WAR: Opposition: (WAR Book 3) (7 page)

Kirra focused on keeping her breathing even and quiet. The man stomped around, but his angry mutters proved that he had no idea this secret room existed. When at last he moved away, she sagged in relief.

“Anything?” the leader barked.

“No, sir.”

“That is a pity, is it not?” the leader commented. “Maybe we should help ourselves to some of this fine alcohol as compensation for not finding the white lady.”

“Take as much as you like,” the bartender said tightly.

Kirra hoped the rebels would take the alcohol and leave. Her legs were starting to cramp painfully from being in such an awkward position. She was out of practice for holding still, but was too terrified of drawing the attention of the rebels to move.

The squawk of a radio drowned out the sound of clinking glass from the main room. The rebel leader responded in the local dialect. Judging by his tone, he did not agree with whatever orders he’d received. Glass crashed against the floor and this time Kirra smelled alcohol.

The leader snapped off a series of commands in the local language. Several minutes later, doors slammed shut on the Jeep and the rebels drove away.

Shutting her eyes in relief, Kirra sagged against her pack. That had been close. Too close. And what really ticked her off was that she had no idea what the rebels wanted. They were clearly searching for something they hadn’t found on any of the bus passengers, but what? And why did they think she had it?

It took another ten minutes before the bartender opened the door. “Well done,” he said, giving her his hand so she could climb awkwardly to her feet.

“Are they gone?”

“Yes. Their commander has sent them somewhere else for now.”

Kirra set her pack in front of the little room, stretched her arms overhead, then sighed and followed the man into the main room. Oh, God. The rebels had broken every glass and bottle in the place, turning the floor into a glittering carpet of multicolored shards. The scent of alcohol and spilled
gaz coldrinks
hit her. She reeled back, coughed, and pulled her scarf back over her nose and mouth. The bartender opened several windows, and in a few moments the air became tolerable.

“I’m so sorry,” Kirra said, dropping the scarf. “I had no idea the rebels were so close behind me. I thought I’d moved out of their sight before I turned down this road.” She rummaged in her backpack for one of her business cards. “If you’ll send me a bill, I’ll make sure to pay for the damage.”

The bartender shook his head. “It is not your fault. The rebels are the ones who did the harm. They are the ones who must pay.”

Kirra shoved her card at him. “But they won’t pay, will they? It might take a bit of time, but I promise I’ll send you the money.”

The bartender ignored her outstretched hand. “Keep your card. I don’t want your money. This is a dangerous world we live in. I would be no kind of human being if I let the rebels capture you.”

“But—”

He shook his head. “You will not pay for what the rebels have done. Not only that, you should not give out your cards to people here, as the rebels could use the cards to identify you.” He reached for the broom in the corner, but Kirra beat him to it.

“At least let me help with this,” she insisted.

He shrugged, then grabbed a rag from behind the bar and began to mop up the spilled liquid. Kirra set about sweeping the shards of glass into a big pile in the middle of the room.

“There will be other rebels searching this area for you,” the bartender warned as he wrung out the rag into the sink. “Where will you go next?”

“Yeah, where?” The American stood in the doorway, scowling at her. His right hand held a pistol along his thigh with the casualness of someone who considered the weapon an extension of his body. He stood in that balanced way of trained fighters, reminding her of her brother and Thabo.

In the light from the two lanterns not destroyed by the rebels, she noticed that his eyes were a wary, hazel brown and his hair was indeed a dark blond. She judged him to stand at close to six feet. Under other circumstances, she might have considered him sexy, but blood trickled from a cut on his cheekbone and guilt hummed through her veins. Dammit, she didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her.

“There’s nothing of interest to a foreigner down this way,” the American pointed out. “Even the surfers are too afraid of the rebels to try their luck on the waves. So why the hell did you show up here, tonight?”

Kirra’s temper flared, but she quickly sucked back her anger. This man had deadly allies. Who knew how he’d react if she antagonized him? So she said, as meekly as she could, “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to lead the rebels into the bar. I already told Mr.—” She glanced over at the bartender.

“Komi Adebayor.”

Kirra nodded at him. “I already told Mr. Adebayor that I thought I was out of sight when I turned down this way. I’ve offered to pay for the damages, so I don’t see what business it is of yours why I’m here or where I’m going. As soon as I’m done helping Mr. Adebayor clean up, I’ll be on my way.” According to her paper map, this town was the last one in the country. If she’d stayed on the road there would have been no other shelter between here and the border one hundred kilometers away. She’d hoped to find a room for the night, but since the rebels were hot on her trail again, she guessed she’d be spending another night on the beach. Assuming she could find a suitable hiding place.

