Fever

by V. K. Powell

  Zak smiled. “May I?” She motioned toward the room.

  Sara realized she’d been standing in the doorway staring shamelessly for several minutes. She blushed and stepped aside. “Of course, I’m sorry. I say that to you a lot, don’t I?”

  “The gorgeous part or the sorry part?”

  “Now you’re teasing me.” Sara liked the easy banter and Zak’s broad smile. It transformed her face from a mask of worry to a relaxed visage of glowing skin and dancing eyes. “The sorry part. I spend a lot of time asking people for their money, so apologizing comes naturally.” She waved Zak in and watched her strut toward the lanai. “Dinner should be here shortly.” As if on cue, another knock sounded at the door, and within minutes dinner was set up on the balcony overlooking the ocean.

  When Zak pulled out her chair and waited for her to be seated, Sara found her action gallant and romantic. Such a simple gesture, but it seemed intimate in a way she’d never felt with Rikki. Maybe because she hadn’t considered Zak Chambers in any context other than a hired, unsociable nuisance. She had a gentleness, another layer beneath the deliberately fashioned façade. A pang of guilt reminded her of Rikki as Zak filled their glasses with wine.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Zak said, as she dug into her salad with gusto.

  “My pleasure,” Sara replied, noting that it felt exactly like that. She wanted to ask why Zak had suddenly invited her for dinner but decided it was enough that she had. Besides, she was certain she wouldn’t answer the question anyway. As the meal progressed Zak seemed content to let the entire evening pass in silence. But Sara wanted to know many things, and she didn’t waste opportunities.

  “Is everything ready for the trip inland?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you find all the supplies?”

  “Yes.”

  This wasn’t working the way she’d hoped. “Is there anything I need to know?”

  “No.”

  These monosyllabic responses were starting to annoy Sara. Perhaps a change in strategy. “Can I ask a question? I know, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

  “Sure.”

  “What was so upsetting in the newspaper today?”

  Bingo. The lines along Zak’s jaw tightened as she slowly rested her fork on the side of her plate. “There might be a slight problem at the site. Nothing for you to worry about. I’ll brief the new guide when he arrives.”

  Sara’s temper rose at the dismissive remark. “Ms. Chambers, I’m not some uneducated debutante who needs to be protected from the truth. This is my project, my work, we’re talking about and I expect to be fully informed of any possible complications. And furthermore, I’m really tired of these unilateral decisions you’ve been making on my behalf. It’s bad enough that you’ve decided to leave without any real justification—unless you consider accidental touching a terminal offense. If it affects me or this project, I expect to be consulted. Can you understand and accept that?”

  “Yes.” The gentleness Sara had seen earlier vanished, replaced by a piercing, unemotional stare.

  “So? What’s the potential problem?”

  “A government official could cause trouble.”

  “Titus Wachira?”

  “What do you know of Wachira?”

  “You’re not the only one who can read.”

  The expression on Zak’s face became more earnest as her brow furrowed and the crow’s-feet around her eyes deepened. “You have to promise that you won’t engage Wachira for any reason.”

  “What’s so terrible about him? He’s just a cop.”

  “At best Wachira is a corrupt, self-serving bureaucrat. At worst he has deadly potential. He’s without morals, dangerous. Take your pick, just promise me, please.”

  The urgent tone of Zak’s request touched Sara. There was obviously history between the two, and it felt more personal than professional. “I promise to try. Guess I’ll have to find a way around him if he tries to disrupt plans for the school.”

  “Has anyone ever accused you of being stubborn?”

  “I prefer to call it resilient. It’s another family curse, sort of like blurting whatever comes to mind.” Sara hoped her teasing would distract Zak from the touchy subject of Wachira.

  “That’s as close to a promise as I’ll get from you, isn’t it?” Zak cut off a hefty slice of steak, stuck it in her mouth, and chewed like she was trying to digest nails.

