by Tony Park
She laughed at his joke and twirled her hair again. When the waitress had turned her back to them, Rosie leaned over from her wicker chair to his and put a hand on his knee. ‘I’m pissed.’
‘I’ll take you to bed.’
‘Now you’re talking.’
‘Alone.’
Rosie leaned back and the drinks came, quickly – the waitress was obviously as keen to get to sleep as her boss had been. Rosie took a couple of sips. ‘Sorry, that’s me, out.’
It was odd, Hudson thought, as Rosie had been quite lucid until a few minutes earlier. He’d thought she’d been handling her drink very well and they had both eaten heartily at dinner – she the crocodile and he the delicious mother-in-law’s chicken and prawn curry. ‘OK, I’ll see you to your room.’
‘I’m getting a sense of . . . what’s that thing called?’ Rosie said.
‘What thing?’
He held her arm as they crunched and lurched along a gravel path towards Rosie’s garden suite. Hudson would come back to the main building, where they’d had dinner, to his smaller room after he saw Rosie safely to her room. At least there was no risk of them bumping into a leopard here in Hazyview, unlike the last time he’d escorted her to a hotel room.
‘That thing where you think you’ve been here before.’
‘Déjà vu,’ Hudson said.
‘Yep. That thing.’
Hudson led her to her suite. ‘Key.’
‘Oh.’ She rummaged in her handbag and giggled. ‘Here it is.’
Hudson took the key from her after she’d had three attempts at getting it in the keyhole. He opened the door and she walked in. ‘Well, I’ll say –’
Rosie grabbed him by the shirtfront and pulled him to her, raising herself up on her toes and planting her lips on his. Her mouth was soft and warm and her touch sent an instant charge through his body, to one region in particular.
Hudson put his hands on her shoulders and managed to ease himself away. ‘You’re drunk, Rosie.’
‘No, I’m not.’ She’d stopped slurring and giggling. ‘I know how people in small towns talk, I just wanted to get you away from the bar without it looking like you were about to cheat on your absentee girlfriend.’
‘Sonja’s not my –’
‘Save it. I don’t care either way. I’m not used to being refused, Hudson. Come inside, let’s have some fun.’
She kissed him again and ran a hand down his spine, dropped her handbag on the hotel room floor and grabbed his butt. She broke the kiss and whispered into his ear, ‘Do me.’
What the hell, he thought, why not? He hadn’t slept with Sannie or Rosie, but Sonja thought he had, and had broken off contact with him. If she was so hell-bent on believing he’d cheated, then he may as well have some fun.
He wrapped his arms around Rosie, put his hands under her bum and she jumped up onto him, wrapping her legs around him. He savoured the feel of her petite body in his bear-like grip. He moved to one of the whitewashed walls, pressed her against it and kissed her hard. She ground her body against his and Hudson felt the desire flood through him like a drug.
‘Yes,’ Rosie said. ‘Bed,’ she mumbled through their kisses.
Hudson carried her across the room and lay her down on the starched white duvet cover. She reached up and found his belt buckle and undid it. Hudson kicked off his shoes. She unbuttoned her shirt and Hudson drew a short, sharp breath at the sight of her lacy pale blue bra and the swell of her breasts.
‘You like?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he groaned.
While Rosie clearly wasn’t as drunk as she’d seemed, Hudson hesitated. Rosie had no such qualms and sat up, reached out and undid his zip. She lowered his shorts and traced the outline of his erection through the fabric of his underpants. Rosie leaned forward and placed her mouth on him, biting him softly through the fabric. He half closed his eyes.
Hudson ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, and increased his pressure when she, too, let out a low moan of pleasure.
Rosie moved her mouth from him and looked up into his eyes as she began to free his penis. The crooked grin appeared again and made him smile and sigh.
‘Give in to it,’ she whispered.
Hudson closed his eyes.
Rosie stopped touching him long enough to unzip and pull down her denim skirt. Her pants, which matched her bra, were sheer enough for him to see the tight curls beneath the lace.
Hudson took a breath. ‘Rosie, I shouldn’t.’
