Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 (17 page)

She felt like crying, or stomping her feet, or slapping him across the face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted something so badly, no matter how selfish, no matter how certain she was that she was wrong. In that moment she would’ve done anything, sacrificed everything, to find another way.

Instead she crossed her arms in resignation. This was his job—she’d told him she was okay with it, and how she had to live her words. “Fine. But I want hourly updates from you as long as the signal holds out, is that clear?”

“You’re the boss.”

She snorted. They both knew that wasn’t true.

“Enough standing around in the dark,” Warren declared to the group at large. “We’ve still got a few hours before dawn. We’ll go in a group back to each cabin to pack up, then wait in the office for first light.”

“Then it’s goodbye, Hambani,” Alex muttered.

Nicola glanced at Warren, so confident and unafraid, when minutes earlier he’d held a ticking bomb in his hands. When hours earlier those same hands had soothed her, excited her, made promises she couldn’t wait to be fulfilled.

No—that wasn’t true. Warren was a man of actions, not vows. Whatever pledges she’d read in those few hours were her own wishful thinking. He’d been honest about his commitment to his job and his happiness in Cape Town. The only assurance he’d offered about their future together was that they’d find their way—he never said how or when, or what that really meant.

Why would he? For all he knew, his future might only last another day or two. That was his reality.

She watched him put a reassuring hand on Dan’s arm, ushering everyone toward the office. She fell into step with the others, but her feet were heavy and slow, suddenly wishing this terrifying, dangerous night would never end.

Chapter Fourteen

Warren yawned, rubbing his eyes as he shifted in the hard-backed kitchen chair. He checked his phone—ten minutes until the alarm would go off, rousing everyone from sleep so they could squeeze into Cedric’s car and slip away. He was sure they’d have no trouble—the rebels would want the road into Hambani kept clear, and he doubted anyone in Namaza would take much notice of Cedric’s beat-up sedan—but he wondered if he shouldn’t follow them in the Land Cruiser, just in case. He would escort them to the highway, then double back and—

Fool’s errand, Copley,
he chided himself, cutting off that line of thinking.
If Nicola wasn’t in that car, you’d wave it through the gate without a backward glance.

His phone buzzed in his hand, then again and again, in rapid succession. He unlocked the screen—the signal had hiccupped to life long enough to deliver a series of text messages, but when he tried to open his e-mail it had already cut back out. He leaned back in his chair, re-crossed his ankles on the hard hat he’d been using as a footstool, and scrolled through the texts.

Dassie Jones, 22:16

Howzit, Copley, airline lady says we should try for standby seats on midnight flight, reckons they’re likely to start cancelling commercial flights to Latadi from 6 AM. At Tambo now, will let you know progress.

Laura Copley, 22:58

You okay? Latadi’s all over the news. Rebel groups popping up all over the country, military rolling out, etc. Plane on standby if you need it, stay safe pls! xxxx

Dassie Jones, 23:21

Got seats on the flight to August Town, wasn’t hard, Latadi not a popular tourist destination at the moment! You know how to pick ’em, bru. Flight lands 6 AM, will beg/borrow/steal car and be with you asap.

Bronnik Mason, 23:44

Jones just conned the flight attendant into giving him six little bottles of whiskey by telling her he’s a nervous flyer. We haven’t even taken off yet. You owe me, bud.

He closed the window, then checked the time. Half an hour until they landed, maybe another half for them to talk the Latadi police into giving them a car. They’d get to Hambani in five hours. Or four, if Dassie drove.

He looked down at where Nicola slept at his feet, curled on her side on the tiled kitchen floor, his rolled-up windbreaker tucked beneath her head. The other three men slumbered in other corners, but as the first rays of dawn lightened the sky outside the big sliding-glass doors, she was all he could see. The thick lashes resting on porcelain cheeks, the soft body pulled into itself, the myriad shades of red in the hair she’d caught in a messy ponytail.

She looked the same as she had for the last two hours he’d been in that position, keeping watch while everyone slept. Yet he was as transfixed now as in that first second he’d dropped into the chair. Even more, as the end of their time together crept closer with every minute.

He was in love with her. It was quick, and it was reckless, and he was probably dooming himself to heartbreak, but it was the truth. Somewhere between taking a seat beside her on the plane from Johannesburg and making love to her earlier that night, he’d fallen in love.

