“Do you have anything but nicknames to go on?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know either of those monikers.”
He sighed. “It was a long shot, but I had to try.”
“I appreciate it. Please keep me informed of your progress, Sergeant.”
“I will.”
She put her phone back in her pocket and stared out the window.
“No news?” Imogen asked quietly.
“No.”
Imogen raised her hand and then let it drop back to the upholstery. Obviously thinking her touch wouldn’t be welcome. That her comfort wasn’t wanted. Amahle only wished that were the truth.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. The thirty kilometres passed by quickly and quietly. Everyone in the car seemed focused on what they were going to do at the hospital. Except for Imogen. She stared out the window seemingly lost in thought. Amahle imagined asking her what was on her mind, but in a car full of other people she was afraid to hear the answer.
The hospital was massive. Almost two thousand beds at full capacity, and the new children’s ward today was another step closer to them attaining that figure. Her connection with this particular hospital was long and well known. It was the teaching hospital for Stellenbosch’s medical school, and she had long ago become their patron. She’d thought it one of the reasons that Derek Marais had approached her in the first place.
A marquee and tables had been set up on a grass field outside the children’s unit. There was a man with donkeys already giving rides to some of the children. Others were in wheelchairs, only able to clap on their friends and stroke the nose of one particularly timid mule when he was brought close enough.
Amahle decided to ditch her suit jacket and laughed when a clown squirted water in an orderly’s face as he smelled his flower. Laura, Josh, and Nick were constantly scanning not only the crowd but also the high buildings all around them. She didn’t want to think about what they were looking for. Instead Amahle greeted the doctor who approached her with a warm smile.
“Good afternoon, Minister. I’m so glad you could make it.”
“I wouldn’t miss something like this, Doctor. Is everything ready for the opening?”
“Absolutely. The ribbon’s ready for you to cut, the champagne’s chilling, and the kids are ready for a party. We decided to make it a more child oriented event. After all, that’s why we’re here, right?”
“Of course. I think it’s a marvellous idea.”
The young doctor showed her around, introducing her to one child after another. She spotted Imogen talking to a couple of kids with their parents over at a hotdog stand and smiled as she watched her apply lashings of ketchup on one before handing it to a small girl looking up at her. Half an hour later, she was standing on a small stage that had been erected, addressing the crowd. Laura and her guys looked confident if a little edgy as they continued to scan the crowd for threats. Imogen stood at the edge of the crowd, close to the steps where Amahle would exit the stage, a plate full of goodies still in her hand as she munched her way through Amahle’s speech. Amahle pointed west, to the view of Table Mountain.
“Could you think of anywhere better to be on a day like this? I mean look at that view, kids. Isn’t that great?” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. “I like it way better than my office view anyway. So you can all go back to school. I’m staying here.”
Giggles erupted from the children, who all declared she was allowed to stay with them if she wanted.
“Well, thank you, kids. I’ll remember that. Now, I believe we’re opening up a new ward for you all. Is that right?” She waited for them to nod. “And I’m told it’s got a great view of that mountain over there. Is that right?”
“We don’t know. We haven’t seen it yet,” one brave boy shouted.
“You haven’t?” A chorus of noes from the crowd had her rubbing her hands with glee. “Well, maybe we should do that in a minute then.” The children all cried yes and clapped. “First, we’ve got to do some of the boring grown-up bits, okay?”
“Grown-ups suck,” the brave boy shouted again.
“Thanks. Now, in a minute the waiters will be bringing some drinks round, so I’d like to raise a toast—”
A loud pop rang through the clearing and echoed off the walls, ricocheting around until Amahle couldn’t figure out where it had come from.
“Down, down, down.” Laura slammed into her, taking her to the ground, and covering her body with her own. Screams from the children bounced around the enclosed area as fear spread like a ripple on a pond. She heard chairs clattering to the ground, and children’s crying fading fast as they were obviously carried away from the marquee. Amahle tried to locate where she’d been hit, but the only part of her that hurt was her ribs, where Laura’s holster dug in and her elbow, which she’d banged on the side of the makeshift podium when Laura had flown at her.
She felt herself being dragged up and off the stage, Laura’s strength hurling her toward Josh and the prone figure he was protecting.
“Stay with him while Nick and I secure the area.”
She didn’t have time to question the order or why they were staying under a flimsy canvas marquee and not seeking the safety of the brick building twenty meters away. Laura was gone in a flash.
Josh lifted himself up, and Amahle caught sight of what, or rather whom, he had been protecting. Imogen lay in the grass. Blond hair like a halo, eyes closed, a faint blue tinge colouring one prominent cheekbone, and a vivid slash of red stood out vibrantly against the white blouse she was wearing.
“No. No. Imogen, no.” She twisted her hands in the fabric and lifted Imogen’s torso off the ground. “Wake up.” She shook her and gathered her in her arms, holding her against her chest. “Don’t you dare die on me. Not you too.” She smoothed her hair down and ran her hand over Imogen’s face.
“Ma’am, put her down, please. Let me check her.”
“Imogen, Immy, wake up.”