The American’s scowl deepened and he shot a glance at her feet. “You were limping as you came down the road. How far do you think you’re going to get tonight?”

Not far, which was why the beach was her only option. But there was no way she was trusting this man with that information. So she shrugged, walked over to the other side of the room, and resumed sweeping up the glass.

“See?” The American swept his arm out. “Limping.”

Damn him, her limp wasn’t that bad. She’d put on her
takkies
once she’d left the beach, but it had been years since she’d spent that much time climbing barefoot over rocks and the bottoms of her feet were bruised and cut. Still, she wasn’t dragging her leg or anything. She raised her chin. “I’m trying to avoid broken glass.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” The American snatched the broom out of her hands. “Let me do that.”

She grabbed it back and grit out, “I am fully capable of sweeping the floor. This was my fault. So I will help clean up.” Despite his ferocious scowl, the American didn’t try to take back the broom. When he didn’t make any threatening moves, she dared to point at the overturned furniture. “Why don’t you set the tables and chairs to rights?” The man certainly appeared fit enough to handle much heavier weight than this plastic furniture.

He blinked in surprise. One corner of his mouth lifted in the start of a smile. He threw her a mocking salute, then did as she’d ordered.

She almost returned his smile. But then she remembered that he’d flown for Natchaba. She couldn’t trust him.

“Hello?” a voice called from the patio. “Komi, are you fine? We saw the rebels stop here.”

Kirra quickly, but quietly, set her broom aside and raced into the back room.

“Yes, I am very fine, Madame,” the bartender said, striding out to the patio. “Thank you for your concern.”

Kirra pushed open the door to the hidden room, but the American stopped her. “It’s not safe,” he whispered. “That woman knows about the hiding place, and she’s a rebel informer. If she finds you here, the rebels will destroy Komi.” He reached for her pack. “You’d better come with me. I’ve got a spare room.”

Kirra snatched her pack up before he touched it. “Thank you, but I heard what the rebels said. You work for their allies. For all I know, you’re going to turn me in.”

“If I meant you harm, I would have given you up when the rebels first asked,” he snapped.

“You’re not hiding anyone in the back, are you?” the woman’s voice said. Heels clicked across the wooden floor of the bar.

The American grabbed Kirra’s hand and hustled her out the back door.

“This way,” he whispered, tugging her into the section of coconut trees between the back of the bar and the beach.

Kirra took several deep breaths of warm ocean air to clear the scents from the bar out of her nose. When they were close enough to the beach for the crashing of the waves to mask conversation, she dug her heels in and stopped. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine on my own. I—”

He slapped a hand over her mouth. “Shh.”

The light from the half moon barely provided enough illumination to show that he was staring between the coconut trees toward the beach. Kirra shook free of his hand and edged closer to the escarpment that led down to the sand. Oh, no. Vehicle headlamps moved toward them along the beach. Behind the vehicle trailed several smaller, bobbing lights that must have been rebels on foot with torches.

Her shoulders drooped.

The American took her arm and urged her into a run. As he wove between the coconut trees, Kirra marveled at his stealth. Even with the sandy soil, he made virtually no noise.

Several minutes later, the man slowed to a walk to navigate a thick cluster of trees and bushes. “Were you seriously thinking of spending the night on the beach?” he whispered.

She shrugged, even though he had his back to her. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Damn straight it doesn’t. You’re coming home with me.”

“No. I don’t trust you. You worked for that monster, Natchaba.”

He stopped at the head of a path leading up to a wooden gate and spun to face her. “I am not a rebel sympathizer,” he snapped. “I’m an independent pilot. I take flights even from people I hate in order to pay the bills, okay? I’m no saint, but the fact that I just ran interference for you should prove that I’m not a threat to you.”

“You were gone for a while after the rebels left. How do I know that you weren’t working with them to set up a trap? Or maybe you have a deal with a group of rebels that’s in opposition to the ones chasing me.”

“I only fly for the rebels. I don’t help them on the ground.”

Her eyes cut to the pistol in his hand. “Since when are innocent pilots armed?”

“Lady, any smart person living in West Africa carries at least one weapon.”

She bristled at his implication. “It’s not stupid to go unarmed. It’s normal. But I doubt you understand the term.”

He shook his head and muttered, “Normal will get you killed.”

“So could going off in the dark with a deadly stranger,” she shot back.

He flinched. “Fine, believe what you want. Follow me or not. It’s none of my damn business if you die.”

