“Hey, we’re going to be okay, got it?” he bent his head, giving her no option but to look at him. “Remember, I said you can’t kill Silas? He’s good at what he does. We’re all getting through this. I don’t have cell service and Silas had the SAT phone, so we have to find that village and let someone know where we are. Got it?”
Coco nodded.
“This was scary, but we’re okay. I need you to hold it together a little while longer. Think you can do that?”
“Y-yeah.” Her voice broke and she could feel the tears threatening, but she held them at bay.
“That’s my girl.” He squeezed her to his chest. “Come on.”
Paxton pushed forward, making a way through the brush when there wasn’t one. They stumbled onto a dirt path completely by accident. Only then did he pull out a flashlight.
“Why not use that sooner?” Coco asked, glaring up at him.
“Didn’t want to make us targets. Now, I don’t want to walk up on someone and surprise them.” He gestured to his clothes and gear. “I don’t exactly look friendly.”
“Oh.”
“Know anything about where we’re headed?”
“Not really. Most of the little villages in this area are Sotho. I can get by decent enough if no one speaks English.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
“Six.”
“Six?”
She chuckled at his reaction. “Unlike your country, mine has eleven official languages.”
“What do you speak?”
“Well, English was the common language my parents spoke growing up. Mom made sure we could speak Xhosa.”
“That’s her...tribe?”
“Yes. Dad spoke Dutch. I’m not good at it. There wasn’t much reason to know how to speak it after my grandmother on my dad’s side passed away. She was the only one who required we speak it. I’d wager I understand more than I can speak now.”
“Okay. So what else?”
“Zulu, Afrikaans and Sotho. I know enough to get by in a handful of other languages.”
“How’d you learn so many?”
“It was kind of necessary growing up.” Coco shrugged, more to keep the claws of memory from holding her back. “South Africa was still heavily segregated, even after apartheid ended. Language was what kept so many apart. Being able to speak to someone, to hear them out, it helps break down that barrier. You see each other as people.”
“How was that?”
She opened and closed her mouth. How did a fish describe the ocean or a bird the air?
“Complicated. Hard. As a country we still aren’t over it. You don’t stop seeing dividing lines just because some laws were changed. The walls that kept tribes, blacks, whites—everyone—apart were built too well and there for too long. There are no quick fixes for this. Animals are easier. They’ve followed the same instincts since the dawn of time. I think I like them better than people.”
Paxton chuckled. “You think?”
Coco laughed softly. For the most part, she did prefer animals. They were predictable. People weren’t.
For a moment she thought maybe he’d move on, talk about something else, but then he circled back and asked, “What was all of that like for you?”
She swallowed and kept her eyes focused on the path.
“It was...life. What am I supposed to say? I knew we—Cane, and me—were different growing up. I don’t have any memory of living in Amsterdam—”
“You lived there?”
“That’s where we were born. It was a crime to have mixed babies, so Dad convinced Mom to move to Amsterdam so she could have us and be safe. I think Cane’s still mad at her for that.”
“Mad? Why would he be mad? What would have happened if you’d been born here?”
“She might have been put in prison. He’s upset because on our birth certificates, we’re Dutch. There’s no tribal affiliation. Here a child isn’t just South African, they’re Zulu or Xhosa... Identity was always important to Cane. He felt like us being born in another country stole something from him.”
“And you?”
“I guess I’m more practical. What would having Xhosa on my birth certificate do for me? What would it have cost me? Most people don’t see me as black or white. I’m something else they either want to be or want to hate. I get why most women left South Africa to have their kids if they were colored. I’d much prefer to have my mom as a kid than her be in prison because she fell in love with a white man.”
“Colored?” Paxton snorted. “You can’t say colored in America without sounding racist.”
Coco shrugged. “What am I then?”
“What do you feel like?”
She blinked at him, surprised by the question. No one ever thought to ask her that. “I relate more with my black side. To grow up white here meant you had money and options. We were a poor, black family. I identify with that side because that’s how I lived.”
“That must have been scary for your mom to risk everything like that. Did your dad realize what was at risk for her?”
“He did. Dad’s always been a very kind man. Mom was his only friend when his family moved here. I guess you could say she was a bad influence? She was the maid. They were the same age. Back then, grandma preferred Dad’s brother to him. Dad was bookish, shy, quiet. Lonely. Dad says Mom felt sorry for him. Mom says she wanted to get one over on Grandma, so one night she snuck him out to go to this illegal party in the city where black and white people would go just to hang out, listen to music and dance. I think he was the first man who treated Mom as an equal.”
Coco tipped her chin up and inhaled the evening air. Was that smoke? They had to be close to the village.
“Man, those stories must be something else,” Paxton said.
“Oh my God. They’re crazy.” Coco laughed, her mother’s expressive face coming to mind. “One time, Dad borrowed Grandpa’s car. Something happened on the way home and Mom had to hide in the trunk so they’d get through check-points. But when Dad got home Grandpa was waiting for him, so Mom spent half the night locked in the car’s trunk.”
“No...”