She laughed. ‘Relax, I don’t want to marry you, just have sex with you. What’s wrong with that?’
Indeed, he could almost hear a part of his body saying, what’s wrong with that and what’s wrong with you? For crying in a bucket, man-up.
‘Touch me, please.’
He moved a hand to her bare thigh, stroking the skin on the inside. It was so soft, so smooth. Hudson wanted to taste it. His fingers trailed over the sheer fabric of her pants. She had a hand on him again. The desire was agonising.
Rosie took his hand, pressed it to her and he closed his fingers, cupping her, kissing her mouth again, hard, as he felt her heat radiating against his palm.
‘I want you. Now,’ she said into his ear as he kissed her neck. ‘Condom?’
But try as he might, he could not force Sonja’s face from his mind, no matter how tightly he screwed his eyes shut. It wasn’t guilt that he felt, more like sorrow; a sense of loss for something that probably hadn’t existed, but which he thought both of them had longed for.
His body stiffened. ‘Rosie, I’m sorry, I can’t.’
She opened her eyes wide. ‘You’re kidding, right? It doesn’t matter, Hudson. I won’t tell anyone, not Sonja, not anyone here. You’re a single man, for goodness sake.’
He eased himself away from her. He saw the longing in her eyes and felt bad he’d let things get this far.
‘She doesn’t love you. Don’t be a fool. She left you.’
It was true. Sonja had walked out on him, but he felt like there was something more he could have done to help her, to show her how he felt. Rosie reached up and took his hand.
She looked so inviting, so desirable. He thought of all the women he’d been with. Rosie was smart, funny, beautiful and sexy. Would it really matter?
His phone rang. He stooped and picked up his shirt and fumbled for it. He looked at the screen.
Sonja.
*
Sonja held the phone up, hoping the one bar of signal would stay steady this time. She’d tried calling Hudson three times.
There was, Ian had told her, little or no signal in Mana Pools National Park, but on the drive from the ambush site back to the lodge her phone had beeped. It was a text message from her daughter, Emma, telling her all was good with her and there was no need for her to reply, just say hi when she could.
Sonja had told Ian’s driver to stop the open-top Land Rover. She was standing in the back of the vehicle. Thinking about the contact, and the dead bodies in the bakkie that was trailing them, and what Ian had told her about expecting to find the corrupt ranger he had killed, Sonja had an urge to talk to Hudson, to get his take on the gunfight that had gone down at the golf course.
And she had wanted to hear his voice. She felt guilty at how abrupt she had been with him after he had helped her, and for leaving so suddenly with no explanation.
Sonja looked at the screen, saw that the number was dialling. She willed him to answer, even though it was late at night. Abruptly, the call ended. At first, Sonja thought her line had dropped out, but when she checked the signal strength it had stayed steady on one bar.
‘Shit.’
She tried again, but this time her call went straight through to voicemail.
‘Hudson, it’s Sonja. I . . . I’m in Zimbabwe. Some stuff has happened here. I just want to talk to
you, to ask you some questions. And, well, I don’t know. Hope you’re OK. Call me, if you can, though I may not be in signal, so leave me a message.’
‘Shall we go?’ Ian asked.
Sonja looked at the still-glowing screen of her phone. It faded to black. Hudson had cut off her call. ‘Yes.’
It took them half an hour to drive back to the lodge on the edge of the Zambezi. When they arrived Ian supervised two of his maintenance staff to unload the bodies of the dead poachers. Sonja stayed with him, dismissing Tema and Ezekial, but Mario stayed to help move the corpses to the lodge’s spare portable cold room, which thankfully was empty of food.
When they were done, Ian had one of his staff, Taffy, short for Tafudzwa, unlock the bar fridge and drinks cabinet.
The three of them sat at the bar, with Taffy pouring. Sonja nursed a Klipdrift Brandy and Coke Zero.
‘You need to get out of Zimbabwe tomorrow, Sonja,’ Ian said.
‘No argument from me, but will you be OK?’