With a curse, he turned away. As he headed down the path, he threw over his shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear, “I was following the rebels to make certain they weren’t going to hide nearby and wait for you to emerge.” He shoved open the wooden gate and caught it before it rebounded against the fence. “I wanted to make certain you’d be safe!”

Kirra hesitated. Despite her exhaustion, maybe she should keep going until she found a spot without any rebel presence.

On the other hand, his outrage had the odd effect of easing some of her fears. Franz and his friends had never cared about her safety or comfort. She’d been a tool for achieving their goals. Nothing more. Which had made it all too easy for them to beat her nearly to death, because they hadn’t considered her a person.

“Bitch…Whore…Die…”

Sharp pain pierced her temples and she couldn’t hold back a whimper of distress.

“Hey, are you okay?” The man returned to her side and took her arm to steady her.

“Yes, just a…a bit of a headache.”

He stared at her as if he knew she was lying. But before he could question her on it, she heard a vehicle roar past on the nearby road. A moment later, it slammed on its brakes.

Kirra’s pulse spiked, which only increased her headache.

The American urged her deeper into the trees, then pulled her down behind a clump of bushes.

Straining to hear over the sound of the waves, she thought she caught the sound of angry voices. Torch light speared toward their hiding place. Kirra regulated her breathing and tensed her muscles, once again prepared to run.

But the searchers only explored the edge of the grove. They left after perhaps ten minutes.

The American stood up. “Are you coming with me or not?”

Kirra hesitated. She’d intended to say good-bye and be on her way, but with the rebels combing both the roads and the beach for her, it wasn’t safe to go off on her own. She was so tired, she’d make a mistake obscuring her trail. Like it or not, she needed a place to hide.

“Yes.”

W
hat the hell
was he thinking? Seth wondered as he stood by his back gate and searched for any signs that the rebels had left a man or two on guard. At this point, he’d relish a confrontation. He’d wanted to fight back at the bar, yet the fallout would have hit Komi and his neighbors.

So he’d played nice instead.

Seth should have left it at that. The woman didn’t trust him. She didn’t want his help. Yet here he was, the dupe who’d offered to hide her at his home instead of letting her go on her merry way.

She must be of high value for the rebels to have two different teams after her. Worse, Seth had recognized two of the men as belonging to Bureh’s faction of rebels. If they captured the woman, there soon wouldn’t be enough left of her body to identify.

His damn protective side would screw everything up if he didn’t stay focused on what mattered—making sure that his niece never again suffered the touch of a weapon against her fragile skin.

Not hearing or seeing any indications of a rebel presence, he walked into his backyard, aware of the woman trailing behind him. A quick glance confirmed that her limp was now more pronounced. Probably from blisters. He scowled. Too late to change his mind. He’d already offered and, thanks to the rebel presence, she’d already accepted his help. Which meant that he’d be up the rest of the night keeping watch in case the rebels decided to pay him a visit.

He needed to—

“Nope. Not my business. Keep her safe tonight. Say good-bye in the morning. Never see her again. That’s my plan. I am not getting involved.”

“What was that?” the woman asked.

Shit. He’d said that aloud. “Nothing.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit there while I check to see if the rebels left any surprises inside.” Without giving her a chance to answer, he strode around the corner.

A perimeter check revealed that several of his intruder warning systems had been tripped. However, as intended, the more obvious wires had been a visual warning that the rebels had understood. They hadn’t attempted to break in.

Seth let himself inside, did a quick room-to-room check just in case some lucky rebel had found a way to bypass his security, then lit a couple of lanterns and returned to where he’d left the woman.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s safe. Come on.”

She nodded and stood up.

The bungalow was shaped like the letter H with the main entrance on the cross-piece. To his surprise, he felt nervous as he led her up the concrete step to the covered porch and through the front door. “So, this is it,” he said quietly as they stepped into the short hallway. “The guest room is down here.” He led the woman across the short hallway into the right leg of the H and the guest room that extended toward the front yard.

“I’ll grab some sheets and make the bed up for you if you want to clean up,” Seth said as he lit the lantern on the bedside table.

She glanced down at her salt and dirt encrusted clothing and nodded.

Don’t ask. Do not ask. Keep it impersonal.

“So, what’s your name?”
Aargh!

“Kirra,” she said.

When he didn’t reply, she prompted, “And you are?”

Oh, what the hell. Now that the assassin had found him, his real identity was no longer a secret. “Seth. You can call me Seth.”

Kirra noticed his hesitation and shot him a wary glance, but thankfully didn’t comment.

“You’re a long way from South Africa, Kirra. Is there anyone you need to call to let them know that you’re safe? I have a satellite phone you can use.”

