Page 15

T hey drove for hours along endless dirt roads that rattled her bones until her head felt as if it was going to fall off from the constant jarring. Montana barely spoke, just scanned the road ahead for potholes and behind for signs they were being followed.

Row had offered to drive, but Montana had shaken his head and clenched that manly jaw of his. Obviously, he was the strong, silent type, which she preferred to the self-important, let’s-talk-about-me versions of the male species.

The rain had stopped an hour ago, and the sun was beginning to set—early, as always, this close to the equator. Sharp-angled rays streamed dramatically through scattered gray clouds, picking out vibrant spots of green and red in the fertile landscape.

It was truly the most beautiful country.

As the shadows began to lengthen, she shivered, wondering what the night would bring. She was freaked out about everything that had happened today but grateful she had the help of this man, who at least seemed to know what he was doing.

Suddenly, they were driving through pine trees and what looked like granite rocks on craggy moors—the Eastern Highlands. The contrast with the rest of Zimbabwe was dramatic. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in Scotland?”

Montana grunted, then swore as the front right wheel hit another pothole, the depth disguised by a puddle of water. The car immediately started pulling to the right.

He slowed and steered over to the side of the road. Sat in silence for five whole seconds before speaking. “Don’t suppose you got that tire replaced?”

“No.” She hated feeling inept. “I only planned driving to and from Anders’ workplace. A few miles at most. My uncle said he’d get one of his staff to take the car into the garage this afternoon.”

“Goddammit. I should have picked up a spare along the way. I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. If anyone’s an idiot, it’s me, and we both know it.

” Her eyes smarted suddenly for getting them into this predicament.

“I should never have tried to follow Anders. I should have left the extent of my poking around to sending my DNA to the family tree research sites and seeing what popped. Then maybe I could have enjoyed my vacation, and we wouldn’t be in this mess. ”

He turned to face her, his dark blue eyes intense on her face. “Only one problem with that. Without your actions today, I’d be dead, and I’m mighty grateful to be not dead.”

She exhaled a ragged breath at the reminder. Then nodded. “I’m very glad you aren’t dead too, Agent Montana.”

“Call me Kurt. Actually, scratch that. Call me Joe, for now. It’s a nickname I answer to regularly and easier to not slip up if that’s what you’re used to using.”

She felt inexplicably sad not to get to use his given name. “You really think someone might be trying to kill you?”

“If I’m wrong, everyone back home is gonna think I’ve lost my freaking mind.

But they’ll also be happy I’m alive, so there’s that.

” He sighed as they sat looking out at the growing dusk.

“Perhaps losing my mind will make it easier to step aside from an active-duty role in HRT, especially, if they don’t give me a choice. ”

“HRT?”

“Hostage Rescue Team.”

“That sounds…” exciting, sexy , “dangerous.”

“The guys train their assess off every day to be masters of what they do, but sure.” He shrugged and his eyes looked a little somber. “It can be dangerous sometimes.”

“What will you do instead? Play golf? Crochet? I could teach you to knit.”

He shifted in his seat, amused by her little joke. “I don’t plan to retire just yet. Just step into a more senior admin role which will be a lot less fun.”

She looked around at the near darkness, somewhere in Africa, running from God knew what. “Is this your idea of having fun?”

“Maybe.” He cocked a brow at her and his very attractive mouth quirked unexpectedly. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Gosh, the ways she could interpret those words…

“Let me know when you figure it out.” She hid her inappropriate thoughts by squinting at the map, although it was hard to see now.

“It looks as if there’s a resort not far away, and, according to this map, which is who knows how old, there’s a garage there too.

If we’re going to break down this is a good spot. ”

He shot her a look that questioned her intelligence.

She shrugged. “Beats walking ten miles to the nearest village to beg for help.”

He exhaled a long sigh. “Let me look at that.”

She handed it over, and he turned on the overhead light and peered down at the page. Well, that helped.

“We need to be up here to find a place to cross the Gairezi safely.” He glared down at the paper as if it was personally responsible for their predicament. “Another twenty miles north. Then it’ll be a hike to wherever we can get picked up on the other side of the border.”

She checked her watch, a Breitling Superocean dive model she’d found in the attic and must have belonged to her Uncle Peter, who’d been a scuba diver back in the day.

She’d had it serviced and had been wearing it since the funeral.

A constant reminder of the connection they’d shared and of all that she’d lost. What would he say if he could see her now?

He’d tell her to do whatever it took to survive.

“Shall we head to the garage and see if they’re still open? We might be able to keep going tonight if they can fix the puncture or if they have a tire that fits.”

“Yeah.” He sounded reluctant though. “We better take some essentials with us in case this garage isn’t there anymore. The hotel should be. Perhaps they have someone who can help us.”

She grabbed her purse, which held all her things and the cell phones.

She had the feeling he’d have tossed the cells except maybe they contained evidence, especially Bjorn’s.

And probably hers too, thinking about it.

It might help tell the authorities who’d killed the man.

Although which authorities, she wasn’t sure.

She wondered who the FBI was searching for that Dougie Cavanagh’s name had come up.

Had Dougie been a criminal?

