Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2

by Rebecca Crowley

  She stopped pacing to stare at him. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you? What is it? What do we do?”

  “We have to evacuate the mine,” he muttered, already on his feet as his mind raced ahead of his ability to speak. “We have to get everyone out of here as soon as we can. Ourselves included.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Hambani was basically under siege during the civil conflict, right?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s the country’s biggest asset, and both sides shed a lot of blood trying to get hold of it.”

  “And the Kibangu government will send the military to keep it under control. So why—”

  “That’s what they want.” He spoke urgently, crossing the room to meet her. “The Matsulus, the rebels who chased us last night—they want the military to come. They want to lay siege to the mine again, and force the government to engage. They want to start the war all over again.”

  Her eyes widened as she processed his words. “And the man you saw at the camp, in the car last night—”

  “Is the rebel leader. That’s why he warned us to leave. Remember, he said it wasn’t our quarrel. He planned to pull this country back into conflict, and he gave us the chance to get out before that happened.”

  She threw up her hands. “Well, he could’ve been a little less cryptic about it. So what do we do now?”

  “Send all the workers home and get out of the way.”

  “And leave Hambani to be fought over?”

  “I know it’ll sting when your shareholders see the loss in the annual report, but they’ll just have to wait until next year for that new Ferrari,” he remarked dryly.

  “Do you really think that’s what I care about?” she demanded, eyes bright with fury. “Roger may not have been my favorite person, but he was my colleague—he had a family and friends and people who’ll miss him. And then there are the thousands of people in Namaza and the settlement over the fence. Some of them have bankrupted themselves and left everything behind to come here, looking for work. What will happen to them if the mine closes? If war breaks out? And I suppose the Matsulu rebels will take a forgiving approach to all the people who worked the mine while it was under Kibangu control, is that it? You’re right, nothing to worry about. Let’s just haul ass back to our pampered lives and leave these people to it.”

  “That’s not what I said,” he seethed. “Of course I care, but that doesn’t mean I can do anything about it—or that I should if I could. Hasn’t this country had enough interference already? If Garraway had left well enough alone in the first place, Hambani wouldn’t exist to fight over. A few bits of gold would’ve floated up in the water supply every so often, maybe a few amateur prospectors would make a little money and Latadi would be stable and quiet.”

  “And dirt poor.”

  “And peaceful,” he retorted. “Or do people’s lives only matter when you’re around to see them?”

  “There’s never an excuse not to help,” she insisted. “I’m not leaving Hambani until I know I’ve done everything in my power to protect the people in this community.”

  Something in her posture, in the stiffly held shoulders, the defiant lift of her chin, the betraying wet shine in her eyes, drained the fight out of him like a sail going limp as the wind trails off.

  “No one’s going anywhere just yet,” he assured her. “We have to see what more we can do before we leave. But keeping you safe is my first priority. At most we have forty-eight hours to get out of Latadi, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I told you otherwise.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, still staring at him with lips thinned by stubborn disagreement. “Your job, huh? Of course, I nearly forgot. You’re the hired gun.”

  She was trying to rile him, and he had no intention of letting her. “I’m the security consultant. And in my professional opinion, the situation is deteriorating.”

  Her arms were pulled so tightly he worried about the circulation in her fingers, but her fierce expression broadcast quite clearly that this was no time for levity. Her face was a storm cloud, brow furrowed in indignation, jaw clamped shut as if she was bracing herself for confrontation.

  Then she started to cry.

  “Why didn’t you stay last night?” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as tears streaked her cheeks.

  “Dammit, Nicola,” he muttered, closing the distance between them and scooping her into his chest.

  “Did I do something wrong? You know I’d love to visit you in Cape Town, I was just trying to be realistic, and—”

  He hushed her, combing his fingers through her hair, her small frame trembling in his arms. “You didn’t do anything.”

  “Be honest with me.” She pulled back in his grip, tilting her chin so she could meet his eyes. “Did I offend you somehow? Say something I shouldn’t have?”

  He shifted under her gaze, irritated by his compulsion to give her the truth she’d asked for. Considering he had one of the steadiest pairs of hands in the business, she had an uncanny ability to knock him off balance.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was my fault. I got carried away.”

  “With what?”

  “A stupid idea.”

  She squeezed his arms. “Tell me.”

  His smile was bitter. “The idea of us.”

  Her expression changed, as though something behind her eyes fell shut like a steel door. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He released her and turned away, determined not to let her see the disappointment on his face. “You should get dressed. We need to get to the office.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

  Her tone was meek, surrendering. And just like he had the night before, he left and retreated to his own cabin. Only this time he had no expectation she would follow.

  When Nicola returned to her cabin twelve hours after she’d left it that morning, it felt more like it had been twelve days. The starchy, reheated meal she’d eaten in silence with the rest of the corporate staff sat in her stomach like a brick, and she dropped onto the bed with a weary sigh.

