“That’s ’cause you’re a fucking genius, man.” He laughed. “Just get me dirt on his sister and leave the rest to me, brain box. He’s been buying HIV meds from you for years, but you still don’t know who he’s buying them for, do you? You see, that. That tells me something.” He patted Sipho on the cheek. “Take him to this address. And break him.”
Tsotsi laughed. “I can do that.”
Sipho heard a piece of paper being scrunched up and land on the ground before he was dragged to his knees and a thick piece of rope tied around his bound wrists. “You ready to run, boy?”
“Just make sure he can still talk when he gets there.”
“Yes, boss.”
Sipho heard a car door slam, an engine rev, and flinched as a shower of dirt and stones were kicked in his face.
“On your feet.” Tsotsi and the Professor hauled him to his feet and untied his ankles.
“Tsotsi, did we do wrong?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“But he said not to go see her.”
“I said shut the fuck up, Professor. I’m in charge here. Besides, we didn’t go see her.”
“No, but—”
“Shut up. We didn’t do nothing wrong by going there, okay? Nothing.”
Sipho felt slow, disoriented, and confused. He wasn’t sure he was piecing the conversation together correctly. Why did they want to discredit Amahle? What messages was she not getting? Had they been in contact with her? If so, why? How was his sister connected to a piece of shit like Tsotsi? He started to see that there was something much bigger going on than him working off a debt for medications. But his brain wasn’t keeping up with it all.
Tsotsi climbed in behind the wheel of the car, passed the rope about his hands through the window, and gunned the engine. The Professor laughed as he sat on the passenger window and banged on the roof of the car.
“Run, pussy, run.”
Sipho tried to keep his feet beneath him as the car gained speed across the rocky, dusty ground. He didn’t know where they were taking him. Their choice of transportation indicated they weren’t going far, or along any public roads. And he knew the chances of help finding him were slim to none. He didn’t see the stone he tripped over, but as soon as he felt it beneath his foot, he braced himself for impact. His shoulder slammed into the side of the car and he tried to angle his body away from it as he fell. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged under the tyres.
His knees hit the dirt. His hands were still on a level with the window when his right foot got wedged under the back tyre. He couldn’t release his body to let the tyre pass over it. It was stuck in front of it as Tsotsi continued to drive. He screamed. And the last thing he saw was the gold tooth in Tsotsi’s mouth as he grinned evilly at him.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Amahle pulled the blanket over her head and tried to block out the sun. She slapped at her alarm. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to walk out of her bedroom and have to see Imogen again. She knew she’d hurt her last night, and she didn’t want to deal with that. They were both grownups; they could deal with a little one-night stand. Imogen had said that was her usual fare anyway, so what was the difference? She said “next time” before the first had really begun. That’s the difference. I knew she wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck and then gone. She groaned and took a deep breath. Big mistake. Her sheets smelled of Imogen and the passion they’d shared.
She threw the covers off and stared up at the ceiling fan, spinning around and around. She had so many other problems to deal with. Sipho. Her mother. The counterfeit drugs. Too many important things to keep worrying about Imogen Frost.
“So why can’t I keep her out of my head?”
Every time she had closed her eyes throughout the night, all she’d seen was Imogen touching her, those milk white hands roaming her skin with abandon. She felt her kisses again and again, and the exquisite moment when her sex had tightened around her fingers and she’d come apart before her eyes. It had been enough to make Amahle come. Something that had never happened to her before, and guilt had washed over her in the wake of her orgasm. It didn’t seem to matter that Grace had left of her own accord. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d been alone ever since that door had closed. All that mattered was that Grace was broken because of her. Why should she be able to move on with her life when Grace couldn’t? Why should she be able to not only touch and be touched again, but for it to feel better, when Grace was still haunted by those memories? What gave her the right to move on? No matter how much time had passed.
She rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. There was too much to do to stay in bed. She was determined to focus on the tasks that needed to be completed rather than the one subject that her brain was fixated with. By the time she made her way to the kitchen, she’d prepared her most professional demeanour, and no one was going to shake it today. Not even Imogen Frost. Laura was pouring coffee and held the pot up in invitation.
“Definitely. Thanks,” she said as she accepted the mug.
“So what’s on the agenda today?” Laura asked.
“I’m heading in to my office. I’ve got work I need to do and then I’m opening a new children’s ward at Tygerberg Hospital.”
“I saw that on your schedule.” She put her mug on the kitchen counter. “It leaves you very exposed. I don’t like it. Especially as it was the hospital that Dr. Marais was in charge of.”
“And that’s especially why I have to do this. I can’t be seen to be afraid, Laura. Do what you need to do, but Imogen was right when she said I need to carry on doing what I normally would. I can’t let this situation or these threats dictate my life. I simply can’t let them win.” I’ve fought too many battles to let that happen.
“I understand that. But the opening has been well publicized and the majority of it is set in the hospital’s memorial garden, correct?”
“I believe so.”
