by Fiona Quinn
When Ty and Rory stopped in front of Kira’s house to stretch and catch their breath, Ty looked up to find Kira in a pretty blue sundress standing behind her glass storm door, smiling at him and sipping from a mug.
He grinned and waved. It felt like coming home. It felt normal and comforting and nothing like a life-or-death ploy to get their hands on one of the most wanted terrorist plotters in the world.
She pressed the door open. “Hey there. Good morning.”
***
Ty emerged from Kira’s bedroom, having used her shower. He thought it telling that he was allowed into that private space when she could have directed him to the hall bathroom.
As he soaped his body, he thought about Kira in here doing the same, and his dick jumped to attention. Yeah, that’s not going to do. Ty turned the water temperature to cold.
He could smell breakfast cooking, warm and aromatic, as he padded down the stairs dressed in one of White’s outfits—another pair of jeans, this one without rips, and a black T-shirt.
“I already ate. I hope you don’t mind. I woke up ravenous this morning.” She gestured toward the table that was set up with a feast. “Please, help yourself.”
Ty smiled and went to the table. The meal was lavish with roasted vegetables, eggs, olives, yogurt with olive oil, and some pastries that he didn’t recognize. “Thank you, this is amazing.”
“I was up early talking with Chef Bruno about this upcoming event I was telling you about last night. I wish you had been in town a week ago.” She gestured toward her counter, where papers were stacked in neat piles with colorful sticky notes. “I’m heading out of town Friday morning, and this has to be handled today at the latest.” She sat on the stool. “I don’t want to get in the way of your day, but I was hoping you would like to just kind of hang out together while I plow through this.”
“Is it anything I can help you with?”
“I’m setting up a meeting.” She stopped and put her hand on her forehead. “I’m pretty stressed. Last year’s meeting was a horrific fiasco.”
Ty sat in a chair on the far side of the table so he could face her. “Why, what happened?”
“I had arranged for the group to go out on an orangutan walk. The head of security nixed the idea as too dangerous, what with bands of robbers who were preying on tourists in the area. Last-minute, I was able to find a different activity and had them hike out to a village inhabited by the descendants of headhunters—I thought it would be cool.”
“Yeah? That’s what you consider cool?”
Kira pressed her lips together and lifted her brows. “That’s not even the thing that went wrong. London’s stepson Karl called from the yacht to tell me it was a horrible experience.” She huffed out a breath. “Next on the itinerary, I had them take the yacht to go surfing at this internationally renowned and very secluded spot. Some freak storm hit them. They all got back, but they were banged up and in the hospital.”
“Wow, that’s too bad. But surely not your fault.”
“I’m not to the bad part yet. Once they got cleared by the doctors, I arranged for another boat to take them to their island, Davidson Realm. There was an accident—”
“What happened in the accident? They got there by boat? Was it a remote location? Were they able to help the victim?”
“Not quick enough. It was London’s stepson, Karl. He was shot in the thigh when his sister Christen was aiming at some bad people who had come onto their island. Marauders. The security guards put a tourniquet on, but it was too many hours to get him into surgery. He had to have his leg amputated.”
“Are you serious right now?” That was not how that story went, but surely the Davidsons wanted to keep the truth hidden. “And yet they’re still letting you plan the next meeting?” he asked as she swiped her phone and brought it to her ear. She crossed her eyes at him, and it made him laugh.
Kira took call after call, interfacing with the caterer, the florist, the wine steward. The tobacconist. Ty savored his breakfast, content to listen to her planning and her attention to the tiniest details.
London called in, though Ty knew she was in Qatar. It was five in the afternoon, over there. “You want a photographer?” Kira asked as she scribbled over her notes. “That’s really short notice. I can go through the contacts and see if I can’t get someone. I’ll do my best.”
She paused as she listened.
“Yes, Joyce Drewby might be good. But it’s July wedding season. I had trouble getting her on the books for Christen’s wedding celebration. I’ll do my utmost, I promise.” After another pause for London’s side of the conversation, Kira said, “I read the entry visas, it said staff. I’m sure that’s how they categorized the pilots and me, but I can’t see how adding a photographer would be a problem as far as paperwork goes.”
His phone buzzed as he knew it would. White was nothing if not checking off boxes on her psyops campaign.
He read: You have a friend who was in East Africa and is leaving out of Tanzania. This morning, they heard about unrest along the western border near Lake Victoria, and they’re glad to get out of there. Your friend is a man named Mahfud. Erase message.
Ty needed to get into that compound. No matter what else was going on. Damned White to hell and back. He was going to have to frighten Kira and then manipulate her into asking him to come along for the ride. But this photography angle…maybe that might work for him. He could put London and Kira on the plane and stay back as a photographer. That way, he could be there to help his brothers on Echo and Foxtrot take hold of Omar Mohamed Imadi.
He liked that idea. Kira safe. And him zip-tying the terrorist.
Ty scowled at White’s text as Kira wrapped up her phone call. Keep scowling. Wait for Kira to ask what’s wrong.
He moved the message to the trash can.