Ian drained a Bollinger’s Lager and signalled Taffy to open another. ‘No one’s ever OK here, but we manage. The police will come, there will be shit, but we’ll carry on. It’s the way of this country.’
Mario sipped his Scotch, neat, no ice. ‘How will we get out?’
‘There’s an aircraft coming into the Mana Pools airstrip tomorrow morning. It’s bringing in one guest. You’ll fly out on that plane. But we need to get you out of here early, before the national parks guys and the police arrive. If you don’t mind, I’ll take the credit for all the shootings.’
‘We’re not looking for medals,’ Mario said.
Sonja was uneasy about everything to do with this mission. There had been too little time to plan and she had not been told that Julianne had had her sights on a particular target, Obert Mvuu. However, like Mario, the last thing on her wish list was glory for what had happened this night.
‘I’m tired,’ Ian said. ‘I’m taking this beer to bed.’
Sonja looked to Mario. ‘Last one for us as well?’
Mario nodded.
‘Good night, Taffy, you can leave us if you like,’ Sonja said to the barman. He nodded his thanks.
Ian extended his hand to Sonja. ‘Thank you. I know you have concerns about tonight, but I was impressed by you and your team. Trust me when I say that this lodge, this national park and this country are better off as a result.’
Sonja was tired as well, and too exhausted and confused to argue. She had no choice but to accept Ian’s story about why he had opened fire first. The fact was that he had avenged the death of his men, a poaching gang had been all but eliminated, and all her people were going home safe. She wasn’t precious enough to question things further. Sonja’s concern was not with Ian Barton, but the people who employed him – and her.
If Julianne wasn’t running a hit squad, she at least seemed to be manoeuvring Sonja and her team into situations where battle was inevitable and the presence of high-profile targets, such as Cuna, King Jim and now local strongman Obert Mvuu, seemed to be a given. She had her doubts about Ian Barton; she felt sure that he knew, and had probably passed on to their superiors, that they were likely to find Obert with the gang and that his killing had been preordained.
‘Night, Ian.’
He waved and walked out of the bar.
Sonja stretched on her stool, raising her hands above her head, and winced.
‘You OK?’ Mario asked.
‘My neck and shoulders are killing me.’
He got up and moved behind her. ‘Allow me.’
She almost told him no, but as soon as she felt his fingers on her she gave in.
‘I remember doing this to you in Kandahar,’ he said softly, reading her mind.
‘Me too, but this is not the time for that kind of thing.’
‘What kind of thing?’
She swivelled her head and saw his boyish grin. ‘Ow. Not so hard.’
‘Hard is good. Your shoulders are a mess of knots. Look down, let me loosen you up.’
The feeling was, she had to admit, hypnotic, as he kneaded and pinched her tired muscles. She’d had precious little sleep these past few days and had been keyed up, ready for action, most of the time she had been awake. She surrendered, temporarily at least, to his touch.
‘Who were you calling, from the Land Rover?’
‘Hudson Brand.’
Mario snorted.
‘You two don’t like each other. Why not?’
‘It was over a girl; a long time ago, in Angola.’
‘Care to tell me more?’ Sonja asked.
Mario’s fingers paused. ‘He took her away from me, but she came back to me, and then she died. He blames me for her death, saying I put her in danger, but it was Angola. I don’t have to tell you what war zones are like, but for Hudson it was easier for him to channel his anger against me.’
‘He took your girlfriend?’ Sonja was surprised.
‘Ha! You clearly don’t know too much about our Mr Brand. He is quite the ladies’ man. You know of this syndrome, khaki fever?’
She nodded. ‘I grew up in a game lodge in Botswana, remember. I know very well how female clients fall for their handsome khaki-wearing guides when on safari.’
‘Well, in the guide’s textbook, under khaki fever, the entry reads, “See Brand, H.”’
She wondered. Hudson was good-looking, he wasn’t too old, he was heterosexual, and he was single. Why wouldn’t he be playing around with all the women he wanted? Did she have a right to judge him? Sonja told herself she hadn’t wanted to settle down with him in any case. And tonight it seemed as though he had deliberately ended her call. She gave her imagination free rein and pictured him bedding some bimbo tourist.