  It had been a productive day, all things considered. With Garraway’s CEO’s approval to close the site, Cedric had communicated evacuation orders to all of the miners and support staff, except for a skeleton security crew. Warren supervised the mass departure, then sealed the site, prowling through each building and along every fence like the leopard she always thought of when he demonstrated his quiet, deadly capabilities. Dan spent most of the morning on the phone, eventually managing to arrange their transportation out of the country on a charter flight they would meet at the August Town airfield late the following evening. Alex had phoned all the government connections he had to get information on the planned installation of military troops, and she’d spoken to just about every member of Garraway Gold’s board, assuring them she was fine, the situation would be fine, and she’d file a full report as soon as she got to Johannesburg.

  Shortly before dinner Warren pulled her aside. He’d spoken to his Special Task Force colleagues. They’d already flown from Cape Town to Johannesburg, and would be on the first—and probably last, if the situation deteriorated—commercial flight to August Town tomorrow morning.

  “They’ll be here by four o’clock,” he’d concluded.

  “But what’s the point? We’ll be on our way to August Town by then.”

  “I thought Dan told you.” When she shook her head he continued, “The logistics contractor who runs the weekly helicopter airlift to move gold out of the mine won’t make another trip. Dan wanted to bring the gold out when you leave, but I told him it’d be safer with us. Also—” he glanced at Alex and Dan over his shoulder, then lowered his voice, “—I’ve been through all of Roger’s paperwork, and there’s still a huge amount of explosives left unaccounted for. If the
rebels get hold of them, they could flatten this whole area and August Town. They’ll help me find and dispose of what’s left, and then we’ll make our own way out of Latadi.”

  “That’s insane,” she hissed. “Your friends will be lucky if they can even get on a flight tomorrow. Everyone Alex has spoken to says this country is going on lockdown, the government is planning to impose curfews and the army is already mobilizing. How the hell do you think you’re going to get all that gold out of here? It’s a suicide mission.”

  “We’ll be fine,” he insisted. “I can call my sister to send a Copley Ventures plane, or we’ll drive over the border. We’re tactical operators, remember? We can take care of ourselves.”

  That rare, cheeky half-smile was so unexpected she completely forgot her indignant retort.

  “Anyway, you’re the one who wanted to do anything we could to help the community before we leave. We’ll do our best with the gold, but making sure the people who live here aren’t left in the hands of guerrillas with enough explosives to gut the country is my top priority.”

  “As long as you’re sure,” she’d muttered unhappily. “And you’re confident you’re not putting your friends in harm’s way for no reason.”

  He’d looked out the window at the fence, which stood out stark and skeletal under the full-power floodlights.

  “Did you see the crowd gathered near the gate when the miners were leaving? Some of them might have been curious, some of them might have been worried and some of them might have been guilty as hell. We have no idea. But we do know we’re alone out here, outnumbered, trying to protect ourselves with flimsy locks and security guards we hope haven’t been bought by the rebels.” He faced her fully then, dove-gray eyes soft and warm despite his chilling words.

  “As far as I’m concerned, my friends can’t get here a moment too soon.”

  There was still plenty of the day’s heat left in the evening, but Nicola shivered as she remembered that conversation.

  She tried to shake off her unease as she changed into her pajamas and packed her suitcase, forcing herself to stop dwelling on all the horrors she’d seen in the last few days, to stop ruminating on what worse events lay ahead.

  Instead she thought about tomorrow, and everything she had to do before they left the site—take as much paperwork as possible from the office, pay out the last of the petty cash to the gate guards and pick up the security logbook from the main entrance. She thought about the day after—if the charter flight took off at midnight, as planned, the time difference meant they’d land in Johannesburg around six o’clock in the morning. She’d take a taxi to the Garraway office in Sandton and work nonstop until eight o’clock that evening, filing reports and answering e-mails and updating everyone in the London office, then repeating it all when the New York staff got to work later on. Finally there’d be no one in the building but her and the lady pushing a vacuum. She’d call one of the company drivers to take her to one of Johannesburg’s best hotels, where she’d order five-star room service, drink half a bottle of top-quality South African wine in the huge bathtub and fall gratefully asleep in a bed big enough for three.

  More than big enough for her and Warren.

  She sagged onto the bed, remembering the time they’d spent together last night, the difference in the warm, open man she’d shared her bed with last night and the distant, formal officer who’d updated her throughout the day, disinterestedly sat across from her at dinner and escorted her to her cabin with the polite stillness of an indifferent contractor.

  Which she supposed he was.

  Her heart sank at that thought, even though she knew full well the situation was of her own creation. When he’d started to talk about the future, his eyes lighting up with boyish hope, so blatantly on the verge of admitting exactly the emotion growing in her own chest—it was too much. She shut down, a defense mechanism she hadn’t realized she possessed. Things between them had gotten too complicated too quickly, the days ahead were too uncertain and the thoughts swirling around her mind too scary and unfamiliar. It was easier to make an all-or-nothing choice. She chose nothing.