  “Yes.” The tension in Zak’s body vibrated from her as she sat rigidly in her chair, pushing food around on her plate that she probably wouldn’t eat. Sara wanted to lighten the mood and see that stunning smile again. She poured them another glass of wine and asked, “Where did you get the name, Zak? Is there some long family story behind it?”

  Zak was quiet for a few minutes, her face a study in conflict. Sara was patient, giving her most reassuring smile. “My father had a twisted sense of humor. The Bible-thumpers passing through Kenya were studying the Old Testament book of Zechariah when I was born. He insisted on naming me Zakaria. It has some connection to God and being called.”

  “It suits you, sort of old soul and worldly at the same time.” Sara felt a sense of accomplishment at having finally tweezed one morsel of personal information out of Zak. She tried her luck again. “Have you been to Mombasa before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “Boring business. Why don’t you tell me about your favorite visit here?”

  They were back to one-word answers and diversions. But if a recitation of her times in Mombasa would relax Zak and open her up a bit more, Sara would happily recount her entire childhood.

  “It would be a toss-up between my seventh and twenty-fourth birthdays. When I was seven, my father taught me to windsurf. He said I was a natural. I had this amazingly powerful perception of controlling the elements when I was out there. I still feel that rush on the water. It’s the only time I feel in control of my life anymore and like I’m doing something more than just handing out money.” Sara stopped, unable to believe she’d said that out loud. “The curse again.”

  Zak’s attention made Sara feel she was truly being heard. “My twenty-fourth birthday was the last trip my mother and I took together that wasn’t work related. We walked around Old Town and Fort Jesus marveling at the three-foot-thick walls and wondering what life must’ve been like for people living there. Mostly we just talked for hours about the world, the absurdity of violence, hunger, and children in need. Some of the best conversations of my life were with my mother.” Sara paused and felt her eyes mist with tears.

  “Now it’s my turn to apologize.” Zak edged forward with her hands on the table as if she wanted to reach out. “I’m sorry for asking you to remember sad memories.”

  Sara wiped an escaped tear from her cheek. “These aren’t sad memories. They’re some of the happiest of my life. The sad part is we won’t be able to create any more.”

  When Sara looked into Zak’s eyes she saw her own pain reflected there. Those normally unreadable pools of steel blue were frozen with sorrow. Without thinking, Sara took Zak’s hands. The skin she touched was warm, the muscles firm but vibrating with a current that was almost a tangible layer between them. A tingle like the zap of a static charge in winter shot through her body, leaving her warm but confused. With each blink of Zak’s curly lashes, Sara received conflicting messages. One invited her to come closer, the other warned her to stay away. She tightened her grip on Zak’s hands.

  “You understand that kind of pain, don’t you?” Before her mistake fully registered, Zak was on her feet.

  “We have an early day tomorrow. I have to be at the airport at four to receive the supplies I ordered today. I’ll see you there at six.”

  By the time Sara reached the door, Zak had already blended into the shadows. She stared into the darkness, rubbing her hands together to savor the lingering sensation of their touch. What a frustrating woman—and I’m not sure why I care. But her next thought caused even
more discomfort. After tomorrow she’d probably never see Zak again.

  Chapter Five

  Zak moved with controlled precision as she inched her way toward the woman sleeping beside her. She was stealth personified. She molded her legs into the crook of her lover’s knees and scooted in. The tiny hairs on her body extended as if to bridge the distance between them. Her objective was to get as close as possible without waking her, so close that the desire to touch was unbearable.

  She lowered her head and sniffed the caramel skin that flowed like topping over the exquisite body. The scent of sweaty sex clung to her, reminiscent of last night’s activities. The pressure between her legs increased as she remembered their sex play. Dipping her head lower, she inhaled the funky morning breath that immediately made her crave a kiss.

  Only in the pre-dawn hours did Zak allow these precious moments of imagined intimacy. As the woman next to her slept, she fantasized that theirs was a true relationship. But she didn’t deserve this woman or the dream. She’d used her body as a weapon of seduction for so long that the programmed responses became indistinguishable from real emotion. Everything about her presence here was a lie.

