Page 5

R ow got up early the next morning and waved her uncle off on his trip with the promise to join him and her cousins soon.

Perhaps some beach time and shopping were exactly what she needed.

She’d gained nothing from following Anders around Zimbabwe.

Now was the time to confront him. Then she needed to go back to the job she loved where, as frustrating as it was, she could at least still search for answers.

She found herself sitting in her uncle’s old SUV, down the street from Anders’ office.

A small complex of previously residential buildings surrounded by a high wall and closed gates on the western edge of town.

A few minutes after she’d arrived, a big, shiny-black SUV had driven inside the electronic gates, but no one had come or gone since.

She hadn’t been able to see the driver’s face because the glass windows had been darkly tinted.

She memorized the license plates though. That was one of her superpowers.

She gnawed on her bottom lip, trying to figure out the best approach.

What if Anders refused to talk to her? Or claimed he didn’t know the man she believed to be her father?

Did she show him the photo? What if he wasn’t at the office today?

Should she go to his home again? Actually knock on the door this time?

She didn’t want to drive up to the gates because then they might spot her uncle’s license plate, and she didn’t want him involved. She needed a story to get in the door, but saying she was searching for her as-yet-unidentified father would probably freak Anders out.

She needed to move but was frozen to the seat.

Suddenly, the gates opened, and the black SUV sped quickly out of the compound.

She ducked, pretending to search through her bag.

She wore a green canvas hat pulled low over her unruly brown hair which she’d tied into a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

Long sleeves and trousers helped disguise the fact her skin was painfully white.

Not that anyone who really looked would be fooled but perhaps she might not stand out quite so much to the casual observer.

When the SUV was out of sight, she sat back up and realized the gates remained open.

Not questioning her good luck, she grabbed her handbag, climbed out of the car, dashed across the street, and strode confidently up the driveway that was lined with mature shrubs and tropical flowers.

Three vehicles were parked off to the left. Excitement hit as she recognized the one that belonged to Anders. A glass door led to a small reception area, and she pushed inside, but no one sat behind the desk.

“Hello?”

A radio played in some distant office, and she poked her head through the doorway and looked both ways down a long corridor covered with framed posters about landmines and the organizations that tried to combat them.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

No answer. Perhaps they were all in a meeting, or wearing headphones?

Gathering her courage, and the memories of acting classes she’d taken at uni, she walked down the corridor with a half-smile of greeting pasted firmly to her lips. She passed room after empty room. Perhaps all the people who worked here were out on assignment or something.

The main office building was an extended and converted old family home. At the end of the hallway, she saw Anders’ name etched onto a fancy nameplate. He was clearly the boss.

Steeling her spine, she knocked firmly on the door and placed her hand on the knob.

No one answered.

They must all be in a meeting.

Pursing her lips, she came to a decision. She’d wait in his office. He couldn’t avoid her then, could he?

She opened the door and took a step inside.

Found herself in a space that looked more like someone’s colonial front room with a deep-red tiled floor, large stone fireplace, a couple of hunter-green, leather, wingback chairs.

A wide window overlooked a pretty back yard filled with greenery and a stone bird bath.

Her brain refused to register the scene at the other end of the room.

Then her stomach caught up with her brain. She clapped a hand over her mouth as gore rushed up her throat. She forced it back down, grimacing at the bitter taste.

Bjorn Anders was tied to a chair beside a huge mahogany desk and had clearly been savagely beaten.

His head lolled to one side, and blood ran down his neck and drenched the front of his shirt. He looked dead.

Her knees shook as she glanced quickly down the corridor but saw no one.

Was everybody else in the building also dead?

Another terrifying thought struck her. Is the killer still here?

She eased the door closed, her heart pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear a bloody thing. If the killer was still here, then hopefully they hadn’t heard her come in, thanks to the blaring radio .

She gingerly turned the lock. And stood there trembling in shock, not knowing what she should do next.