“Is everything okay?” Kira asked.
He hated this game. He hated lying to her. “Yeah. This text is concerning, is all. A buddy of mine, who’s in Tanzania, says he’s glad to be heading home because there’s some unrest on the western border up near Lake Victoria.”
“In Tanzania?” Her hand came up around her throat. “Did he say what was going on?”
“That’s the extent of his text. He’s heading home.” Ty placed his phone back on the table. “He’s fine.”
Kira’s whole body tightened. “Who’s your friend?” she asked.
“Mahfud? A buddy.”
“What does he do?” Her brows drew in tight with concentration. “Is he in the military like you?”
“Was. Now, he does contract work, risk assessment for companies.” He hated all of this.
“Would he tell you more if you asked?” She was kneading her hands in her lap.
“Why would I ask?”
“That’s where this meeting is happening. I’ll be there with my friend London.”
Ty’s scowl deepened. “When?”
“I’m flying out Friday to arrive Saturday morning.”
“You’re heading out to the Tanzanian bush alone?”
She nodded vigorously.
“Where is this on the map?” he asked.
She picked up her computer and walked over to Ty.
He pushed the plates out of her way as she sat beside him. Kira pulled up a search on the Internet, scrolled, and brought the cursor down on the Davidson Range compound's satellite image.
Ty moved his chair behind her, and as she pointed, he gazed over her shoulder. He reached for the mouse and scrolled around. “This is very near the Rwandan and Burundi borders.”
“About three and a half hours drive to either country along this road.”
“This is a heavily Muslim country. You’re a woman traveling alone? How would Davidson allow that? It puts eyes on you. Possibly a target on your back.”
“Yes, I understand it isn’t done. When I say I’ll be alone, I don’t mean that I’ll be alone. There will be a pilot, of course, and a co-pilot.”
“These are Davidson�
��s people? They won’t be responsible for your safety.”
“No. They aren’t responsible for me. I’ll be on the Davidson jet. They’re sending it to the United States as we speak to pick up the things I’ll be bringing in, the flower arrangements and food.”
“Is that allowed? Aren’t there usually prohibitions on plant products coming into their country?”
“On dogs, too. But I have a letter from the Tanzanian government that allows me to bypass the regulations. So, beyond the supplies for the retreat, it won’t be a problem for me to bring Princess Beatrice to see London.”
“How is it that you got a letter like that?”
“One of the guests going to Davidson Range is the minister who is in charge of the regulations.”
“Friends in high places.”
“This is William Davidson we’re talking about. There aren’t a lot of people who say no to him.”
“So you get into where? Dar es Salaam?” Ty pointed to the coastal city that was an international hub.
“Exactly. I don’t even get off the plane. The pilot gets us refueled, and we fly straight out to the Range.”
“Is there an airport nearby his property?”
“The Range has its own landing strip. The plane will be able to taxi right up to the back gate, and the workers will be able to unload.”
“But you’re afraid.”
“Do you ever just get a feeling that something isn’t right. That there’s danger ahead?”
“It’s saved my life out on the battlefield on more than one occasion.”
“There, see? I thought you were intuitive. I leave Friday morning.” She gestured to the stacks of papers. “Hence all this. From Durham, it’s a twenty-four-hour trip with a quick stop to refuel in Spain and again in Dar es Salaam. London gets there on Sunday evening. We leave together on Monday morning to fly to Washington for some meetings. I won’t be in Africa very long. It’s just that the meeting last year taught me to expect worse case scenarios.”
Ty scrolled the mouse to get a better view of the estate. “That’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is and right between the preserve on the west and Lake Victoria on the east.” She pointed.
He nodded. “Do you go there often? Are you familiar with the dynamics of the area?”
“I’ve been there,” she looked up as she thought, “three times.”
“I thought you translated literature. What has this got to do with your work?”
“I’ve been helping London out. She has the new baby.”
“Might not be a great time to go there. Let me see what I can find out from boots on the ground.” He swiped at his phone, then tapped out a text to White, listed as YT in his contacts. Call me—need info on unrest. He let Kira see it, pressed send, and left the phone on the counter.
No call came through. Ty didn’t expect one to.
After a few minutes of silence, she asked, “Why would Mahfud have texted you such a thing?”
“I have teammates in East Africa.” He moved his napkin from his lap to the table, then stood to take the dishes into the kitchen.
“Oh.” She was staring at his phone as if she were willing it to buzz.
“Not to make you more anxious, but maybe you should check in with the compound’s security. I assume your friends have that in place, expensive property like that.”
She nodded and rolled her lips in. “I’ll ask London. I’m supposed to talk to her again this afternoon. Maybe she has a better understanding of what’s going on.” She held Ty’s gaze for an overlong time.
Ty found contentment being there with her.
He pushed any dark thoughts out of his mind, lest her INFJ could read them as clearly as White said she could.
“Okay,” Kira said after a moment. “Back to the planning.” She lifted the laptop and made her way to the counter. “Thank you for hanging out. It’s nice to have you here. I’m sorry it’s not very exciting. What I’d really like to do is take the day off and go do something fun with you.” She gestured toward her piles. “But I have responsibilities.”