“Yes. And that was normal for them.” Coco could picture Mom and Dad sitting at the old kitchen table in one of the homes they’d lived in before Dad remarried. They’d shared stories from their younger days and laughed. Oh, they’d laughed so hard.
“It’s a shame they didn’t make it.”
“Yeah. Maybe in another time and place they would have, but not here. Just for us to move back here, they had to get a divorce. We couldn’t live with Dad. Mom split her time between his place and being with her family. It was hard.”
“What did his family think about you guys?”
“Oh, they hated us in the beginning. Fired mom when they discovered she was pregnant. Dad rented her a flat and put her up for about a month before his parents found out. I still think the only reason they ever liked us was because Mom agreed to go to Amsterdam which allowed them to push Dad into going to school where they wanted him. When his brother died, he was ready to come back here and take his place.”
“He didn’t help you guys out or anything?”
“He did. From when we were little, he always paid for us to go to private school. Mom was too proud to accept any more help. Sometimes he’d come by after school and give Cane and I a little money, tell us to keep it a secret and buy ourselves something.”
“How are things with you two? After the scholarship stuff...?”
“We’re okay. His only crime is loving his kids and trusting us. I should probably talk to him more. It’s just... He has a new wife. Their kids are ten and eight. I feel like if I come around, I’m bringing up the past by existing. Staying out of their way just seems easier.”
For several moments neither of them said anything. They trudged through the grass, listening to the night noises.
Paxton’s voice was low and thoughtful when he spoke again. “I don’t know anything about healthy fami
ly relationships. Silas would have something to say, I bet.”
Coco remembered the serious way Silas had spoken to her about Paxton. Silas’ words rang true in every way the more she learned about Paxton.
Dad would like him.
That thought took Coco by surprise. She’d never mingled the different spheres of her life. Everyone had their respective area and her dating life had never crossed over before. But now she had the picture in her mind, Dad in his slacks, loafers and sweater vest sitting down across from Paxton in his boots, jeans and T-shirt, the two of them having a drink and talking quietly.
“Hey. Look up there,” Paxton said.
The trees had thinned a bit and she could glimpse the warm, beckoning lights of homes in the distance. Her relief was short lived. If the others weren’t there what were they going to do?
11.
Monday. Unknown, South Africa.
Paxton hung back, following Coco as they approached a group of men on the outskirts of what looked to be a tiny village comprised of a few dozen homes. The structures were a combination of old and new. Some were circular and built from stones that looked as if they’d been dug out of the earth. The homes were topped with thatched roofs. A few had satellite dishes perched on top. Still others were a mix of cinderblock and thatch. A few others were nothing more than sheet metal over a frame.
Coco began speaking to the men, her hands moving, words coming fast. He wanted to listen and understand the words coming out of her mouth. They were interspersed with pops and clicks, creating a melodic way of speaking that left him dumbfounded. He couldn’t speak two languages let alone six. She turned and caught his eye, stretching out her hand toward him.
Paxton took her hand, unsure what the purpose was, but allowed her to pull him forward.
“Hi.” He nodded at the men eyeing him with interest, not fear or wariness.
What was she saying?
Two of the men rose, replying and gesturing past the outlying houses.
Coco looked up at him, her eyes turbulent with emotion he wished he could comfort. “They haven’t seen anyone else.”
“It’s okay.” He squeezed her hand.
“They can put us up for tonight and give us a ride in the morning. I guess there’s someone with a truck that makes rounds and they’ll be here first thing tomorrow.”
“You think it’s safe here?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
“Yeah. Come on.” She pulled him after their hosts and into the village. “These people, they live off the land. Poachers threaten their way of life. They’re going to be big fans of you.”
Paxton grit his teeth. He didn’t want to be the center of attention for something he hadn’t done. Thus far, they hadn’t stopped anything. A rhino had died on his team’s watch. And now he was trudging into a family village dressed for an op. This wasn’t where he belonged. He didn’t want to disrupt these people’s lives. If it weren’t for Coco, he’d have stayed out there somewhere on his own and figured a way back. But she was banged up, probably hadn’t even realized it yet, and if he was going to look after her, he needed her somewhere safe.
The two men led them down the lane between the homes to a large house in the middle of town. Women and children were gathered around, laughing, playing, talking. People eyed them with interest and curiosity.
Coco stepped forward, greeting three women, each older than the last, first with handshakes then hugs. A little girl tottered forward and wrapped her arms around Coco’s leg, grinning with the most beautiful, toothy smile. One of the women bet and picked up the child, cradling her to her chest.
Paxton glanced over his shoulder at the people, the homes.
The setting was different, and yet familiar.
He’d grown up in a rundown trailer park that was a lot less welcoming than this place. Hell, with the holes in the floor and roof, his home hadn’t been half as nice as the ones around him now. It was the atmosphere that did it. The smiling children were a sign of love, that they were well cared for, wanted. He’d have done anything to grow up in a place like this.
“Pax?” Coco smiled up at him, her face a touch strained.
“Yeah?”
“So, the men want you to go have a drink with them and hang out a bit.”