The lock wasn’t much protection, but it might give her time to escape via the back door.

She ran across the room and undid the bolts, top and bottom of the door, and turned the large old-fashioned key that sat in the lock.

Then she hesitated. What if it was alarmed?

Or what if the killer was in the garden?

She relocked it and made her way to the edge of the window and stared out cautiously.

Multiple birds were feeding on the millet and bread that someone had placed in a basin.

She didn’t think the birds would be there if a person lurked in the bushes.

Her gaze was drawn inexorably back to the grisly figure in the chair.

Bjorn Anders had been viciously beaten and the office ransacked. Pieces of paper littered the floor.

A robbery? Who’d do something like this?

She couldn’t not try to help him—even if he didn’t know who her father was, she owed it to both of them to try to help him.

She’d had first-aid training.

She stepped carefully over to him, avoiding the mess on the floor, the broken glass of a family photograph that showed his beautiful wife and young kids.

She cautiously touched the side of his neck where the pulse should be strongest. His skin was warm, but there was no beat of blood beneath her fingertips.

Most of it was spread over his body and pooled on the floor beneath the chair, the scent metallic and cloying.

She jerked her fingers away and took a sharp step back.

He was definitely dead.

Her insides twisted as she fought nausea.

She ran for the back door again but hesitated.

She glanced at Anders’ desk. She wanted to get out of here as fast as possible, but once she was gone, she’d never be able to come back.

This would be her last chance to find the answers she so desperately needed.

Someone had dumped the contents of the drawers on top of the desk, the items scattered everywhere as if they’d been searching for something. The wooden drawers themselves were tossed against the wall.

She glanced over the items on the desk and saw nothing more exciting than a stapler and paperclips, the usual office clutter. The stuff in the file folders looked like invoices, receipts, contracts. Nothing earth shattering, and she didn’t have time to read them all.

Was this a robbery gone horribly wrong? The computer hard drive was missing though a monitor remained.

A flash of gold caught her eye, and she crouched to the floor, sliding aside an envelope. Her fingers closed around the edges of a fancy business card. She frowned at the blue and gold embossed seal.

United States Department of Justice.

Federal Bureau Of Investigation.

Supervisory Special Agent Kurt Montana.

Montana .

Shock filled her. The American from the bar last night.

An FBI agent?

She’d assumed he was some sort of military contractor.

A drop of what was presumably Bjorn Anders’ blood marred the textured card, partially obscuring the cell number and reminding her of the carnage beside her.

She turned her head away from Bjorn Anders’ mutilated corpse, then frowned. There, on the underside of the dark wood, in the far back corner was an envelope taped to the surface.

Why had Anders hidden it?

She reached inside and scratched at the aged Sellotape until it peeled off and she ripped the envelope away.

She carefully opened it up and pulled out a photograph. A photograph very like the one that had brought her on this quest in the first place, showing a group of men sitting around a fire, including the man she believed to be her father.

Was it what the killers had been looking for?

Why? Should she take it with her? She took a quick snap with her phone then hesitated.

It was clearly important enough for Bjorn to hide.

If she left it here, chances were it would be destroyed or lost. She could take it now and send it to Bjorn’s family when she got somewhere safe and figured everything out.

With numb fingers she slid it back into the envelope and into a notebook inside her large canvas handbag that doubled as a rucksack.

The FBI agent’s card vibrated in her trembling fingers.

Maybe he could help her.

Or maybe he was the killer…

No. She didn’t believe that. He’d been intimidating on many levels last night, but he hadn’t struck her as a killer.

Not that she was an expert.

She hesitated, heart racing, uncertain as to what to do.

Call the police? Or the FBI?

Or run?

She knew she should call the local police, but why would they believe she didn’t have anything to do with Bjorn’s murder?

And could she trust the authorities after all the tales of corruption she’d heard from her aunt, uncle, and family?

She had no desire to spend her life in prison for a crime she didn’t commit.