“I…No.”

“Are you sure?”

She pursed her lips, then shook her head. “All my contacts were on my phone, which I lost.”

“Did you store them online? Internet access is spotty here, but if it’s working, I don’t mind if you log in using my laptop.”

“Thanks, but no. I put extra security measures in place before I came. I can’t access my online accounts without getting a code sent to my phone.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “How’d you recognize my accent? Most foreigners don’t.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always had an ear for languages. But mostly it’s because I had a small flight business there for a bit.” And it was where his current troubles had started. He’d given up his beloved helicopters to throw his pursuers off his trail, but the thought of not flying at all had been unbearable, so he’d switched to planes.

“Why are Bureh’s rebels after you?” Seth demanded. “Because no matter how much they hate foreigners, hunting you down like this isn’t worth their manpower unless there’s something else at stake.”

Her expression immediately became even more guarded and her body stilled. “I don’t know. They attacked the bus I was on and searched my things, but they never said what it is they’re looking for.” She lifted a hand to brush a stray curl out of her eyes. The sleeve of her shirt slid back, revealing recent cuts and scrapes on her wrist and the base of her thumb.

“What the hell?” Seth grabbed her forearm. He thought he’d been gentle, but she flinched and tried to pull away. Without letting go, he murmured, “Shh. I’m not going to hurt you, Kirra. I just want to take a look at your wounds, okay?”

She licked her lips. Her tension eased and she nodded.

He nudged her until he could hold her wrist close enough to the lantern to see the extent of the wounds. Recognizing the pattern, the bottom of his stomach dropped out. Hoping he was wrong, he gently examined her other wrist.

Nope. He’d been right. “You were handcuffed.”

“Yes.” He noticed that she avoided looking at the wounds. Because she didn’t want to remember? Or because she couldn’t stand the sight of blood?

“And the rebels didn’t say why?”

“Oh, the handcuffs were because I’m white. They had the typical rebel plans for me.” She shrugged, but her voice carried a hint of the terror she’d felt. “They didn’t explain what they were after, but I gathered they searched the entire bus.” Her voice caught and he wondered what else had happened.

He studied her face and saw that what had appeared to be dirt was actually a series of bruises from blows to the face. She even had a healing cut on her lip.

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday.”

“You’ve been evading the rebels for a full day? Impressive.”

She shrugged. “I was motivated.”

He couldn’t help it, he snorted. “Yeah, I bet.” He glanced at her wrists. “Motivated enough to free yourself from the handcuffs.”

If he hadn’t still been holding her wrist he wouldn’t have noticed how her pulse kicked. Now, wasn’t that interesting? Did she have experience with handcuffs? Or was she protecting someone who’d freed her? In which case, where was her accomplice?

Not my business.

Her stomach growled.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

She lifted a shoulder and glanced away. “So,” she said. “About that bath?”

“Right.” He gestured toward the cross corridor and the large windows that looked onto the inner courtyard. “This town doesn’t have running water, but across the courtyard there’s a bathing chamber with a barrel of water. The pit toilet is next to it.” He glanced at her. “Do you need a towel?”

She shook her head. “No. I brought one of my own.”

“Okay, then.”

She nodded, then picked up her backpack and left the room. He watched as she found the exterior door and walked across the courtyard. Once she’d shut the door to the bathing chamber behind her, he ran his hand over the back of his head. This situation just kept getting worse. He hadn’t listened to the news today because he’d left early for his flight, but now he grabbed his portable radio. He needed to find out what had happened to that bus and if the media knew what the rebels were searching for.

After placing the radio on the bedside table and turning it to the one station that came in clearly this far east, Seth made up the bed. Unfortunately, because of the late hour, the radio station was playing only music. All right. He shut it off. He’d have to check the news in the morning.

He tucked the top sheet in, then went out to the kitchen to throw together a meal.

As he worked, he considered the possibility that Kirra had lied to him. Maybe she was in possession of whatever the rebels wanted and had managed to keep the item hidden.

Seth adjusted the heat on the two-burner stove. Kirra seemed like a straightforward, slightly naïve woman who’d gotten in over her head. Yet something about her made his instincts sit up. She had courage and strength underneath that soft exterior. After all, she’d shredded the skin on her wrists in order to slip out of a pair of handcuffs. Most people wouldn’t have the stomach—or the knowledge—to accomplish that.

So, who’d trained her? And why?

Stay out of it.

