by V. K. Powell
“Did you hear me, Ebony? Come home, now.”
“I can’t.” She ended the call to a string of Stewart’s expletives.
Sara looked at her questioningly. “That didn’t sound very friendly.”
“Just business, and it’s seldom friendly.”
“Tell me about it. I can be a good listener.” When Zak gave her a teasing look, Sara continued. “I’m quite capable of keeping my mouth shut long enough to listen to a friend’s problems. It sometimes helps to bounce things off an uninvolved party. Just the other day when I called home, the housekeeper was going on about her family’s— I’m doing it again, babbling, aren’t I? Not a very good recommendation for a listener, but try me anyway.”
“I can’t talk to you about my work.”
A glimmer of understanding flashed across Sara’s face. “Is that what all the secrecy is about, your job? Is that why you’re so guarded and unwilling to share yourself?”
“Partly, and that’s all I can say.”
“It’s not, really. Here’s how it works. I share something with you and then it’s your turn.” Sara’s joking tone became more serious as her attempts to convince Zak were shot down one by one. “I can be the epitome of discretion, and you can trust me.”
“No.” Zak purposely sounded gruff and inflexible. She wanted to relay that no matter how discreet or trustworthy Sara was, it wasn’t safe to share her life with her. But how could she say that without saying it?
“Of course you can trust me, unless you’re a hired assassin or maybe a corporate spy.”
The look on Zak’s face must have revealed more than she intended because Sara’s mouth dropped open but nothing came out. The shock and pain in her eyes was disturbing.
“Sara, please don’t jump to conclusions. I’m not confirming or denying anything, but if either of those were true, can’t you see why I couldn’t tell you? It could be dangerous for you to know anything about me.”
Zak hoped her last statement would deter any further speculation about her work. She needed to think about the information Stewart had given her. Wachira was friends with the minister of education, who was close allies with the vice president, who was aligned with Africa World Wide. President Kibaki and the tourism minister worked with Kenya Tourism Group. The picture was becoming clearer. Both of these wealthy and politically connected organizations wanted the land on which Sara’s school was being built, but for entirely different reasons.
Wachira’s group wanted to build a resort adjacent to the game reserve, tap into the accessible infrastructure, and make money. KTG had established the existing resort bordering the reserve and it was already quite profitable. Having another facility so close to theirs would cut into their earnings. But they were funneling some of their proceeds back into the neighborhood. Sara’s plan for the school fit into their overall development ideas nicely. Now all Zak needed was concrete proof of her suspicions and to keep Sara from digging deeper into her personal or professional life.
Sara sat quietly staring out the window at the endless landscape that never seemed to change and trying to make sense of her conversation with Zak. What had she just heard? Did Zak admit, without doing so, that she was an assassin or a spy? Suddenly her obsession with Wachira took on a whole new meaning. Perhaps the story of her father’s death was just a cover for her job, to kill the man. Or maybe the story was true and she was being paid to exact her revenge. Sara didn’t want to believe any of it, not of the woman she nearly had sex with last night, not of the woman she had just discovered she was in love with.
Zak drove in silence, her eyes constantly searching forward. Soon the rain started to come down in solid gray sheets, perfectly matching Sara’s mood. She replayed the exchange in her mind again but couldn’t accept the worst about Zak. The windows fogged over from the inside and droplets of condensation made trails down the glass. A cold shiver shot up her spine in spite of the heat inside the vehicle. She crossed her arms over her chest to stave off the apprehension that threatened to consume her. Suddenly the truck slid sideways on the slimy road, and Sara was thrown against her door, then horizontally toward Zak.
Zak took her hands off the steering wheel to catch Sara and the vehicle skidded off the roadway. When they settled into the slight drop-off, she was sitting in Zak’s lap and they were both pressed against the driver’s door. Zak’s arms encircled her, protecting her from the steering column and the metal console divider.
“Are you okay?” Zak asked.
