Diamond Legacy

by Monica McCabe

  She sighed. Her type hadn’t exactly worked out either. The last decade had been more like a comedy of errors. But Erika was right. The one constant in her life centered around her work. And Africa? Deep down she’d known all along she’d be going. And that was just plain sad because she really liked Hank; he was a good friend. Therein lay the problem.

  “I’m sorry, Hank,” she admitted softly. “I have to go.”

  He expelled his breath in a whoosh and sat there staring at her.

  “I—”

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Never mind, it’s fine. I knew you were going the minute you brought it up.”

  “Please understand, Hank. My work is more than a job. It’s a legacy, a way of life since I was old enough to follow my dad around. He’s been to Africa and his stories are legendary. How could I pass this up and not regret it?”

  He shook his head and stood. “The regret is mine. I always knew I’d come in second to one of your expeditions one day.” Hank didn’t sound angry, just stoic and listless.

  Miranda stared at him in conflicted silence, hating to cause him pain. But she couldn’t accept his proposal. Couldn’t be the kind of person he wanted her to be. Adventure ran in her veins, but even deeper ran animal welfare. She itched for field work. How could she set that aside, get married, and spend the remainder of her career teaching?

  She couldn’t. Not if it meant passing up on an animal care facility in Africa or missing an opportunity to test her skills on a hippo in need. Not if it meant turning her back on a rare chance to continue working on a theory her and Dad had discussed for years.

  She couldn’t live with that kind of regret, even if it meant their relationship was over. Taking a deep breath of resolve she said, “I can’t walk away from who I am, Hank.”

  He dropped his head on a sigh. “No, I suppose not.”

  His body language indicated acceptance, or maybe resignation, but he didn’t say the words. Instead, the silence stretched out between them, and he moved toward the living room. She followed, watching him grab his hat from the rack by the front door.

  Not knowing what else to say, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

  He hesitated before squeezing her tight. “I can’t believe you’re saying goodbye.”

  Something caught in her throat. “You’re a good friend, Hank.”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Call me when you return.”

  The door shut behind him with a soft click and a dizzying wave of competing emotions. Heartbreak battled with the elation of freedom, a rush of adrenaline threatened to overpower guilt, and the effort it took to suppress it all made her knees wobble.

  Boscoe chose that moment to prance over with his tail held high. She scooped him up and gave him a fierce hug, pressing her face into his warm fur. When he squawked in protest, she released him and aimed for a built-in bookcase lining one wall. She stood there, staring at a prized possession on the shelf, an intricately carved wooden giraffe, a gift from her father when he came home from Africa. A trip that nearly killed him.

  He had taken insane risks and had always come out on top. Until Africa. Until the day he’d faced down well-armed poachers and came away with a paralyzing spine injury. Everything had been lost—luggage, med kits, his ability to walk, but he swore the recovery time spent with the Maasai people had been well worth the cost. He claimed an awe-inspiring sense of wonder at a land rich in natural history, and his countless stories gave credence to that fact.

  Miranda ran a finger softly down the graceful neck of the giraffe. Now it was her turn. She closed her eyes as a shiver of anticipation raced across her skin.

  No, that wasn’t right. More like nervous energy, fear of failure, or the fact she stood on the edge of realizing the same dream that nearly cost her father his life.

  She’d no idea, but ready or not, she was headed for Africa.

  Chapter 2

  The bar was more a glorified lean-to, not the worst the town of Kanye offered, but close and obscure enough to suit Matt Bennett’s purpose. Employees here were used to looking the other way. From his table in the back, he could observe every patron, and at this early afternoon hour, he didn’t see many.

  Matt tilted his head back and downed a heavy shot of mampoer, Africa’s fiery version of moonshine. It was the only thing that cut through the kimberlite dust that permeated everything in the region, spewing from godforsaken diamond mines in a cloud of greed. The giant pits left in their wake had slashed open wounds into the land, feeding the insatiable hunger of corporations and governments alike.