“Not going to happen. I’m not leaving your side.” He didn’t like to think about how close they’d cut it today. If he hadn’t had seen the shooting perch when he had, she could be dead.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No.”
How did he explain to her this was for him? Did he even try?
They stared at each other for a moment. Coco’s mouth curled up, and she sighed.
“Okay.” She turned and spoke to the man who’d led them here now standing with his arm around the woman holding the little girl.
The man grinned and laughed, his gaze jumping to Paxton before he said something that sparked a smile from the woman.
Paxton smiled back.
The woman gestured at some plastic chairs and a table nearby up against a cinderblock home. He didn’t have to speak the language to understand the invitation to sit. He ducked his head in thanks and went to the table, taking a moment to secure his rifle. The last thing he wanted was for a curious kid to tug on it and something happen. Once he was satisfied, he did the same with his handguns.
Coco sat in one of the chairs, watching him. “How many guns are you carrying?”
“Four.”
Her brows rose.
“Always be prepared,” he muttered.
Only once he was satisfied with the precautions did he allow himself to turn his attention on Coco. Dried blood smeared on her arms and face from cuts, not all of which were from traipsing through the brush. He dug into a pocket and pulled out a tiny first aid kit. Three alcohol-soaked wipes would have to do the trick. He opened one and took Coco’s arm in his hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I want to make sure these cuts are clean.”
“I’m fine.”
He held her arm and swiped the cool cloth over her skin, aware they were drawing more than a little attention. One of the women from earlier sank into the other chair, propped her chin in her hand and began speaking to Coco. Coco shifted in her seat and replied, making the woman laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“This isn’t the kind of thing men do,” Coco said in a low voice.
Paxton looked at the woman and smiled. She might not understand his words, but he hoped she got his meaning. “It’s the kind of thing a man should do.”
The woman’s eyes sparkled, and he was pretty sure she understood him despite the language barrier.
Coco continued to carry on a conversation he was pretty sure she didn’t want to have. She had her free hand clenched between her thighs and her knee bounced.
“They think we’re married,” she said after he’d turned his attention to her scraped knee.
Paxton glanced up at her. If it let him stay close to her, he’d run with it. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” she said slowly.
“Okay then.” He pulled her hand out from between her knees and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
The woman sitting across from Coco howled a laugh and slapped his shoulder.
“Oh my God.” Coco pulled away from him and covered her face. “Just stop.”
Paxton grinned at her then their hostess. The other woman were all watching him with similar expressions. Approval. Amusement. This was a safe space for Coco. They’d welcomed her into their circle, even if only for tonight. As someone who’d always been on the outside looking in, he knew this moment mattered.
EBRAHIM SHONE THE flashlight through the trees, searching for movement. So far all he’d found was the eye shine of a cat. A large cat.
Two of their vehicles were out of commission. The third could only transport a few of them and half of his men were wounded.
This was not how this night was supposed
to go down.
They should have seen Coco’s approach long before they did. The lookouts had grown lazy. Their pinch attack hadn’t captured their target. And what did they have to show for it?
Nothing
Fucking hell.
Ebrahim did not want to go back to Bekker with this news. This was supposed to be his big break. It wasn’t supposed to break him.
He needed to spin this. To do something. Bring something back to show for all they’d lost. The rhino horn didn’t count. That was part of the job.
There was a guy who had a lead on some skins. It would mean a six-hour, round-trip ordeal, but it might be enough to grant Ebrahim some time. He would also have to stop searching the night for Coco.
She could be anywhere by now.
His gut knew it was better to go with a sure thing. He’d spent too much time and resources trying to trap Coco. It was time to make the most of what he had.
MONDAY. JOHANN NODORF Home, Johannesburg, South Africa.
Luke smoothed his hand down the front of his shirt. It was never a good thing to be summoned to his uncle’s house. These visits were never to praise Luke for his work or to congratulate him. Uncle Johann demanded Luke’s presence to account for a job not done well enough and there was no question what Uncle Johann was upset about. Luke had heard about the raid on one of their warehouses and knew that was going to be his fault. Somehow Luke should have known.
He was the easy scapegoat, had been since he showed up on his uncle’s doorstep.
Time to face the music.
Luke approached the front door of the large home. Uncle Johann could afford to move into one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city, live in luxury, and yet he chose to remain here. The men who’d been his neighbors back in the eighties when he’d bought the house were Uncle Johann’s underbosses, each running their own crew and jobs. They practically owned the whole neighborhood. Their wives all played Bunko together, and it was widely considered one of the safest neighborhoods in Johannesburg. Because who was going to fuck with Johann Nodorf?
A pair of teenagers sat on the front stoop, phones in hand. They wore designer labels and a uniform sneer on their faces. They looked so much like their mother, Uncle Johann’s daughter whom no one spoke of since she’d run off with one of the help. Luke found the whole thing entertaining. Unlike his uncle, Luke had a more modern view of the racial divide. He didn’t care one way or another who could do what or with whom. Luke cared about getting paid. Money was the same no matter whose hands touched it.
Dangerous Heat (Aegis Group, #8) Page 11