Sara turned and gazed into the azure blue eyes that were filled with concern and something she’d seen last night. Desire? “I think so. What about you?”
“I’m good.”
They didn’t move for several minutes, locked in a visual embrace neither seemed willing to break. Heat built between them and the windows became steamier. Sara moved closer, targeting Zak’s luscious, slightly parted lips. She wanted to kiss Zak again, long and hard. In spite of what she might have heard earlier, her body refused to distinguish between the Zak of last night and today. God help her, she still wanted Zak.
Another vehicle came alongside theirs and honked. Sara moved reluctantly back to her side of the truck and rolled down the window. “Need a hand?” a smiling young man asked.
“That would be great,” Zak answered, and opened her door. “Move over here and when I tell you, give it the gas, slow and steady, not too fast.”
Zak slid out of the truck and into the thick, ankle-sucking mud. She pulled two boards from the bed and shoved them under the back tires. When she and the young man got behind the vehicle, she called to Sara, “Try it now.”
Sara inched down on the gas but the tires merely spun. “Hold on,” Zak yelled. She repositioned the boards and told her to try again. Slowly the tires caught hold and the truck eased back onto the road. Zak handed the young man a few dollars, waved good-bye, and walked back to the driver’s door. She looked like a gorgeous mud wrestler, covered from head to foot with the gooey gray sludge. Her ninja T-shirt clung to her chest and accentuated erect nipples. The cargo shorts hung low on her hips and were plastered against the V of her thighs. Sara thought she was absolutely edible, minus the gritty covering. As she stood at the door in the pouring rain, some of the mud slid from her face and arms.
“Look the other way,” Zak instructed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to strip and take a rain shower. It’s the best option. We don’t have enough bottled water to hose me down, and I’m not driving four more hours like this.”
“What if somebody comes by?”
“We can see them for miles. I’ll just dive into the truck bed.” She’d already started peeling off the sticky clothes.
Sara turned away from Zak but positioned the rearview mirror so she could watch. Zak shucked the T-shirt off first, and Sara gasped at the sight of the compact breasts she’d sucked last night. The reminder discharged a liquid flow onto her panties. The cargo shorts were next and Zak was completely nude, standing ankle deep in mud. Sara grabbed at the ache between her legs as she did a slow visual inspection of Zak’s long, toned body. Her ass was firm and perfectly rounded with just the right amount of lift. Her legs were slender but ripped with definition. When Zak turned, Sara saw the neatly trimmed crop of dark hair at the apex of her thighs and wanted to be there. How could anyone this gorgeous be capable of anything nefarious?
She watched Zak turn in the drenching rain and rub mud from her body like a kid playing in a sprinkler. She stretched backward, exposing her breasts to the sky, and scrubbed her fingers through her short muck-caked hair. The gray waves soon turned black and she finger-combed them into place. When her gorgeous body once again glowed with its normal ivory sheen, she bent over, pulled her shoes from the clinging mire, and threw them into the back of the truck. Sara stared at her upturned ass and imagined all the things she could do to it and places she would like to put it.
Zak rifled through her rucksack in the covered portion of the truck bed an
d pulled out a clean T-shirt and pair of shorts. She wiggled them onto her wet body and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “Now, isn’t that better?” she asked. “It certainly feels better.” Sara was still visualizing Zak’s nude body and merely nodded in agreement. Zak started the truck and maneuvered back into the rutted roadway. She adjusted the rearview mirror and gave Sara a teasing look. “Did you enjoy the show?”
Sara knew her blush was a dead giveaway. Denial at this point was futile. “I—of course I did. I enjoy all the wildlife. Besides, there are so few opportunities for entertainment out here.”