  He shoved a now empty shot glass to the center of a rough-hewn table. From beneath the bare lightbulb overhead, tiny prisms of light reflected in the remaining drops of liquor. They looked like diamonds, those glittering chunks of carbon that pumped two and a half billion dollars annually into Botswana alone.

  That kind of wealth corrupted, absolutely.

  “About time you surfaced, Bennett.” Nik Labestu’s deep voice carried an accent of native Setswana. Midnight black skin and eyes that penetrated your soul, Nik was the one man in a sea of high level officials that Matt trusted. He was also his only link with the International Diamond Security, the folks who currently issued his paycheck.

  “Have a seat,” Matt said.

  Nik handed him a bottle of barely cool beer, which Matt accepted gratefully. April was upon them and summer had officially ended, but the heat lived on.

  “How are you, my friend?” Matt asked with a quick twist to pop the top and indulged in a long drink.

  “The drive from Gaborone jarred my teeth.” Nik scraped a chair out across from Matt and sat. “Where have you been? You missed our last rendezvous. I began to worry.”

  With a glance around the near empty bar, Matt leaned forward and rested his drinking arm on the wooden table. “I’m on to something, Nik,” he said quietly. “Something big.”

  “Again? That last time nearly got me killed.”

  Matt snorted and relaxed back in his chair. “That little bullet could hardly be called life threatening. It probably stung no worse than a bee.”

  Nik’s grimace displayed a row of even white teeth, stark against the darkness of his skin. “I should have known better than to expect sympathy from you.”

  “Try living for weeks in vermin-infested holes to flush out the dregs of humanity,” Matt fired back. “Then talk to me about sympathy.”

  “No thanks. That’s your job. You bring them in. I put them away.”

  “This one won’t be that easy.”

  His friend eyed him with interest. “What have you found?”

  Matt took another long pull from his beer. He and Nik were exactly alike, in a totally opposite kind of way. Both had secrets, both wanted to keep them, and both hated the diamond cartel. Nik preferred to stay behind the scenes. Matt dug in the trenches. Between them, trust was complete.

  This time, though, Matt kept the incriminating details to himself. He needed to dig deeper, and the less Nik knew, the better he’d sleep at night.

  “What is the biggest threat Botswana faces?” Matt asked.

  “Diamond theft.”

  “Think bigger.”

  “Civil war in our neighboring nations.”

  “Bull’s eye.” Matt pointed to his friend with the beer bottle. “Diamonds are a warlord’s best friend. He steals them, sells them, and buys weapons.”

  Nik leaned forward, concern etched over his face. “You sign your death warrant going after someone like that.”

  “I’m not that suicidal.”

  “Good to know,” Nik said.

  A face floated across Matt’s memory, distant but clear, and his jaw hardened. Warlord or not, justice would be served. “I believe I can shut down a pipeline,” he said flatly.

  Nik’s expression sharpened as he carefully set his beer on the table. “Are you talking about blocking weapon shipments?”

 
; “I am.”

  Interest glittered in his dark eyes. “You tread dangerous waters, my friend.”

  Matt gave a cavalier shrug. “I’m used to it.” It was his friend he worried about. He needed Nik’s help, but curiosity got people in trouble. Matt had more than one scar to prove it.

  Shifting in his chair, Nik crossed muscular arms in front of his leather vest. “I’d like to know what pushes you, Matthew Bennett. Why do you risk your life the way you do?”

  Definitely not open for discussion. “Too long a story.”

  Nik stared hard with that penetrating gaze of his, but the familiar intimidation technique wasn’t going to work; Matt knew the man too well. He offered no other information.

  “As you wish.” Nik accepted defeat. “What do you want from IDS?”

  “Access to Katanga Wildlife Center outside Gaborone. Get me clearance. Better yet, make me an employee, a janitor. That way I can move around without drawing attention.”

  Nik’s gaze swept the room with nonchalance, yet Matt knew he missed no detail. Not in the dilapidated bar and not in the ramifications of the request.

