Page 26

K urt stowed his backpack and supplies in what he hoped was a safe spot, doubled back to the river, and observed three men crossing.

At least one person stayed in the SUV and moved one of the chase vehicles so the headlights angled across the river, helping the hunters see and presumably attempting to pick him and Rowena out of the forest.

He scanned his eyes over the area without moving anything else.

No sign of Rowena.

He looked back at his would-be assailants whose faces he could see vaguely but didn’t recognize. One Black guy. Two white guys. One of the white dudes was yelling orders, coordinating the crossing. Running the show.

He moved like a motherfucking merc.

Kurt faded back into the shadows and headed up the slope again, out of the range of those powerful headlights.

No sign of Rowena, which was a good thing. If he couldn’t see or hear her then neither could they. He hoped she’d found somewhere to lay low. He doubted the people chasing them would kill her straight away, and fear for her heightened his resolve .

He wasn’t about to let anyone harm her.

He moved silently through the forest, so deep in the zone he could hear the rustle of individual leaves on the trees and the huffing breath of each of the three men as they clambered out of the rushing water. Those barked instructions.

South African accent speaking English rather than Afrikaans. They were fanning out, which suited him just fine.

He cut across the forest and crouched within the protective embrace of three giant ferns.

He waited. Let his senses flow out into the forest. Ignored the discomfort of soaked clothes, the throb in his shoulder.

Found the gray zone, the killing zone. Finally, he heard footsteps approaching, seemingly unconcerned about being seen or making noise.

The guy was armed and thought that meant he had the upper hand.

This man thought he was the predator.

And Kurt was the prey.

Kurt had news for him.

Dawn was beginning to break, but they were in the murky stage of darkness, where shadow and substance merged into ghosts.

He listened to the guy pass by. Waited for him to move a few steps ahead before Kurt rose silently up out of the foliage.

In one motion, he wrapped his hand around the man’s mouth and slipped the guy’s own hunting knife from its sheath.

Then he slit the guy’s throat before he could make a sound or get off a shot.

Kurt eased him gently to the ground, rolled him onto his back and looked at the man’s face.

Blond. Five eight. Stocky build. Blue eyes red-rimmed as if he had a cold or a drinking problem—or had just had his throat slashed.

Nose that had been broken too many times to ever be straight. Probably mid-thirties.

What a waste.

Kurt took the handgun. A 1911 and some spare ammo. He rifled through the guy’s pockets and came up with nothing.

Definitely a merc of some kind. Private security ?

If so, what was he doing in Zim, aside from chasing Kurt and Rowena through the Eastern Highlands?

He wiped the blade on the dead man’s khaki shirt.

Then he melted into the shadows and followed the barked commands of the asshole who’d once been in the center of this little posse.

Kurt used trees to provide cover, extended his awareness behind him in case the other bastard decided to cross the river and join his friends.

Kurt followed the second man up the trail. Moved behind a large tree as the guy did a slow 360, shining his powerful flashlight through the forest.

Listened as he gave an excited shout as he picked up Rowena’s trail.

The guy jogged along and then paused, cut left.

Kurt followed. Moved fast and silent through the mist-soaked forest until he was right behind the big fuck.

He didn’t hesitate. He caught the man around his lantern jaw and slid his stolen blade through the man’s common carotid.

He held that strong jaw shut as the man sagged to his knees, blood spurting warmly from the slash, coating them both in blood like they were starring in a horror movie. Slowly, the man’s heart stopped pumping, and he keeled over, dead.

One to go.

For now.

He rolled the body off the path. Dug into the wet pockets of his shirt and pants.

Nothing.

Presumably they had some ID in the vehicles. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to get around the country without the police stopping them.

The crack of a branch had him diving behind a tree trunk a split second before a bullet scored the earth where he’d been kneeling.

The last guy started yelling, calling out for his buddies to help. Kurt popped around the other side of the tree and used his left hand to send a bullet center mass.

The man clasped his chest and dropped with a startled grunt and an almost comical look of surprise.

He hadn’t expected Kurt to be armed or to fight back.

He began crawling through the undergrowth as Kurt walked toward him, keeping the gun aimed.