Zak spent the rest of their trip telling generic stories about some of her adventures in Africa, clearly avoiding anything that might reveal information about her personal life or profession. Sara listened closely, trying to tease those very tidbits from the untold story or the nuance of Zak’s voice and expressions. When they arrived at the Stanley Hotel, Zak insisted on securing their registration while Sara made arrangements for Rikki’s arrival the next morning. As they followed the porter to their rooms, Sara realized why Zak had been so adamant about making the bookings.
Their rooms were on the same floor but several doors apart and across the hall instead of side by side, as on their previous stay. Sara hadn’t thought about Zak’s lover since last night. After they settled the issue of Imani, Zak hadn’t really denied that there was someone else. She’d simply changed the subject, as usual. Now Sara wondered if the mystery lover was a screamer, thus the need for so much distance. The thought rankled and Sara grabbed her suitcase from the porter, handed him a tip, and opened the door to her room. When the attendant was out of earshot, she turned to Zak. “I hope you have a nice visit with your friend. Don’t look for me to resurface until Sunday afternoon. I’ll meet you in the lobby to head back to the site. Is that agreeable?”
For the first time since they’d met, Sara saw a flicker of surprise in Zak’s eyes. “If that’s what you want. But please be careful. It isn’t safe on the streets alone.”
“I don’t plan to be alone.” She closed the door and immediately felt guilty. She’d never tried on jealousy and obviously didn’t wear it well. It made her say and do things she didn’t mean, things that couldn’t be further from the truth. But she needed time to think about what really was true. The things Zak had said about her job required reconsideration and investigation. If she lived some sort of secret life, there was no chance for them. Sara Ambrosini lived out loud and would suffocate in any other context. Her parents had taught her to be proud of who and what she was, to revere life, and to help others. She couldn’t do that in a cloak-and-dagger existence hiding from shadows.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Randall Burke’s number. It was time for her attorney to earn his exorbitant salary. “Randall, I need a complete background check, the works, on my guide, Zakaria Chambers.”
“I checked her out before we hired her.”
“I’m aware of that, but you went through an old friend, as I recall, someone from your military days. I want a separate check from the ground up: parents, date of birth, driver’s license, social security number, education, employment history, financial status, everything. Don’t go through your friends. I want to dig deep on this. And get back to me ASAP.” She hung up before Randall could question her motives or she lost her nerve.
It felt sleazy to poke around in someone else’s life without their permission. Her reformed-Catholic guilt resurfaced. She hadn’t recovered from the first bout when she had Rikki investigated. Prying into Zak’s background was not something she wanted to do, she had to. Like Rikki, Zak withheld vital information that could adversely affect her future. She had to look out for herself because so far the women in her life had consistently failed her. Sara opened the minibar, unsealed a shot bottle of vodka, and downed it in two gulps. Then she collapsed on the bed and prayed that alcohol would numb the feeling that she had betrayed Zak. A woman as private as Zak wouldn’t easily tolerate this terribly invasive process.
Chapter Fourteen
Zak stared out her hotel-room window, sipped a cup of weak coffee, and watched the sun rise over smoggy downtown Nairobi. She compared last night’s restless tossing and turning with the night before when she fell deeply and peacefully asleep in Sara’s arms. The possible reasons for the difference could be exciting if she chose to accept them. She was comfortable with Sara, perhaps even trusted her to some extent. But the cynical part of her chose the more practical answer: she’d had an orgasm and sleep was a natural by-product. The fact that Sara acted as if nothing happened between them and chose to spend the weekend with Rikki was all the reinforcement she needed. The more distance between them the better. This weekend wasn’t about a romantic getaway, at least not for her. The sun had just topped the jagged skyline when a light tap sounded at her hotel room door. Estelle was early, as usual. She opened the door and quickly pulled her into a huge hug. “It’s been a while, Mother.”
“A year, three months, two weeks, four days, and—”
“I get the picture. Too long.” Zak squeezed her mother for several minutes then held her at arm’s length to scrutinize the woman most dear to her heart. Estelle Chambers was four inches shorter than she was, but had the same lean build, ivory skin, and wavy black hair. Instead of being close-cropped, Estelle’s hair shot out in three-inch spikes, giving her more height and the appearance of a classy punk rocker. As a child Zak found lying to her mother difficult because it was like staring into her own slate blue eyes and denying the truth.