  “Are you going to kiss me or just stare at me all morning?” As she turned to face Zak the strands of long black hair feathered across the pillow and turned a deep shade of auburn. The round face, slightly flat nose, and dark brown eyes changed to a heart-shaped face, upturned nose with light freckles, and chocolate brown eyes with green flecks. Gwen’s face slowly transformed into Sara’s, smiling up at her, waiting to be kissed.

  Zak backed away and abruptly fell onto the hard tile floor of her hotel room. She’d drifted into a restless sleep on the sofa only an hour ago. After bolting from Sara, she reprimanded herself for having dinner with her. She had issued the invitation because of guilt, and a moment of sentimentality nearly caused her to divulge personal information.

  Something in Sara’s voice when she talked about her parents tugged at Zak’s heart. Such love and devotion was rare these days, especially in families. It reminded her of the way her own family used to be. And Sara’s lack of control over her life struck a chord in Zak. They seemed to share a bond, a mutual search for the missing piece of themselves.

  Without considering the repercussions, she had gazed into Sara’s eyes and was torn between the need for a real connection and the fear of making one. She only hoped Sara couldn’t see how much she wanted to confide in her. When Sara touched her hands, the contact registered not only in Zak’s body but in a place untouched for years.

  In her previous life she wouldn’t have hesitated to explore her conflicted feelings about this alluring but annoying woman. But in her previous life she wouldn’t have hurt a woman like Gwen either, not even if it was her job. While she knew that Gwen wasn’t in love with her, they shared a link, a trust that had been broken. The more she put her life on hold for work, the more she felt like a Company instrument instead of an individual. Could her feelings atrophy from disuse?

  Maybe her lack of sleep was contributing to this unproductive foray into the emotional. She needed to remember for just a few more hours that she didn’t know this woman well enough to feel anything for her except irritation. One more day and she’d be free. Then she could sort through these residual emotions, rest, and get on with a less distracting assignment. She untangled herself from the blanket she’d thrown over herself and headed to the bathroom.

  After a hot shower, Zak was at the airport by four and had everything ready when Sara arrived at six. Her client wore appropriate bush-country attire and negated the necessity for the sermon on brightly colored or stark white clothing that attracted animals and insects. The snug-fitting cargo pants, khaki-colored camp shirt, and lightweight jacket were mundane but still managed to elicit appreciative stares and comments in Swahili from the attendants.

  Zak nodded a morning greeting, but they packed and settled in the plane without conversation. The short forty-five minute flight from Mombasa to the Keekorok Airstrip inside the Masai Mara National Reserve featured none of the energy of the flight from London. Sara seemed withdrawn and preoccupied. While the change was more comfortable for Zak, she was also disappointed. She had hoped their last day would be cordial and filled with new experiences for Sara. But this way was probably best. The less notable their interactions, the fewer memories she’d have to forget or try to hide.

  *

  Sara watched Zak settle her black-clad body into the plane seat and wondered why she’d been compelled to touch her last night during dinner. Ever since that touch Sara felt off balance, a little confused. This detached, evasive woman wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met, but something about her intrigued Sara. Her Catholic guilt kicked in and she’d tried to call Rikki back twice but had to leave a message both times. Then the reforming Catholic in her revolted. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d simply reached out during a moment of shared pain when Zak dropped her guard.

  Their connection was brief but tangible. This silent treatment must be her punishment. Somehow it seemed worth it. To look into those steel-colored eyes and know that she’d been understood had validated her in a brand-new way. But their link had been tenuous, and in a few hours Zak Chambers would be out of her life.

  The plane started to descend and Sara looked out the window for the first time since takeoff. A huge expanse of orange dirt and dry scrub grass stretched to the horizon, and a herd of wildebeests ran from the noise of their engines. An occasional solitary tree broke the view out across the plains. Tiny lines crisscrossed the savannah in all directions. As their descent continued, the lines became narrow paths. She tried to find some sign of civilization as the plane neared the ground.