The man in the dirt didn’t go for his weapon.

Just kept trying to drag himself to safety.

Kurt kicked the discarded weapon aside then pressed a foot onto the man’s back to stop his progress. He frisked him for any other weapons. Took another knife from his waistband. “Who are you working for?”

The smile flashed white in the dawn. “Someone who wants you dead.”

“Give me a name. You may as well. It’s not like you’re going to make it out of here alive.”

Fear entered the man’s yellowed eyes. Jaundice? Hepatitis?

“Please. I have a wife. A child.”

“It’s not me you need to persuade.” Kurt crouched. “I’m not going to kill you, but you think your pals are going to help you back across that river or carry you to the nearest town to a hospital?” Kurt shook his head. “We both know they’ll likely put a bullet in your head and blame it on me.”

Those burnt umber eyes acknowledged the truth of Kurt’s words.

“Who’re they after? Me or the girl?”

The injured man rolled onto his side and held both hands to his gut in an attempt to stem the bleeding. He gave a baritone chuckle. “What girl?”

Kurt nodded and straightened. That’s what he’d figured. The man shifted warily away from him, but Kurt wouldn’t kill someone who wasn’t an immediate threat. He started to walk away. He needed his pack, and he needed to find Rowena. Get the hell out of the area before they brought in reinforcements.

“Hey, Mr. FBI. ”

Kurt swung around.

“You can’t outrun these people. They’re everywhere. In government, security forces, police. Not only here but all over the world. You saw what they did to that aircraft…”

Kurt clenched his teeth. “Maybe if you give me a name, I can start making them pay for what they did.”

The man choked out a laugh. “They’re more powerful than you can imagine.”

“I think I heard that line in a movie once.” He wanted them rooted out.

Exposed and left to wither and die, preferably in a prison cell.

“The bad guys always claim to be all-powerful. It’s a bullshit mind-control tactic that makes the weak succumb without a fight.

” He flicked the point of the knife at him.

“Make a sound in the next fifteen minutes, and I will come back and slit your throat like I did your friends’. ”

“They weren’t no friends of mine.”

“Then you should have chosen better work colleagues.”

The injured man shook his head. “You think a man like me has a good way to make a living in this country?”

Kurt didn’t point out that they were no longer in Zimbabwe but in Mozambique. The situation here was just as difficult.

“There has to be a better way than chasing two innocents and getting gut shot for your troubles.”

Shaking his head at the sheer amount of human suffering and waste, he left the injured man, went and rescued his pack from the patch of ferns where he’d hidden it.

Then jogged back up the path to where the second man had picked up Rowena’s trail.

As he walked to the place she’d turned right, he noticed mud on the trunk of a tree and paused, circled, picked up her tracks heading northeast. Clever girl.

He jogged, caring more about speed than stealth right now.

“Row?” He called out quietly when he lost her spoor.

“Joe?”

The reply came from overhead, and he looked up and saw her straddling the limb of a large tree about twenty feet up .

“I think you may as well call me Kurt now.” Cat was well and truly out of the bag. “Can you get down from there?”

She shot him a wry grin. “One way or another.”

The fact she still had her sense of humor in this situation rocked something inside him. He was well acquainted with grit and determination. They put their HRT candidates through the wringer looking for those same qualities. Rowena had them in spades.

She clamped her long legs around the trunk and shimmied down to the ground. He caught her the last few feet and helped her to stand. Took her hand with his left and pressed it to his lips. “Thank God you’re okay.”

“What happened?” Her green eyes went wide with concern as they took in his appearance. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not my blood.” He wiped his face with his sleeve, then checked his shoulder.

“Except for a graze on my arm.” The bullet had ripped the skin, but it was a minor flesh wound.

Though some antibiotics would have been useful right about now.

“Come on. We need to put some distance between them and us.” He squeezed her fingers.

They headed farther up the mountain but kept below the tree line, out of sight of the man he’d shot—in case the guy made a miraculous recovery and decided to try to fulfill the mission regardless of his injuries.

“Is it safe now?” she whispered as she glanced around.

As if he’d have taken her out of her hiding place unless he was certain she’d be okay. For now, at least. But they had to get moving.