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Nick shrugged and gazed out the window at the passing shoreline as they headed for the airport.
“Whatever.”
Tessa caught the driver glancing at her. Sympathy for Nick’s attitude? Or recognition of whose wife she was and curiosity as to where she was going? She wouldn’t doubt that half the drivers in their area answered to Brice. He tipped well, but he also had a great rapport with everyone. Which was why getting him to approve this trip had been so important. His approval meant less suspicion on his part and that alone would buy her time.
Brice had seemed relieved when she mentioned taking Nick out of town for a week. If Tessa had noticed anything since Nick came to live with them, it was that Brice had less patience for kids than she did. He hadn’t been kidding when they’d had the infamous discussion about no kids right before they got married. But she loved Nick. He was her nephew...her blood. And Brice wasn’t solely to blame on the no-patience front. Nick was a handful. A slurry of teen moodiness thickened with posttraumatic stress. Yet Brice had welcomed him into their home. That’s why she was feeling morbidly guilty right now.
She smiled at the driver and tried to act as relaxed as possible, fighting back tears as they passed the neighborhood of midsize homes where her sister had lived. She noticed Nick looking over and her heart broke for not being able to tell him that his “visit” to his uncle might end up being a lot more than a visit...and that he’d likely not see his old neighborhood again for a long time. She placed her hand on his shoulder and he shoved it off. His constant rejections hurt. So she wasn’t ideal substitute-mom material, but she was trying to do her best.
It’s all going to be okay.
All that mattered was getting Nick to Kenya and then getting as far from the boy as she could. Because sooner or later Brice would realize this wasn’t a vacation, and when he did, he’d be after her for answers...and there was no way she’d let Nick get caught in the cross fire.
* * *
MAC WALKER HATED being played almost as much as he hated owing anyone anything. But everyone—including Mac—had a price, and saving Air Walker Safaris from the red was a big one. He’d always gotten by okay. Up until now, the balance between booking enough paid charters to keep the cash flowing and still having plenty of spare time to volunteer free flights for herd observation or tracking for wildlife reservations or research and rescue camps in the area had been perfect. His safari charters hopefully raised awareness of endangered species while letting tourists take in or photograph the phenomenal world below. But his volunteer work? That’s what he lived for. That’s what he didn’t want to sacrifice if AWS suffered. He liked the way his life was—he was on his own and in control. And no matter how many psychological games bigger, better companies tried to play with him, he wasn’t going to give in.
He hated the fact that once anyone got wind of the good life or a diamond in the rough, they wanted a piece of it. Now every other flying junkie was trying to set up shop and cash in on the draw of Kenya’s Serengeti and his books were beginning to show it. It made him sick that they didn’t really care for the land, so much as the opportunity. He sat back, propping his dirt-crusted hiking boots onto the undersized wooden table that served as his desk, and studied his email reply to the latest franchise trying to buy him out. He deleted the colorful insult he’d added to the draft.
It wouldn’t be selling out, really—except from his perspective. The companies trying to buy AWS positioned their offers as more of a partnership and a chance to increase business. No doubt the move would fund the kind of tender loving care his one true love—his chopper—needed, and he’d finally be able to add a second helicopter and pilot to his payroll. But the mere idea of giving up an ounce of control made him cringe. Sure, he was just a small charter business, but he’d never needed much to keep himself afloat before. He’d had a few extra expenses this past year. That was all. He just needed a small business boost and time to recover. He still had adequate savings to keep sending his share of support for his nephew, Nick. That was one of his priorities and the least he could do, but boy, did he need to start adding to the bank account. The numbers in the partnership offers were tempting.
Just not tempting enough. AWS wasn’t on its deathbed yet.
But his gut told him it would happen sooner or later. The question was when. How many bridges could he burn before he lost all his chances at a deal that would keep AWS from going completely under? For now, though, it was a risk worth taking to maintain his independence.
He took his feet off the battered wood desk and hit Send. Done.
He needed a drink.
And more customers.
He scrubbed his face with his palms and took one swig from a bottle of Scotch he kept in the short filing cabinet that helped support the end of his desk. Then he turned off his lamp and computer. His long-term lease at Hodari Lodge, one of the upscale tourist lodges near Amboseli National Park, afforded him a windowed office where tourists could browse brochures and sign up for tours. He also had adjoining private living quarters that were barely big enough for a man half his size. He’d divided his humble “single bed and bath” space with a curtain consisting of long orange and red cloths gifted to him by Masai friends after he’d located a young child who’d wandered too far from their village. The handiwork, woven with care, was a reminder of what was important in life.
He made short use of the basin and urinal that occupied the left side of the room, turned off the lights, sat on the edge of the single bed he dwarfed and pulled off his boots.
The chitter-chatter of insects and mellow cries of nocturnal beasts carried through the mosquito netting on the window he’d opened earlier. Potent sounds that fueled his blood and kept him company.
He leaned back against his pillow and started to tuck his hands behind his head but froze at the barely perceptible click of the door to his quarters. Shuffling steps were followed by the metal grind of his rusty file cabinet opening and the rustle of papers. Not a very quiet thief, but then again, few people knew he lived at the back of his office, and Sue, his assistant, never went past the front desk. She’d left much earlier and had promised to lock the door that opened to the lodge’s foyer so he could deal with emails uninterrupted. He should have double-checked.
He slipped his switchblade out of his back pocket and rose. This had happened to him once before. The guy had been after his alcohol. Handing over his Scotch would be the least of Mac’s worries. Losing his computer or the day’s cash that he hadn’t had the chance to bank would bite a lot harder.
He peered past a break in the Masai drapes and quickly noted that the dark figure was no match for his six feet. It looked more like the size of an older kid. Moonlight reflected off his bottle of Scotch at the back of the file drawer. Untouched. Not after the booze, huh?
One long stride and he had his hand over the intruder’s mouth and their body braced hard against his. A faint trace of perfume or scented shampoo and the thief’s curved shape gave her gender away and, admittedly, shocked the heck out of him. She gasped and dug her nails frantically into his forearm while trying, unsuccessfully, to kick her heels up at his knees. The little witch even tried sinking her teeth in him, but he twisted his hold and saved his skin. He held his blade just far enough from her neck so she could see it.
“Stop struggling and this won’t get any worse.”
Her chest heaved, but she obeyed. He flicked his blade shut with one hand, shoved it in his pocket and reached to turn on the light, then СКАЧАТЬ