  “Where’s the airport?” Her voice sounded forced and unfamiliar.

  “Straight ahead. Keekorok Airport.”

  “But I don’t see anything except—” One of the narrow paths became a single-lane road full of ruts and bumps. A strip of packed red clay and rocks, lined on either side by a single shrub and a windsock, served as the landing strip. “Oh, my God.”

  The wheels hit the ground and Sara grabbed the seat arms to stop the jarring of her teeth. “You have got to be kidding.” She thought she heard a soft chuckle from Zak as a wave of dust engulfed the plane. She dug her nails into the seat fabric, her fingers aching. At least if the plane couldn’t stop immediately it had plenty of room out here to coast. She tried to think on the bright side, then realized they’d slowed to a stop. To the left of the makeshift runway, a concrete platform topped by a sheet of tin housed two backless benches. A rock-and-sod building with two doors advertised the facilities for gents and ladies. “You might’ve warned me,” she grumbled, but Zak was already headed to the door.

  “I don’t see our trucks or supplies. That probably means your new guide isn’t here either. Call your people and see what’s happened while I collect our things.”

  “Yes, master.” Sara executed a mock salute and dialed Randall’s number. When she finished her conversation and exited the aircraft, Zak was standing under the shelter with their luggage, hands on her hips, looking expectantly toward the plane.

  Sara took a deep breath and almost choked on the dry powdery dust that still hung in the air. The sky was crystal blue without a single cloud and the temperature felt like springtime. Two people wandered near the toilets but she could see no one else: no cars, no homes, only the vast savannah. She stepped off on the ground and walked slowly toward Zak.

  “This is the airport?” Zak nodded. “My attorney said the guide should be here with our supplies. That’s obviously not happening.”

  “What’s the guide’s name?”

  “Roger Kamau.”

  Zak flipped the phone from her waistband, punched the keys, and spoke in a language Sara didn’t recognize. But the intonation of the dialect sounded perfectly natural. The familiar cadence she’d detected in Zak’s speech when they first met was obviously an African derivative. What else didn’t she know
about Zak Chambers and would probably never learn?

  When Zak ended the call, she asked, “What language is that?”

  “Swahili. We’ll have a ride in a few minutes. I’ll give you the lat and long of our overnight location when we arrive so you can forward it to the guide. Maybe he’ll find us by morning.”

  “A ride? What did you do, call a taxi out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  The smile that Zak gave her was devilish. “Sort of. You might want to utilize the facilities before we get started.” She nodded toward the primitive rock building. “We have another hour’s ride, which will seem like four.”

  Sara considered her options. “I think I’ll wait.”

  “Suit yourself, but it doesn’t get any better.” She sat down on the shelter’s raised concrete floor, feet on the ground, and reclined against a post.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Since we don’t have our supplies, we’ll have to spend the night along the way. The accommodations won’t be exactly top drawer.”

  Sara sat beside Zak on the floor and took in her demeanor. Some of the tension that usually marred her alabaster complexion with worry lines was absent. But the hypervigilance of the hunter and the hunted was still apparent in her steadily shifting eyes and spring-loaded posture. “You love this country, don’t you?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You’re slightly more relaxed. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still revved higher than a jet engine at take-off, but something’s different.” Sara thought Zak might ignore her comment completely as she surveyed the surrounding area again.

  “It’s easier to see what’s coming on the savannah. The threats aren’t camouflaged as friends or amiable associates. Life simply consists of varying degrees of danger.”

  “That sounds rather pessimistic. When I look around, I see potential. It seems beautiful, wide open, and wild. I can almost taste the excitement. The people I’ve encountered in Mombasa through the years have always been cordial, helpful, and eager to work. Nobody rests. Nobody takes their livelihood for granted. I assume it would be the same in the bush. Where’s the danger in that?”