  “And what do you believe you will find?”

  Blood diamonds. The trail led straight to Katanga’s door.

  “Someone at the Center has interesting friends,” Matt replied. “I’m hoping for an introduction.”

  Nik grunted his skepticism. “Whatever it is you are not telling me makes my brain ache. I don’t like it.”

  “I need your trust on this one, Nik.”

  His friend sat in silence, mulling it over. Matt gave him time and lifted his beer, finishing the bottle in one long draw.

  “You worry me, Bennett. Things have a way of blowing up or becoming bullet-ridden when you’re involved.” Nik’s troubled gaze dared him to deny the facts. “I need assurance you’ll take care. Katanga is the pride of Gaborone’s scientific community. They will not take kindly to its destruction.”

  “What sort of lout do you take me for?” Matt scoffed and set the empty on the table. “I like animals. Some are even my best friends.”

  Nik narrowed his eyes.

  “Scout’s honor!” Matt tried to recall the hand salute from the year his straight-laced uncle made him join the boy scouts.

  “I am crazy to even consider it,” Nik said.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. No one can resist me when I’m at my most charming self.”

  His friend snorted. “Give me a couple days to make arrangements. Call on Friday. I’ll have details for you then.”

  Matt grinned. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Nik grabbed his beer and took a long pull, like a man who needed to drown the insanity of his decision. He stared at the half empty bottle and shook his head. “Just do me one favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Get out of this alive. No one else gives me half as much grief, but Botswana would be a lot worse off without you.”

  Chapter 3

  Miranda shielded her eyes against the glare of Botswana’s late afternoon sun and descended the plane’s rollaway staircase. The last leg of their journey had been the longest—that final hour of airtime between Johannesburg, South Africa, and Gaborone, Botswana.

  Katanga Wildlife Center wanted them here fast, which translated into a rigorous flight schedule with no real breaks. She and Jason snatched what sleep they could, dined on airport fare, and for the past twelve hours, her insides vibrated like the whir of a jet engine.

  “Thirty-six hours across ten time zones and the international date line.” Jason sounded every bit as worn out as she felt. “All in a day’s work, eh?”

  She managed a half-hearted laugh as they trudged across the tarmac. Sweltering heat radiated off the concrete, threatening to sap what little energy she had left. Off in the distance, the heat wavered, warping the brown savanna landscape and defying the onset of cooler autumn temperatures. Then the doors of Khama International Airport whooshed open, luring them inside with the promise of air conditioning.

  They followed the flow of travelers past a short oval of boarding gates to a large open room split between ticket counters on the right and baggage claim on the left. Noisy and chaotic, the place overflowed with activity and little room to squeeze through.

  Jason pointed to a far wall where the crowd seemed thinner, and they maneuvered through a maze of bodies to reach it. Miranda wearily leaned against a convenient column and yawned, brushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “I really hope Zimbali Lodge comes through with the driver they promised.”

  “Amen to that,” Jason replied.

  A loud buzzer rang, signaling the arrival of a baggage train. The crowd surged forward, leaving the outer fringes open. A wave of relief washed over Miranda.

  “Here, hold this.” Jason handed over his new camera bag, and she lifted a brow in question. “If you promise to guard it with your life, I’ll get our luggage.”

  With no inclination to argue, she accepted his offer, content to stay put. He disappeared into the dense crowd, and she leaned her head back, well past tired and craving several hours of sleep.

  Until a loud, bone-jarring crash jolted her clean to her toes.

  Fifty feet away, the glass doors to the parking lot slammed open, and a very thin, very frantic man burst through at a dead run, another guy right behind him.

  They raced in her direction. Within seconds, they were close enough she could see panic in the lead man’s face. Close enough she could feel the rush of air when the pursuer lunged into a floor-slamming tackle.

  They rolled, struggled, and the panicked one cursed loudly. He fought like hell’s worst demon had him cornered. A wild kick brought down a gumball machine and its glass globe shattered against the floor, shooting rainbow marbles of gum in every direction.