‘You’re tensing up even more. Relax, Sonja.’
‘Tell me about this girlfriend of yours.’
Mario paused for a second, as if recalling. ‘I loved her. We – 32 Battalion, the South Africans – were fighting on the side of UNITA in Angola, you know, the anti-communists?’
‘Yes,’ Sonja said.
‘The girl, Ines, was part of UNITA, but I found out she was a spy for the communists, for the MPLA, the Angolan army. Brand and I were friends, for a while, but Ines liked him too much. She left me for him, or rather he seduced her away from me. She came back to me, but in the end it was tragic. I tried to cover for her and she told me she had stopped spying, but UNITA found out about her, from an informer and . . . took her away. I never saw her again.’
‘I’m sorry about your friend.’
‘It was war.’ His fingers moved up the nape of her neck, into her hair. He pressed against her scalp.
‘Too hard?’
‘You can go as hard as you like there.’
She hadn’t meant it as a double entendre, but she felt Mario move closer to her, the warmth of his body against her shoulders as his fingers pressed deliciously firmly into her temples. It felt like exquisite torture.
Sonja reached for the countertop and found her drink. She took a long draught and felt the brandy warm her insides while her skin began to sizzle. She needed to think about tonight, about the events of the last few days, and about what, if anything, James Paterson and Julianne Clyde-Smith had been setting her up for. Right now, though, the mix of sensations on and in her body was overriding her brain.
‘We should go to bed,’ she said.
‘That’s the best offer I’ve had in years.’ He laughed to counter the sultriness of his deep voice.
She gulped more brandy and Coke and wiped her lips. ‘Ain’t going to happen.’
‘Just joking. But I feel wired, don’t you? I wouldn’t be able to sleep now, not after tonight.’
‘You sound like you enjoyed getting shot at,’ she said.
Mario stopped massaging and peered around, into her
eyes. ‘You, the great Sonja Kurtz, mercenary? You are telling me combat doesn’t turn you on?’
‘Not in that sense, no. You have a one-track mind, always did, Mario.’
‘Oh, do not get me wrong,’ he said, putting his talented fingers back to work, ‘killing does not give me a hard-on. I am not a madman. But you have to admit, it’s the best drug around. I love my sculpting, and the peace and quiet of my life in White River, but it is in moments like tonight, and only then, that I feel truly alive. You know this feeling, right?’
She nodded into his hands.
He moved back to her shoulders, and they felt less tense. His touch was pleasurable rather than painful now. His thumbs were on her shoulder blades, circling, and his fingers – she only now noticed how long they were, something she hadn’t remembered from Afghanistan – were resting above her breasts, the tips of each middle finger almost reaching her nipples.
Sonja looked down and saw the two little peaks swelling against her uniform shirt. She felt a surge of adrenaline burst through her veins and her cheeks turned red and hot. Mario was bending over her, his stubble almost scratching her burning skin. She held her breath.
Sonja set her drink down on the bar, slowly, and brought her hands up to cover Mario’s, to stop him moving any further. She tilted her head to look up at him, to tell him to stop, and then he kissed her.
He did it softly. She kept her mouth closed, and shut her eyes, but the contact electrified her. She parted her lips a little and he pressed home his attack, still without urgency or force. She wrapped her fingers around his hands and squeezed, holding on to him, her body needing the contact.
Damn you, Hudson Brand.
Mario moved around her, so that he was between Sonja and the bar. He put his arms around her and drew her to him. She clutched him and he kissed behind her ear. He leaned into her and she opened her legs and felt the swell of his erection against her body.
‘I missed you, after Afghanistan,’ he murmured.
They had both discussed it at the time, rationalising it as a bit of fun, a fling, with neither of them wanting anything ongoing. Had she misread him? she wondered. Was he looking to see more of her? Sonja hadn’t contacted him and when Mario had messaged her a couple of times on Facebook she had ignored him, just as she ignored most people who contacted her out of the blue. She used social media primarily to stay in touch with her daughter, Emma, and monitor her movements.