“You understand that if anyone wanted to, they could already have a sniper in position to shoot you and we’d have no chance of being able to stop that?”
“I understand, Laura, and I won’t hold you responsible if that happens.”
“If that happens, Minister, you won’t be around to absolve any of us of the failure.”
“Then take my word for it beforehand.”
Laura sighed loudly. “You have to follow every instruction we give you, exactly when we give it.”
Amahle crossed her finger over her heart. “You have my word.”
“Somehow, Minister, I’m not sure I believe you.”
Amahle laughed. “Damn, you haven’t even known me a week.”
“And why would that make a difference? Surely you know the first law of politics by now?”
“And that would be?”
“If a politician is speaking, assume they’re lying.” Laura’s smile softened the words and told Amahle that Laura didn’t truly hold that opinion of her. Even if she did of other politicians.
Not that I blame her. Amahle shook her head. “I should’ve stayed in bed. I shouldn’t be getting insulted like this in my own home.”
“Who’s insulting you?” Imogen asked as she crossed the kitchen and poured coffee into her cup, never once looking at Amahle. The temperature in the room suddenly became frigid.
“I was just explaining the first law of politics to the minister,” Laura said.
“Oh, the one where they’re lying if their mouths are moving?”
“That’s the one.”
“And as I was saying, I shouldn’t have to put up with this in my own home,” Amahle said. She wrapped her fingers around her cup and tried not to look at Imogen. She was still in her pajamas, a pair of lightweight cotton shorts and a soft looking lilac tank top with thin spaghetti straps bisecting her shoulders. The left strap had slipped down, and she quickly swept it back into place. Amahle licked her lips and swallowed. She tried to forget what it had felt like to kiss that shoulder. God, it had
felt so good to feel. To feel Imogen’s body against hers. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so incredibly alive as she had when Imogen’s lips had first touched hers.
“How does that sound to you, Amahle?” Imogen asked.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Laura offered to make breakfast before we have to go. Would you like some eggs and toast?”
“Oh, right, sorry. I must have spaced out there for a second.”
Imogen smiled. “So do you?”
Laura’s gaze bobbed from one to the other, suspicion written in the frown that marred her forehead. Amahle sighed, annoyed with herself that she seemingly couldn’t keep up with a simple conversation.
“Want some eggs?”
“Oh, yes, thanks. Eggs would be great.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “I think I’ll go and get ready.”
Imogen looked at her for the first time since she’d walked in, and the distance between them opened up like an icy crevasse that threatened to swallow her whole should she get too close to the edge. Even in the beginning when Imogen had been so angry about her mother’s claim, Amahle had always seen the warmth, the passion, in Imogen’s eyes. Now it looked like there was no emotion at all in Imogen’s eyes. Intelligence, focus, determination. But no emotion.
Fuck. What have I done?
*
Amahle led the way through the maze of corridors and pushed open the door to her outer office. The plant that Claudia watered so diligently was on the floor, soil strewn in its wake and trampled into the carpet. Books had been knocked off shelves and littered the floor. Papers were torn and scattered about the room like confetti. Claudia sat at her desk, phone to her ear and tears in her eyes. She hung up as Amahle walked in.
“I was just calling you. I opened the door seconds ago and found it like this. I haven’t even opened the door to your office yet.”
“How the hell can someone break in here?” Imogen asked. “This is the Houses of bloody Parliament, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you have security?”
“Of course we do.” The only way someone gets in here past security is if there’s someone inside letting them in, Amahle thought. It was the only thing that made sense, and one of many things she couldn’t say in here. It wasn’t safe. She had no idea who she could trust in this building anymore. “Call security. I want copies of the security footage from the weekend, and I want to see the sign in logbook,” Amahle said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Once you’ve done that call the police. You want to speak to Major General Pugh,” Amahle said.
“You trust him with this?” Imogen asked. She perused the scene, seemingly taking it all in her stride.
Business as usual, Ms. Frost? “Doesn’t matter. I have to report it somewhere, and somewhere high up as this is a major security breach. The security people here are going to have a nightmare on their hands.”
“But if he can’t be trusted—”
“Why do you think I want the logbook and the CCTV footage before they get here?”
“Will they give it to you?”
“Yes.” She shrugged. “If not, I’ll threaten to have the man terminated and get Nick or Josh to steal it for me.”
Josh sniggered. “Just say the word, ma’am.”
She leaned toward Laura and whispered, “I need this place scanned for listening and video devices. I also want those computers checked for anything that’s been accessed since Claudia left. Find out when that was. Discreetly. And then determine if anything has been stolen from the hard drives in here. Your people can do that, can’t they?”
“Yes, ma’am, anything else?”
“I don’t know. Anything you think we should be checking for on there?”
“I’ll have the guys check to see if any Trojan horses or viruses have been deposited. See if they plan on keeping an eye on you from here on out.”
“Good thinking. Remember, I want this done discreetly. I don’t want them to know we are looking at that if we can help it.”