  She regretted it the second his expression changed from confessional to detached, and her ruefulness had grown with every hour since their discussion that morning. The truth was, she was falling for him. Hard. And the more the day progressed, the more she wanted some assurance that they would give this a chance, no matter what the future held.

  She paused in her packing to stare at herself in the mirror. When had she become such a coward? When had she decided the best option was not to say exactly what she was thinking?

  And since when did her stupid travel schedule dictate who she fell in love with?

  Love. It was a big word—one of the most terrifying and sparingly used in her vocabulary. So why did it suddenly feel like the only one that could suitably capture what she was feeling?

  She shoved her feet into her flip-flops with a muttered curse, jogging across the floor and out of the cabin before she could give herself time to change her mind. It took ten seconds to reach Warren’s door, yet even that short time was plenty for the doubts gathering in her brain.

  What if this is just adrenaline? What if the stress of the situation at Hambani is making me impulsive? What if I’m not that into Warren at all? Is there a danger version of beer goggles?

  She paused outside his door, her hand raised to knock, her bare toes wiggling indecisively. Now that work had halted and the twenty-four-hour drone of the rock drills had ceased, the silence was absolute. The scents of cordite and chemicals wafted on the breeze, testament to Warren’s afternoon spent systematically detonating explosives in small quantities, denying the rebels their destructive potential.

  She had no idea what she would say when she got inside, or why exactly she’d decided this was the best course of action. None of that mattered—it was now or never. She took a deep breath and knocked.

  “It’s open, Nicola,” he called. She pushed open the door.

  He didn’t bother to rise from the bed were he sat—his only concession to her unexpected arrival was to stick his boarding-card stub bookmark between the pages of the volume in his hands. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see her. Calmly he placed the book onto the bedside table and patted the empty space beside him. She closed the door behind him and slid onto the bed.

  “Warren,” she began, but then her bare leg brushed his and memories of their night together flooded over her in a wave that was so visceral, she had to kiss him. She had to feel his mouth on hers immediately.

  As soon as their lips met she was serene, full of a peaceful sense of completion. But it was short-lived—gently he disengaged from her embrace.

  “I can’t do this.” His tone was soft, bordering on apologetic. “When we made love, it meant something to me. I can’t pretend that it didn’t, and I can’t do it again knowing you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “It meant something to me, too. That’s what I came here to tell you. I said what I did, blew you off the way I did, because I was scared. I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone, ever, and it was terrifying.”

  “And now? Are you still scared?”

  “More than ever.”

  “I guess you weren’t planning to fall for a guy who defuses bombs for a living.”

  “It’s not your job that scares me—it’s mine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She wrung her hands in her lap, trying to put her convoluted thoughts into words. “I love my job. Or—I thought I did. I loved the travel, loved going to remote sites all over the world, loved leaving them feeling like they were a little better off than before I arrived.” She sighed. “But here? I have to admit defeat. I haven’t done a damn thing for Latadi. In fact, if anything, I’ve made the situation worse. I’ve never been so wrong, or such a failure. It’s made me questio
n every choice I’ve ever made. What if I’ve wasted my whole career? What if everything I’ve sacrificed wasn’t worth it?” She paused, bracing herself for her next admission. “What if I leave Hambani, move on to my next assignment and never meet another man who makes me feel like you do?”

  “Walking away from Hambani doesn’t mean you have to walk away from me.” His voice was soft as he took her hands in his.

  “But how can it work? How can I know I won’t screw up us the way I’ve screwed up this?” She flung out her palms to indicate Hambani, Latadi, the whole stupid mess.

  “Nicola,” he chided, smiling as he pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “This is Africa. Stories are different here.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “War will break out in Latadi. Lots of people will die, and it’ll be ugly and destructive, and not at all heroic. There may not even be a winner, just the side with more survivors. But that’s not the end—the story isn’t over. People will pick up the pieces, rebuild, get on with things. They’ll get married, have kids, live their lives.” He shrugged. “African stories are long and resilient. Latadi will find its way, and so will we.”

  Then he kissed her, and his hands were in her hair, and as she parted her lips to let his tongue meet hers all the unanswered questions and worries and frets about how this could ever work between them evaporated, and there was only his touch. There was only him.

  The world around her blurred into a heady, spinning whirlwind of sensation. His palms encircled her waist, her camisole was on the floor, his lips were on her breast, her face was buried in his thick, black hair. She pulled his T-shirt over his head, he trailed his mouth down to her belly button, she straddled him and dragged his boxers over his hips, he reached into the drawer in the bedside table for a condom and the book he’d been reading fell to the floor with a thud.

  They never spoke—there was no need. As their bodies bucked and collided and merged in unison, she felt closer to him than anyone else, ever. She made love to him with complete honesty and complete abandon, giving herself to him fully with every touch, every movement, every breath.