Right. He’d been telling himself that since he’d been nine years old, but his damn protective instincts never listened. He’d gotten in trouble back then for punching Billy Rylie in the face. The bully had deserved it for shoving Gina Masters down on the playground, but it had a set a precedent that guaranteed Seth would stick his neck out for a woman in need. No matter the personal cost.

Sucker.

Seth decided that the oil in the pan was hot enough and dropped in a few slices of plantain.

Now, if only the assassin stayed away until after Kirra left, all would be good. He trusted most of the people left in this former tourist town, and they’d have told him if they’d spotted the assassin. Since the market was an hour away by motorcycle, the assassin had a wide range of territory to search. Hopefully, by the time the assassin located him, Kirra would be safely away.

Just as critical, Seth had to make certain that no word of this reached Bureh. The last thing he could afford was Bureh complaining to his blackmailer that Seth had interfered with his men’s mission. Seth feared that his blackmailer would see his helping Kirra as a violation of the upcoming agreement to work for Bureh.

Cold fingers of dread tightened around Seth’s throat at the thought of the hit man pulling the trigger on his niece.

No. Only Komi knew that Kirra had left with Seth. And Komi hated the rebels with a passion no amount of money or pain could erase. His brother, sister-in-law, and their four children had died in the Festival Day attack. Komi wouldn’t report Kirra’s whereabouts, no matter what happened. Although, if he ever discovered Seth’s role in that attack, Komi would try to kill him.

The rebels suspected Kirra had run into the bar, but they had no proof that she’d hooked up with Seth.

So, all right. His family was probably safe for now. Still, he’d get rid of Kirra as soon as possible.

Seth shut off the burner and had just set the plates down on the table in his dining area when Kirra walked in. He straightened and studied her as she moved toward him. With the dirt and blood gone, her scrapes didn’t look as bad as they had before. Except for the handcuff marks.

Her wet hair hung straight to just above her breasts, appearing longer than it did when the springy mass was dry. She’d changed into a pair of loose pants and a long-sleeved tunic top. Her flip-flops gleamed in the lantern as if she’d worn them while showering in order to clean them off.

He nodded toward the bowl of stew he’d just ladled out. “For you.”

“Thank you.” Kirra sat down at the little table, then glanced up as he passed her the plate of fried plantains. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He shook his head. “I ate at the bar.”

“Oh. Okay.” She picked up the spoon and ate with surprising restraint. If he’d been that hungry, he would have shoveled the food in.

“Where were you headed before the rebels attacked?”

“The United African Republic,” she answered. “I’m performing Friday at the Shine a Light benefit concert in the UAR. We’re raising money to support victims of the rebels.”

“So what possessed you to get on a public bus instead of flying up there?”

Kirra stiffened and jabbed her spoon into the remaining bit of stew. “My plane was grounded due to mechanical problems and there were no other flights. I can’t miss my performance. With the forecast predicting bad storms, I decided to take the bus.” Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how I’ll get there now.”

Seth paced away. Dammit, he had no business getting involved. Yet he’d seen the photos from the Hospital Massacre. Having flown Natchaba’s men into the area, he bore some of the responsibility. While it wouldn’t bring back the people who’d been killed, taking Kirra to safety would be a small act of defiance.

And maybe one step toward redemption.

“As I said before, I’m a pilot. I can fly you out of here.” Seth closed his eyes in defeat as the words came out of his mouth. “Give me the name of the city we’ll head up there in the morning.”

He opened his eyes to find Kirra staring at him. He braced himself for rejection.

“I—” She glanced at the window. His bungalow was too far away to have a view of the beach, but he was confident that the rebels were still searching for her.

“How else are you going to get up north without the rebels spotting you?” he said, trying to convince his hands-off side as much as Kirra. “They must have alerted their entire network by now. No place will be safe. But unless they surround the airfield with more weaponry than they had tonight, there’s no way they can stop me flying you out of here.”

Kirra chewed her lip, then said hesitantly, “I could go to the police. The authorities will keep me safe.”

Seth snorted, although part of his mind cataloged the fact that she sounded less than enthusiastic about turning herself in. Just what kind of trouble was she in?

“No?” Kirra asked with a hint of relief.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, maybe some of them are decent cops. But they’re overworked and underpaid. We’d have no way of knowing if the people we dealt with were honest, or were being paid by one of the various rebel factions.” He knew a few of the corrupt cops in this region, and he could probably pay them to keep Kirra safe. But that protection would only last until someone else came along with more money.

Or the rebels started shooting.

“That’s not all,” Seth said. “You can bet your…ah…hat…that the rebels will have teams watching the nearest towns. They’ll try to capture you as soon as you’re spotted.”