“Ma’am, please.” Josh’s big hands tugged gently at Imogen’s arm and eased her away from Amahle’s chest. “Please let me help her.”
She let go and watched him ease her to the ground and run his hands over her body. He cursed under his breath, leaned back on his haunches, and looked around angrily.
“Don’t stop. Help her then. What the hell is wrong with you? We need a doctor. She’s been shot.”
“No, ma’am, no, she hasn’t. See?” He swiped his finger through the bright red stain on Imogen’s blouse then stuck it in his mouth. “It’s just ketchup.”
“What?”
Josh pointed to the plate dropped nearby, the food crushed. “I must have crushed it against her when I dove to cover her.”
“Then why isn’t she moving?”
He ran his hand over her head. “She must have bumped her head. There’s a pretty big lump back here. She’ll be okay in a few minutes, and then we can get out of here.”
“She’s not shot?”
He smiled. “No. She’s not shot.”
“False alarm. Repeat, false alarm.” She heard Nick shout. “The waiter uncorked the champagne for the toast.”
Josh shook his head and whispered, “Someone needs to take a fucking chill pill.”
“She’s not shot.”
Amahle felt like she was floating, watching her body from above as it crumpled over Imogen and sobbed. Wrapping her arms around Imogen’s still unconscious body and clinging to her like a life raft as she floated out to sea. It didn’t feel like a false alarm. It felt like a wake-up one.
Chapter Forty-one
Imogen opened her eyes and squinted into the light. She felt warm arms around her, contrasting strangely with the cold ground below her. She tried to sit up, but her head was spinning and the movement made her feel dizzier. She lifted her hand to her head. Confident it was still attached, she let go and let her hands explore who was holding her. She smiled when she felt Amahle’s skin an
d smelled the now familiar scent of Angel and Amahle all rolled into one. My idea of heaven.
Amahle’s shoulders shook, and Imogen could feel that the front of her blouse and neck were damp.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“You’re not shot.”
“That’s usually a good thing, not cause for tears. Unless you hired the sniper?”
“Funny.”
“I try.” She coughed and the movement made her head hurt worse. “Christ, I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.”
“No, Josh.”
“Why did Josh beat me up?”
Amahle chuckled. “He was protecting you.”
“Next time I’ll take my chances with the other guy.”
“Probably a good idea. The other guy this time was an eighteen-year-old student trying to earn some extra cash as a waiter. He uncorked the champagne a little too vigorously and the team protected us.” She eased Imogen away from her. “Vigorously.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“Not too bad. Laura’s a bit lighter.”
“Damn, I got the brick shithouse straw.”
“Do you want the doctor to take a look at you? You’ve been out for a good minute.” She wiped the tears from her face, and Imogen was glad to see her regaining her control. Just as glad as she was to see that she’d lost it when she thought Imogen was hurt.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. Why’d you think I was shot?”
“I saw red.”
“Huh?”
Amahle waved at her blouse. “You’re covered in ketchup like a two-year-old or something.”
“Great.” She looked down at the huge dirty stain right above her heart.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Amahle clambered to her feet and held her hand out to help Imogen up. “Take it easy. Laura’s gone for the car.”
“Who was it that overreacted to the cork?”
“Laura,” Amahle said, her mouth stretched to a tight, thin line.
“Well, at least you know she’s got great reaction times.”
“And overreacts.”
“You knew she was concerned about the risk here. You can’t blame her for doing her job.”
“There was no job to be done.”
“This time. But wouldn’t you rather she react to every possibility than to miss the one that does end up with someone shot?”
“Stop talking sense. You were unconscious. You should be a jibbering wreck.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder next time.”
Amahle paused mid-step and dropped Imogen’s hand. “There won’t be a next time.”
Imogen frowned and followed her to the car. She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the cool leather. It felt great on the warm skin of her neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything wrong. I’m sure you’re right. There won’t be a next time. Laura won’t overreact, and this mess will all be sorted before we know it.”
They sat in silence until they were almost back to her house. Imogen closed her eyes and dozed, trying to ease some of the headache that had settled inside her skull.
“There won’t be a next time because I want you to leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“Leave, Imogen. Leave me alone.”
“And do what? Go where?”
“I don’t know. Go back to the vineyard. Live there. Sell it. I don’t care. Go back to England. It doesn’t matter. Just leave me alone.”
“But I don’t understand. I’m helping you.”
“No, you’re not. I want you as far away from all this as possible.”
“Don’t do this, Ami. Don’t send me away. I know you’re scared. I know it. But we can work through that.”
They were getting closer to the answers; she knew it. The answers to the medication situation, and the answers to what was between them. She was sure of it. Amahle may have thrown her out of her bed after they made love, but her reaction to the non-shot this afternoon was evidence enough for Imogen that she felt something. She was sure of it, and she was just as sure that it terrified Amahle. She was scared of what it would mean for her career, she was no doubt scared of how she could reconcile herself to a new life emotionally, and Imogen understood all that, but she also knew they could do it. It was meant to be. The two of them taking on the world. Together. They were both smart, motivated, driven women. Together, she was sure they could find a solution to any problem they put their minds to. Anything.