  “You’re going down, slimeball!” Harsh determination rang in the tackler’s voice.

  She believed him. Especially since he rolled right over top of jagged bits of glass and seemed oblivious to the pain. An agile move landed him on top, pinning the skinny one down.

  It didn’t last long. Wiry, limber, and far from subdued, the guy snapped up a bony knee and jammed it into the tackler’s back, knocking him sideways. With a deft twist, he broke free, launched himself up, and turned to run.

  The gathering crowd surged backward, but just as fast the chaser snagged an ankle, bringing him down again.

  “Stinking cop!” The man screamed his fury. “I’ll kill you first!” He kicked at his attacker, missing his head by inches.

  “Not…today…dirtbag!” Struggling to contain his thrashing quarry, the tackler locked onto the man’s knees and swept up a handful of gumballs and glass, flinging them at his face. When the other man jerked up his arms to block the missiles, the cop pounced.

  Adrenaline thudded in Miranda’s veins. Her first real bust! Africa had a reputation for lawlessness, but she’d only been here half an hour.

  The dirtbag screeched, arched his back, and dug in his heels to prevent being flipped onto his stomach. He threw a desperate punch and landed a hard clip to the cop’s jaw, knocking the larger man backward.

  In a split second, the bad guy snatched something from under his pant leg, scrambled to his feet, and leveled a revolver at the cop.

  A collective gasp echoed in the cavernous room. Someone screamed. A stampede began as bystanders raced for cover.

  Time slowed as Miranda watched him pull back the hammer and take aim. With no thought for consequences, she tightened her fist around the strap of Jason’s camera bag, rushed up behind the gun-toting offender, and leveled a power swing against his head.

  The dirtbag dropped like a stone.

  Dead silence reigned for a matter of seconds. Then everyone began shouting at once.

  She stood frozen, fascinated as the cop kicked the gun out of reach, rolled the guy over, and slapped on handcuffs. He then yanked a bandana from his pocket, grabbed the firearm, and unloaded a
mmo in a few efficient moves. He had it all wrapped up nice and neat as airport security rushed onto the scene.

  “All yours, gentlemen,” the cop said as he handed a guard the disabled weapon.

  Miranda couldn’t stop staring. It wasn’t polite, she knew, but looking away wasn’t an option. He brushed off his hands in satisfaction and turned to face her. There was blood on his cheek and a long scratch on his arm, but he smiled, calm as you please.

  “Nice piece of work, lady,” he said to her. “What’s in the bag? Lead?”

  She registered a slight British accent. And he had the most incredible tawny-colored eyes she’d ever seen. They were warm, earthy, and ablaze with curiosity. The man could have walked from the pages of any outdoor enthusiast catalogue, complete with athletic build, five o’clock shadow, and tousled sandy hair. In short, exactly the type she’d sworn off months ago.

  She wanted to run the other way. Instead she lifted Jason’s bag. “Nikon camera, when you want to capture the moment.”

  His laugh brushed her senses like mellowed whiskey. It was disorienting, delicious, and she stared like an adolescent girl with her first crush. What was the matter with her?

  “A woman of action.” Something in his eyes sparkled. “I like that.”

  Images of champagne, fiery tango music, and mind-melting kisses popped into her head. So exhilarating that it set off every alarm bell she possessed. “Stow the flattery,” she said, trying to kick up her defenses. “I reacted because the bad guy wasn’t playing fair.”

  Masculine interest flared in the quirk of his brow, and her stomach did a warning somersault. He was pure trouble, wrapped in rugged good looks, broad shoulders, and—

  “Playing fair an important concern of yours?”

  She yanked herself back on track. “Shouldn’t it be for everyone? Especially a cop?”

  A strange expression shadowed the warmth of his gaze. “Sometimes life isn’t fair. And I’m not a cop.”

  Her gaze shot to the handcuffed guy lying on the floor. “But—”