Her teeth chattered. She didn’t like that idea. Not at all. It was possible she’d weaved all sorts of romantic fairytales around the man based on the letters he’d written her mother. Row had no doubt he’d loved Allie Smith. She wanted to believe he’d have loved her too if he’d known about her.

Montana passed her a bag of new clothes and two bottles of water. Her new rain jacket. He grabbed his own rucksack and shoved two water bottles into the side pockets and stuffed energy bars inside. He also rolled up the map book and slid it down the side.

Did he think they might not be coming back? The idea was alien to her .

He turned off the headlights, and suddenly it was pitch black.

“Whoa. I can’t see the nose in front of my face.”

“I’ve got a flashlight. Wait a sec while I find it. Here.”

He reached for her hand and put something small and heavy into her palm and folded her fingers around it.

“Thank you.” She opened the door.

“Careful, it’s going to be?—”

She went down hard on her ass in the mud.

“Slippy.”

She struggled to her feet still clutching the torch. “Slippery,” she corrected automatically.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll try to keep in mind the dictionary police are on the job.”

She grinned and a quiver slid over her shoulders that had nothing to do with the cool mountain air. She didn’t think anyone had ever ma’am-ed her before. She kind of liked it.

She closed the door softly, and he did the same. She turned on the torch and pointed the powerful beam in front of her as she carefully made her way around the bonnet and met him at the front of her uncle’s old 4x4.

Her footing went again but he caught her and secured a hand around her waist.

“I got you.” His breath was warm in her hair. “This okay?”

She nodded as she clutched at his belt. “Yes. Thanks.”

Damn, could he hear the hitch in her voice because he was holding her so close? Probably.

His fingers felt hot on her waist. Hot and firm and protective.

She wasn’t used to physical contact with men.

She’d buried herself in books rather than the opposite sex.

She’d been a painfully shy teen, had a boyfriend briefly in college until she’d caught him bragging about having sex with her when they’d barely even kissed.

The betrayal had cut so deep she’d avoided any entanglements for long enough that guys had stopped asking her out.

Then she’d gone home to Shropshire, and although she’d joined a dating app, she hadn’t been interested in anyone enough to warrant a third date.

Most of her best friends were gay or in long-term relationships, which meant her social circle was not exactly full of available heterosexual men.

She’d resigned herself to never finding anyone. To being single.

And was absolutely fine with that.

It was unfortunate that a whisper of attraction had decided to raise its ugly head now.

Or perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. The guy was helping her flee from shadowy killers and powerful forces.

Why wouldn’t she be attracted to him? Plus, he was handsome with that classic square-jaw, strong build, and he had the cute accent.

He was also generally unavailable because he lived in America and she lived in England, so, yeah, no wonder she was feeling a little lustful hero worship. It was safe.

He was safe.

They wouldn’t be together for long. He’d be going home, and she’d hopefully be heading straight back to Ironbridge and the job she loved, surrounded by books and her co-workers and the capacity for constant learning. Safe from the possibility of suffering from more loss and heartbreak.

Safe.

Alone.

So perhaps she should give herself a little grace. The past twelve hours had been hell. The sort of experience best kept within the pages of her favorite novels, not lived in graphic detail.

“Okay, remember. Joe Hanssen. You’re my girlfriend so better act a little ditzy to explain that.”

“What do you mean?”

“A woman your age? With a guy like me? You’d need to be a little ditzy.”

“What are you talking about? You are intelligent, good-looking and”—as she had her hand around his lean waist she could say with confidence—“ripped. ”

He laughed. “I’m twenty years your senior. Everyone will think I’m your father.”

“You are eighteen years older than I, and as long as I’m legal age and not being coerced, it’s up to me—and you—who we sleep with.” Her cheeks flamed in the darkness. She hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt, and now the idea had become alive in her mind along with a feeling of ripe anticipation.

Which was stupid. The guy was helping her.

“Okay, you can be righteous rather than ditzy. It works better because you look too smart to be ditzy.”

She opened her mouth to defend people’s appearances and the concept of “ditzy” but then she spotted holiday cabins off to the left and a light on the road ahead and relief filled her. “Looks like the garage is still there. Hey”—she nudged him in excitement—“Joe and Row. Our names rhyme.”

He groaned. “Great. Lifetime achievement unlocked.” But he laughed the way she’d hoped.

As they got closer, they could hear a generator and smell the exhaust fumes.

“I guess the ZESA is still down.”

“Yeah. Row…”

She looked up and caught the stern set to his jaw.

“Do me a favor and stay back in the shadows when we get there. Casually. Pretend to fix your shoes or something. I don’t want people seeing your face if we can avoid it.”

She nodded. Reminded this was serious business no matter how badly she wanted to pretend otherwise. If someone had spotted her following Anders or caught her on camera at his workplace after his violent murder, the whole country might be looking for her.

All thoughts of whether or not it was reasonable to be attracted to this man fled. Who cared?

They were both in serious trouble. If Kurt Montana was to be believed, someone was actively trying to kill him.

And if Nolan Gilder was involved, the photo she’d taken from Bjorn Anders’s office might be a key piece of evidence that proved it.

They had to get that evidence into the hands of the proper authorities as soon as possible.