“There’s nothing to work through, Ms. Frost.”
Chapter Forty-two
Amahle jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped, ran through the house, and closed her bedroom door behind her. She didn’t want to argue with Imogen. She didn’t want her to talk her into letting her stay. She wouldn’t take that chance. She wished she could send them all away. She wished she could eradicate everyone from her life so there was no one for those bastards to target. No one they could hold over her head. But she knew that wasn’t possible. Too many of them were already known parts of her life. Expelling them from her life at this point wouldn’t remove the bullseye from their backs. And even she had to admit that the security team were a necessary evil. She felt better knowing that Greg was still in Stellenbosch keeping an eye on her mother, but she needed to organize something for Claudia before she left the house today. She wasn’t taking any more chances.
“Amahle?” Imogen knocked and spoke through the door. “May I come in?”
“No. I already told you to leave. Just get your things and go.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“It’s already done.”
Imogen pushed open the door and strode into the room. “No. I’m not going. I know you’re scared, and what happened today, all of it, has scared you more. I get that. But I don’t understand how sending me away will help. It just means you’ll have to deal with it all on your own. Let me help, Amahle. Let me be with you.” She grasped Amahle’s hand. “I know you feel it too.” She bent her head and captured Amahle’s lips in a fierce, hungry kiss.
Amahle couldn’t stop herself from responding. She wrapped her arms around Imogen’s neck and buried her fingers in her hair. She opened her mouth and moaned when she felt Imogen’s tongue stroke hers. She knew she had to push her away and tell her to leave. She knew she had to stop her and turn away. But the warmth of Imogen’s body against hers was too much. The desire in Imogen’s kiss mirrored what she felt in her heart, and she wanted to feel again.
She realized that for the past eight years she had been sleepwalking through her life. Achieving everything she could have ever wanted, but none of it meant anything with no one to share it with. She’d closed herself off to life in order to survive day to day.
With Imogen’s arms around her, she had no choice but to feel. Physically, emotionally, she felt herself ripped apart and healed in the same instant. It was too much. Tears ran down her cheeks as Imogen’s kiss gentled and she cradled her head against her chest.
“You have to go, Immy. I don’t want you to stay.”
“You do. I can feel it.”
Amahle rallied her strength and pushed away from the comforting cocoon of Imogen’s embrace. “I’m attracted to you, I admit it. But that’s all. There will never be anything between us, Imogen. Never. We’re from different worlds.”
“It’s more than just attraction and you know it.”
She steeled herself for what she had to do. “No, it isn’t. I’m emotional right now. I feel vulnerable because of what’s happened to Thambo, and Sipho being missing. You’re taking advantage of that.”
“Taking advantage? Are you serious? I’m trying to help you. I’ve done nothing but try to help you since I saw you in the orchard.”
“If you really wanted to help me, you’d do as I asked and leave. Staying here, with me, doesn’t help me. You’re just another thing I have to worry about.”
“Another thing?”
Amahle knew she’d hurt Imogen with her words, dehuma
nizing her, belittling her, but if that’s what it took to keep her away and safe, so be it. “I have enough things going on right now. I can’t deal with any more. You coming in here like this, pushing me, I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with your lust. So if you really want to help me, you’ll pack your bags and go.”
Imogen stared at her. The muscles in her jaw clenched and unclenched over and over; her fingers flexed into fists and relaxed as she worked admirably to control her feelings. Amahle was impressed that the voice and the words that came out of Imogen’s mouth were quiet, with no waver or crack anywhere to be heard.
“I’m sorry my presence in your life has been so difficult, Minister. Please accept my apologies. I thought I was doing…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She closed the door quietly behind her.
Amahle had to force herself not to follow Imogen. She kept telling herself it was for the best. That it was the outcome she wanted—needed. She kept telling herself that the only way to keep Imogen safe was to keep her out of her life. In her head, it made sense. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the bright red stain on Imogen’s chest, but it wasn’t ketchup. It was blood. And it was spreading. Just as Grace’s had. Seeping from her body across the floor tiles, smeared on the walls, and seared into her brain. It was the right thing to do. This investigation was a juggernaut gaining speed, and she wasn’t the one in control of it. Well, that had to change.
Chapter Forty-three
Imogen pulled up in front of the white house she’d once called home. The vineyard to her left looked as she’d always remembered, with the twisted little vines all growing in long, uniform rows off toward the mountains. The leaves rustled in the breeze, and the sun beat down on the grapes as they ripened. The scent of the sun warmed earth and the fruit was a combination she had once tried to reimagine over and over. Today she wished she smelled Angel again.
She dropped her bag on the floor of the hallway. “Honey, I’m home,” she said to the empty house. She still couldn’t decide if she’d done the right thing or not abiding by Amahle’s wishes and leaving Cape Town. She still wasn’t comfortable being so far away if she was needed. She snorted a quick laugh. Who was she kidding? Amahle didn’t need her. She’d made that abundantly clear. She didn’t want her; she was a momentary distraction. Nothing more. Nothing.
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