He crossed his arms behind his head, exhaling heavily. Had he ever done anything so stupid in his life? A quick review of the last three decades assured him that no, not even the dizziest heights of his youthful danger-seeking could compete with falling for a fiery, bossy, globetrotting mining executive who held herself to standards even a Nobel Peace Prize wouldn’t satisfy. A woman as sensitive as she was strong, who stunned and impressed and kept him constantly wanting more.

A high-flying corporate climber who had the potential to change an industry forever. Whose ambition would never let her sit still and whose career would keep her traveling around the world at breakneck speed. Who might leave this site in the next hour and look back on their time together as a welcome distraction from a nerve-racking situation, and remember him only in fond snapshots, wondering whatever happened to that guy she met in that random African country all those years ago.

Then again, maybe he wasn’t giving her enough credit. Maybe they’d both make an effort for several weeks after they parted, exchanging text messages and scheduling times to speak on the phone. Maybe they’d see each other once more—maybe she’d have a meeting in Johannesburg and he’d fly up for the weekend. Maybe it would be awkward. Maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, it’d be clear they couldn’t keep the relationship going. They’d say goodbye at the airport, both aware it was the last time, both resigned that the end had finally arrived.

“So much for positive thinking,” he muttered under his breath, scrubbing a hand over weary eyes. His sister was always telling him to stop being such a pessimist—maybe she was right. Maybe he should stop expecting the worst, man up and tell her how he felt. Hell, he might not even survive the next twenty-four hours—what’s the worst that could happen?

The phone in his lap squealed to life, its shrill, repetitive beeping shattering the silence and echoing around the tiled room.

Sharp exhalations of interrupted sleep erupted from all corners. At his feet Nicola stretched languidly, fluid and feline, and it took all his willpower not to drop onto the floor beside her and pull her slumber-soft body into his arms.

Her thick lashes fluttered, and in the next instant a pair of groggy blue eyes found him. She smiled.

“Have you made me breakfast in bed? Warren, you shouldn’t have.”

“I could drop a granola bar on your face, would that count?”

“Such a romantic.” She pulled herself up, untwisting the elastic in her hair and combing her fingers through the long strands. “Did you sit there all night?”

He nodded.

“I’d say you must be tired, but something tells me you’re not a man who needs eight hours a night.”

“Correct. Anything more than five feels indulgent.”

She cast a quick glance at her colleagues, all in various states of awakening, then lowered her voice. “Next time we’re together, I’ll see to it that you don’t get out of bed for at least half a day.”

The next time they were together—whenever that was,
if
it ever was. But he forced a smile. “I hope this will be your pet project and not something you plan to delegate.”

“Oh no, I’ll supervise personally.”

“In that case, I’m on board.” He extended a hand to help her up. She held it a second longer than necessary once she was on her feet, and he swallowed hard. Soon they would say goodbye, potentially for the last time, but he couldn’t let that affect the mammoth, dangerous tasks that still lay ahead. He had to box up his feelings for Nicola and put them away. They couldn’t be allowed to interfere with the coolness of his head, the clarity of his thoughts, or the steadiness of his hands.

She glanced out the sliding-glass doors at the breaking dawn, and when she returned her gaze to his it was graver, more serious. “I know I’m probably wasting my breath, but I have to say this one last time. Call your friends, tell them to stay in Johannesburg. Leave with us. Or let us wait until you can redistribute enough of the explosives stored in the mine to decrease the impact, and then we’ll all leave together.”

He shook his head. “Even if that was feasible, it’s too late. The phone signal came on long enough for me to get a few texts. My friends were on standby for the overnight flight and, unsurprisingly, it turned out there were plenty of extra seats. If everything is on time, they’re about to land. I can’t turn them around now, and to be honest, I wouldn’t if I could. My job here isn’t finished. Leaving would be unethical.” He smiled, pushing her hair over her shoulder without bothering to make sure no one was watching. “But you know all about that, hotshot corporate social responsibility executive.”

“I thought I did.” Her tone was sad, her expression dark. “And I know you want to do the right thing. I guess I was hoping that sometime while you were sitting in that chair, you came up with a way to do it that also satisfied my selfish desire to get you the hell out of here.”

“I plan to get myself the hell out of here in about twelve hours. Best-case scenario, we get to August Town in time to move the gold out of Latadi on the plane Dan chartered.”

“And the worst-case scenario?”

“Don’t be a pessimist.” He took a step backward, hoping to conclude the conversation before she could proceed further down that line of thinking. It wasn’t somewhere he was particularly inclined to go.

“Warren—” she began, drawing what seemed like a bracing breath, but she stopped herself as Alex approached.