Chapter Twenty-One
TY
The morning had come and gone. Kira was pulling ingredients from the fridge to make them lunch.
“We could order in,” he suggested.
“Oh,” she turned to him, onion in hand, “cooking is relaxing for me. I need something to occupy my mind so I can marinate some of the details and look again with a fresh eye.”
“Then at least let me take you to dinner tonight.”
His invitation brought a smile to her eyes. So beautiful. So kind. Intelligent. He’d like to string complimentary adjectives like beads on a necklace and offer it as a gift. Maybe he could think of something, a remembrance he could give her before their paths went in separate directions.
“What was that look?” Kira asked. “You suddenly look sour, do you not like my cooking? We can call for pizza.”
“Breakfast this morning was one of the best I’ve ever had. I’m looking forward to lunch. My sour look was about this article I was reading. I’m trying to find out more about what’s going on over on the Tanzanian border. I sent a follow up text to Mahfud. He made it to Djibouti and is waiting for transport out. He sent me an article.
She came to lean over his shoulder.
He caught her hand and pulled her around to sit on his lap.
Ty knew this article was about Niger and was nowhere near Tanzania, but the article was scrubbed of those words when White sent it to him.
Tuesday saw one of the deadliest days in decades. A hundred people were killed in two attacks on villagers by Islamist violence.
The responsible group has not been named.
Security sources indicate that the area has seen an escalation in militants' attacks associated with al Qaeda and Islamic State. Officials believe that this violence is part of a broader crisis as rival ethnic communities have embraced jihadist violence amid a scarcity of resources.
These survival resources—food, drinking water, and access to medicine have spurred revenge killings between groups.
Tuesday’s attacks create a grave threat to our communities and our way of life. The government pleads with those involved in extremist groups to understand that Africa will have to work with its allies to survive as the global environmental crisis escalates. Those potential allies are watching closely.
“Your pot’s smoking,” Ty said, putting his hands on her hips to help her stand.
“When I talk to London later, I’ll ask her to speak with her head of security and see what he says. Though sequestered the way they are in the compound, they may be cut off from local news.”
Ty followed Kira as she moved to the stove, taking a seat on one of her bar stools at the counter and looking down at lists of menus, times, and instructions. “What’s all this?”
“London and her husband William fired their Range chef.”
“Oh?”
“Too French.”
“I see.”
“They have a cook, but they want the food to be amazing. And to them, the most amazing chef is Bruno at their Texas home.”
“Do they have a lot of homes?”
“Too many for me to remember them all. All over the world. Each with its own staff. And Bruno has been William's favorite for about as long as I’ve been alive.”
“Big difference in age between you and William?”
“My friend London is younger than two of his children.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, they get that a lot. But you know what Emily Dickinson says, ‘The heart wants what it wants.’ Anyway,” she came over and tapped the page. “Bruno’s doing the cooking and packaging. The cook simply needs to follow the instructions. Unfortunately—”
“The chef doesn’t read English.”
“Exactly. I need to get this translated for them. I speak Arabic fluently, so I can guess at what people are saying to me in Swahili. Swahili marries African Bantu with Arabic. It’s
a mishmashed fusion like creole in Louisiana.”
“I’m familiar,” Ty said. Here was another possible road onto that property. “I went to Army language school studying Arabic and a couple of other linked languages. I used it when I was based in the Middle East and Africa for most of my career, including Swahili.” He stroked his thumb along his chin. “The compound is on the far west border of Tanzania. There are a lot of lesser spoken tribal languages used out there. Is Swahili the language that her staff speaks? Does she speak it?”
“London? No, she speaks southern.” Kira lifted the lid on her pot and smelled the steam, picking up the ginger and adding it in. “And London doesn’t talk to the help.” Kira put “help” in air quotes to show that this wasn’t something she agreed with as she moved vegetable scraps to the trash can. “The main guy who manages the estate grew up in an English-speaking orphanage. So he teaches the workers the basics. If London needs something, she writes it on a pad that she carries around with her, and they take it to the manager for translation.”
“What about security? Can her security team speak to her in English?” Ty crossed his arms over his chest and rested his heels on the stool rung.
“The head of security speaks English fairly well.” She stirred the pot and added a lid. “He taught his guards basics like how to say ‘run, hide.’”
“Run and hide? Is that necessary there? Are there secret places to go? Secure rooms?”
Kira shrugged. “We never needed to know that. It’s so far away from everything. It seems very safe. The main concern is when the elephants come and rub their backs on the security wall. There’s fear that they’ll crash the walls down, then all of the wild animals would get in, and the workers' flocks would get out. Here.” She moved her computer closer to Ty and flipped through the pictures. “London sent me these photos of the newly refurbished rooms, so the florist and I could pick complementary colors for the arrangements.”
Ty moved forward and backward through the photos devising a way to send these to White while Kira wasn’t looking. “I see four guys in the corner sentry booths.”