

“I’m absolutely fine.”

“The guy had a gun, Miranda. A gun! What in Sam Hill were you thinking?”

She blinked in surprise at his outburst and glanced back to the mystery man. His heated interest had faded into cool professionalism, and she was heartily glad. The overwhelming disappointment she chose to ignore.

“It was only a little gun.” She braced her hands on her hips. “And he never saw me coming.”

Jason shook his head. “Man, I’ve held my breath this entire trip, fighting a doomed feeling that somethin’s gonna blow this too-good-to-be-true assignment. We’re finally here and what do I see? You, attacking a crazy gunman with my eight-hundred-dollar camera! What kind of insane risk was that to take?”

“For me?” She grinned. “Or for the camera?”

He shot her a narrow-eyed glare.

“Look, I’m fine. Your camera’s fine.” She flicked her head toward Mr. I’m-Not-A-Cop. “And so is he, thanks to all the equipment you cram in that case.”

“He, who?”

She turned, only to discover they were alone. Mystery man now stood talking to a couple of uniformed police near the door.

She pointed. “Him.”

Jason threw a careless glance in the general direction of the doorway. “Whoever he is, I’m sure he’s properly grateful, and I’m incredibly impressed with your bravery. But
pleeease,
save the heroics ’til the end of the trip. We haven’t seen the first thing yet. Agreed?”

Miranda barely heard him. Her gaze locked onto the lion-eyed temptation by the door. She pictured him against a backdrop of wilderness. Belonging, challenging, mastering the elements. Her captivated stare caught his attention for he looked straight at her, and the smile he sent her way tripped her heartbeat.

“Miranda!” Jason shouted.

“All right!” she snapped, then instantly regretted it. None of this was Jason’s fault. His enthusiasm for this trip rivaled hers. “I promise to restrain myself until the bitter end. Satisfied?”

“I don’t believe you.”

She scowled at him.

“Don’t go getting all fussy. Wait here. I’m going back for our bags.” He took two steps and turned around. “Stay out of trouble.”

“No problem.”

With a dubious glance, Jason headed for baggage claim again, taking his prize camera bag with him. Yet the second he turned away, her eyes shot straight for the door.

The lion was gone.

Sitting on the outskirts of town and adjoining the Gaborone Game Reserve, Katanga rose like an oasis in an endless expanse of brown. A three-story, gray stucco and stone castle, it jutted from austere surroundings like a fortress amidst a canopy of green. Imposing English turrets and battlements stood sentinel, guarding her domain with gothic irony. The eye-catching grandeur was unexpected in the African desert, a contradiction that stood severely out of place yet somehow belonged.

Matt smiled to himself as he drove onto the grounds early Tuesday morning, day one of his new job. From the look of things, this promised to be the Tiffany’s of undercover jobs. He usually worked baser digs where he was lucky to have a private tree to piss behind. Katanga would be a welcome change of pace.

He pulled slowly through the parking lot, absorbing every detail of one seriously spread-out compound. Their website claimed thirty-two hectares of land. Beyond the main castle, there were two elephant-sized stables, a warehouse, several smaller outbuildings, and their most recent addition, an oasis pool under a massive glass-domed roof.

Finding diamonds in a haystack this big may prove a challenge. He definitely had his work cut out for him.

He parked as far back as possible and used the long walk to the front to scope out his latest employer. Unlike castles of yore, Katanga had no protective moat. But it did have enough landscaping to hide an army. They also sported pivoting floodlights, visible security cameras, and miles of fence to mark its boundaries. The place was built for show and clearly spelled big money, not the sort of place to run conflict diamonds. Too bad all signs pointed toward corruption. If his sources proved true, then he and his new employer were going to have issues.

He rounded the castle’s front, passed a towering flagpole flying Botswana’s light blue flag, and navigated a gratuitous drawbridge to massive oak and iron doors.

The minute he crossed the threshold any resemblance to a castle vanished. He stared in amazement at a two-story grand rotunda that greeted visitors with the wonder of a celebrated museum. The massive room was a tribute to tribal life, village art, and symbolic totems. There were plants, animals, fossils, and enough children running loose to fill the half-dozen school buses in the parking lot.

“Where would you like your safari to begin, sir?”

A teenage boy carrying a walkie-talkie had slipped up on him while he’d stood gawking. That kind of inattention got a guy in trouble. Not a good start.

“Employment office,” Matt replied. “Got a date with Warren Graham.” He gave the kid his name and watched him repeat it into the radio.

With a short jerk of his head, his tour guide led the way to one of three vast tunnel-like hallways that exited the main rotunda and stopped at a set of elevators.