Laura nodded and walked over to Claudia as Imogen approached her. She ignored the pulse of electricity that surged through her as Imogen whispered close to her ear.
“What was that all about?”
“Dr. Marais’s office was trashed like this. They planted listening devices and video recording equipment.”
“Shit.”
“Yup.” She turned as she heard the door open. The captain of the security team and two of his men stopped just inside the threshold.
“Minister, the police are on the way, and I have the logbook as requested.” He handed it to her.
“Thank you, Captain. And the copy of the footage I asked for?”
“The man who knows the system is not yet in the office. I don’t know how to do it, and do not want to risk damaging any of the evidence of what happened here.”
“I know security systems,” Josh said. “Let me take a look. I’ll have it all ready for the police to take their copies when they get here too.”
The captain’s eyes widened a little, but he nodded curtly and instructed one of his men to show Josh where the security monitors and recorders were all kept.
“Thank you for your help, Captain.”
“Minister, I think you and your people need to leave here. The police will need to take fingerprints and photographs. You mustn’t contaminate the crime scene.”
“I agree. We haven’t touched anything but the phone on the desk there.” She pointed to the one Claudia had tried to ring her from. “Claudia, did you touch anything else before we got here?”
“Just the keyboard to check the number I was dialling from the contacts list on the computer.”
“So the computer was already on?”
“Yes.”
Amahle frowned. “Did you leave it on when you left on Friday?”
“No. But I had to come back in on Saturday. I was trying to find that information you needed.”
Amahle didn’t remember asking for information over the weekend but played along. “Of course, thank you.”
“I may have forgotten to turn it off then. I can’t remember.”
It wasn’t like Claudia. She remembered everything, and always turned her computer off when she left. She was fastidious about security, and an open computer was a hackable computer as far as she was concerned. “Okay, thank you.” She made a mental note to ask her about that as soon as they were alone again.
“Would you like me to find you an alternative office, Minister?” the captain asked.
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
He smiled. “I shall be right back.”
When he left Amahle opened the door to her office and slipped inside. The carnage was just as bad in here, but amidst the mess and destruction a box sat on her desk. Neatly placed atop everything else. The hairs on the back of Amahle’s neck stood on end and her heart rate accelerated. Curiosity and trepidation warred within her. But the need to know was stronger than her fear.
Imogen stood beside her as she approached, and she was grateful she wasn’t alone, despite the emotional distance between them. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest so loud that she could hear it in her ears. The blood rushed through her veins in between beats and drowned out all the other sounds in the room. The box was battered, well used, and covered in stains. Grease, dirt, and something else that she couldn’t place, but it smelled. It smelled like a rusty can and roadkill.
Imogen grabbed her arm. “I don’t think you should open that.”
“I have to.”
“Maybe we should get Nick to open it. Make sure it’s nothing dangerous.”
“What do you think it is?”
Imogen shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m scared it might be a bomb.”
“A bomb!” Amahle stared at the box, suddenly terrified to move. “What the hell makes you think that? They haven’t said anything that would lead me to that conclusion.”
“Then what do you think it is?”
“Haven’t a fucking clue, and I won’t until I open it.”
“Nick,” Imogen called.
“Stop it,” Amahle said. “You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be. It’s a box. There’ll be something in it that’s meant to scare me, to further warn me off. That’s all.”
“Like what?”
“I told you. I don’t know until I open it, do I?”
“Please let Nick open it.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Amahle sliced open the tape with a sharp knife and carefully pulled open the flaps. The scent of something rotten hit her nose and made her stomach roll. She fought to keep hold of her breakfast as she lifted one of the inner flaps and a swarm of black flies buzzed and flew out of the box. Imogen covered her mouth with her hand, her face pale, perhaps even a little green tinge to her pallor.
“If you’re going to throw up, don’t do it in here,” Amahle said.
“I won’t.”
“Right.” Amahle lifted the final flap on the box and found a sheet of paper laid on the top.
“I can’t read it upside down. What does it say?” Imogen asked.
“It says, ‘You’re running out of chances, kaffir bitch.’”
“Imaginative.”
“Aren’t they just.”
“What’s underneath it?”
Amahle used a bull clip on her desk to lift the page out without touching it, before wishing she hadn’t. She wished she could put the paper back and unsee what lay beneath it. But closing her eyes didn’t banish the image. It was already burned on the back of her eyelids, branded in her brain.
“Holy fucking shit. Is that—”
“Thambo’s hand?”
Imogen nodded.
“I can’t imagine it being anything else.” Maggots wriggled and squirmed around the severed end of the appendage, and Amahle felt sick as she thought about how those disgusting little creatures were feasting on the decaying flesh that sat inside the box. Spots of blood had dripped into the box, but nowhere near enough for it to have been in the box since it had been cut from Thambo’s arm. The once vibrant, warm, living flesh was now grey-brown in colour and stone-cold worm food. What next? What would they do next to draw her off her investigation? Who was their next target? Who else would get hurt for her?
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