“You’re too thin.” Zak wondered if any mother thought her children ate enough. “And you haven’t been sleeping.” She waited for the clothing critique. “This is actually quite striking on you, cheri. What is it, parachute fabric?” She fingered the black pants and camp-style shirt, rubbing the fabric between forefinger and thumb. “Black always was your color.”
“Oh, Mother, don’t treat me like a child.” Her pale blue suit and white silk blouse were obviously expensive and the latest Paris design. Estelle wasn’t pretentious, but she’d always dressed the part of the cutting-edge artist. She said it helped sell paintings if people thought she knew not only art but fashion. Zak wondered how she’d survived so many years of following her father to the African bush.
“You will always be my child, and don’t forget it. Therefore, I reserve the right to treat you as such at any time. But in public I’d prefer you let people consider me an older suitor. Now tell me what’s going on in your life.”
Another of Estelle’s motherly talents, reading her too well and cutting directly to the chase. “How about some breakfast? The Thorn Tree Café has a great buffet.”
“You know me, I’m always starving. But you’re not getting away with that lame diversion attempt. We’ll talk over breakfast.”
Zak opened the door and led the way to the restaurant, engaging in idle chitchat to further distract her mother from the subject of her. But it would be nice to catch up. Estelle was more like a best friend than her mother. “You’ve acquired a bit of the French accent. I didn’t think it would take so quickly.”
“I’m trying to assimilate.”
“It’s definitely working.” Zak secured a table in the corner of the restaurant near an exit so she could watch all points of entry and egress. They helped themselves to the buffet and settled for what she hoped would be an enjoyable meal.
“I have to be honest with you, cheri. I’m not here just to see you, although that was the deciding factor.”
Zak dangled a piece of bacon between her fingers and lowered it back onto her plate. Sometimes she wished her mother wasn’t quite so candid. A few minutes of make-believe would’ve been nice. “Yes?”
“It’s been forty-two months today since your father’s—”
“I know. Do you really think I could forget?”
“I can only hope,” Estelle mumbled just loud enough for Zak to hear.
“What?”
Estelle’s hand covered Zak’s on
the table and gave it a light squeeze. “I only meant that I wish you could let go of the guilt you carry about that day. It was not your fault. Your father wouldn’t want you to live your life under this cloud. It was an unfortunate accident.”
“An accident? An accident? Is that how you live with it so easily?” Zak felt like a pair of unwelcome fists compressed her chest. The ache was almost unbearable as her temper roiled and spread like a tumbleweed.
Estelle withdrew her hand, her face ashen. “Easily? I still miss your father every day. We were together since grade school, best friends and then lovers. That is a connection not easily broken.”
The deep hurt in her mother’s eyes cut through Zak’s annoyance. She took her hand and brought it to her lips. “I’m so sorry, Mother. That was unkind.”
As Zak held her mother’s hand to her lips, Sara walked into the restaurant. Their eyes locked and Sara stopped, taking in the scene. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a French braid that hung down her back, like the first time Zak had seen her. She was dressed in tight blue jeans and a copper-colored blouse that hinted at her cleavage. Blond bimbo Rikki followed closely on her heels and, when she saw Zak, encircled Sara’s waist with her arm. The freckled skin of Sara’s face flushed as she broke eye contact, turned, and left the restaurant.
“Yes, it was very unkind. I don’t like what this job has done to you. I hardly know you anymore, how you think, how you will react. The greatest change has come over the last three years. That temper does not belong to the daughter I remember.”
“My job has given me access to information that will allow me to avenge my father’s death. Without it, that wouldn’t be possible. And just so we’re clear, his death was not an accident, Mother.”