“I think we’re all ready to go,” he offered, looking sheepish at having interrupted. “The car is packed and Cedric and Dan are itching to leave. That is, if you’re ready, too, Nicola?”

She looked from Alex to him, tilting her chin to meet his eyes. There was so much in her expression, he raced to catch it all—longing, regret, disappointment, concern, rolling together into unyielding determination.

She turned to Alex. “Can you give us a second?”

“Of course. I’ll see you at the car.” He started to leave, then changed his mind, sticking out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Sergeant Copley. I hope everything goes okay today.”

“Cheers, Alex. I’ll see you in August Town tonight.”

He grinned. “Definitely.”

The sound of Alex’s footsteps receded as he crossed the room, and Warren cleared his throat, suddenly nervous under the weight of this conversation. He had to say something significant—something meaningful. Something that would remain with her if they never saw each other again, if anything went wrong with the explosives disposal, if while they were moving the gold—

Without a word she slipped her arms around his neck, arched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

And just like that, everything they needed to be said was made clear. She didn’t need to promise him they would see each other again—she promised it with the movement of her mouth, the soft press of her tongue. Nor did he have to fumble to find the right combination of reassurance and optimism, because he could tighten his hand on her waist, tug her more tightly into his chest, cup the back of her neck and be sure she knew exactly what he meant.

The kiss was brief, one of the briefest they’d shared, but when Nicola dropped back down to the soles of her feet he felt calmer and more hopeful than he had in days. They’d be fine. They’d make something work, at least for a little while.

She smoothed her palm down the front of his shirt. “Do I need to tell you to be careful?”

“Can’t hurt.”

She laced her fingers through his and squeezed. “Be careful.”

“I’ll try. Now let’s get you out of here.”

He followed her out of the kitchen, through the abandoned corporate headquarters, past silent phones and blank-screened computers and rolling chairs pushed away from desks in haste and never set right. He thought about the filing cabinet packed with automatic weapons, the huge map of Africa in Roger’s office, the indifferent expressions on the faces of the undertakers who’d driven Roger’s body away in a twenty-year-old Volvo station wagon with the rear row of seats removed.

What would happen to Roger’s body now? Presumably he had some family somewhere who’d been notified. But how would they get it out of Latadi? What were the chances a funeral home would keep its operations going through a full-scale rebellion? It was a grisly end, he decided. One even Roger didn’t deserve.

He stood in the front entryway while Nicola diverted to the bathroom, situating himself to simultaneously keep an eye on the bathroom door and the sedan idling outside. Cedric was in the driver’s seat, Alex at his side. The trunk was full of the suitcases and backpacks they’d hastily stuffed inside a few hours earlier, possessions stripped down to the barest essentials. Laptops, clothes, passports, wallets.

He sighed as he squinted up at the sky, at the blood-red sunlight streaking through a handful of clouds. He was a child of apartheid-era South Africa, he’d weathered the violent 1990s in Johannesburg, and the Special Task Force had taken him to parts of his country he wished he’d never known existed.

But he’d never been somewhere like this, at a time like this.

For better or worse, South Africa had steered its own destiny for a hundred years. Latadi was different—barely thirty years since independence and it’d seen almost as many governments, each one deeper in the pockets of foreign corporate interests than the one before. And where had it gotten them? Illiteracy, poverty, one of Africa’s highest rates of death in childbirth, and now another civil conflict that would cost countless lives and erase whatever recovery the country had made in the months since the last one.

He shook his head. What a waste.

The bathroom door opened and Nicola emerged, pausing at his side. She touched the small of his back, her hand lingering before she dropped it.

“Something on your mind?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Latadi. It’s got so much potential—agriculture, mining, manufacturing, even the airport could be a huge economic advantage. But it’s got nothing. The country is dirt poor.”

“Plenty of people are getting rich off Latadi,” she corrected. “It’s just that none of them live here.”

For a moment they stood side by side, silent, staring at the high wall separating Hambani from the countryside surrounding it. The absence of the sounds of industrial machinery made the boundary feel especially arbitrary. Like a silly, deluded effort to own what could never be possessed, not really. Not for long enough to matter.

Movement in the car caught his attention. Dan twisted to look at them through the back window, anxiety plain on his face.

“I’d better go,” she said, suggesting she’d seen the same.

He slung his arm across her back and pulled her into his side for a quick squeeze, not daring to touch her any more intimately. “Keep your wits about you, but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. I’ll call you whenever I can.”

“If I don’t see you tonight in August Town,” she reminded him.