by Cherry Adair
“We’ll be having our main meal of the day in two hours; if I can get away, I’ll meet you back here. Otherwise I’m afraid you’re on your own,” Dr. Phillips said. Simon was pretty sure Phillips wouldn’t be back. Having to stop working with her patients, even for these few minutes, clearly annoyed her.
“She’s dedicated,” Kess observed, watching the doctor walking swiftly out of the tent. “It must be god-awful trying to help people who are going to die no matter what one does.” She shaded her eyes as soon as they were outside. It was midafternoon and broiling hot. The healthy glow of Kess’s skin looked luminous beneath a sheen of perspiration. She had a dirty smudge on her cheekbone from who knew where, and strands of fiery hair were glued to her neck.
“Which way?” she asked.
She really had the most extraordinary eyes. Wide and frank and usually brimming with humor and intelligence. The convo with Phillips had taken Kess’s incandescence down several notches.
“River.” Simon looked toward the shrubs and trees up ahead. “I want samples of my own.”
Her brow pleated as she hastened her steps to keep up with him. “Can’t you just get samples from Dr. Phillips?”
“No, I want to do this under the radar.”
“Do you have concerns about the testing? I can promise you, the labs the president selected are top-notch.”
But everyone has a price or a motivator. The only lab Simon trusted was the one ninety feet below ground in Montana. “Yeah, well, I’m just crossing Ts and dotting Is.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dr. Phillips you had reservations?”
“Because other than the two of us, and the T-FLAC lab, I have no intention of telling anyone anything.”
“Really? Not even the president? Why not?”
“A, because it could be nothing, and B, because I find it highly suspect that three different labs have had zero success and keep coming up negative with everything they’ve tested. Doesn’t feel right.”
“It could just mean this is a new strain of something, couldn’t it?”
“Possibly? Yeah. Probably? No.” He glanced down at her. “Need a hat?”
“No—Oh, sure,” she smiled when a pink ball cap materialized on her head. She adjusted her ponytail through the keyhole in the back. “Thanks. Can I have my sunglasses t—Excellent.” Kess pushed the glasses up her nose, then cocked a thumb over her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we stop at the car for those vials?”
He raised his brow. He’d have them when he needed them. It was a mile or more to the river.
She shot him a small smile. Obviously the novelty of magic went a long way toward lifting her spirits.
Unlike him, Kess wasn’t used to death, so the debriefing from the doctor had hit her hard. So hard that it had taken every ounce of his willpower not to pull her against him and comfort her
“Being a wizard is so damn cool.”
He couldn’t help smiling back. “It has its moments.”
“Who do you think has the two kidnapped doctors?” Kess asked as they walked through the thigh-high grass. She figured if there were any snakes or other creepy-crawlies Simon would deal with them. “You can take care of vermin and other critters, right?” She wasn’t afraid exactly, but there were all sorts of poisonous and dangerous things lurking in the grass.
His lips twitched. “Was that all part of the same train of thought, or was it stream of consciousness?”
“Both.”
“I think someone has them. If they’re still alive, my people will track them down. Eventually.”
“I’d like to say tell them to hurry, but I suspect ‘your people’ always do everything necessary, so I’ll shut up and hope for the best.”
“Are you an only child?”
“No, I told you. I have a beautiful, brilliant, wonderful sister, Elizabeth. She’s a doctor. In fact I’m meeting her in Cape Town the week after the election, and after appearing in court. Unless of course I’m in the clink with Bubette. She’s going to a medical symposium there.”
“Who’s going to a—Oh, your sister. Cape Town. Got it. Older? Younger?”
“Three years older. And before you ask, no, we aren’t alike—Crap! Is that a snake over there?” She moved closer to him and pointed.
“Stick,” he said, turning it into one. “And your parents?”
She cast the “stick” a dubious glance. “We have a full set. The reason I’m so incredibly well adjusted and sane.” She smiled at him, enjoying the walk, enjoying the sun on her shoulders, enjoying Simon. She needed a time-out to regain her equilibrium.
“This is because I had a normal and pretty wonderful childhood. My mom told us we were capable of doing anything we put our minds to.” Kess thought of her overachieving, literature-loving mother, and quiet, very funny father, and got a little homesick. Maybe she could persuade them to come back from Atlanta with her and they could all meet Elizabeth in Cape Town. She pushed the thought of having to appear in court out of her mind, alongside the horrors of the virus. A few hours to clear her mind and she’d be ready to go back into the fray. But for now she wanted to be in the middle of nowhere. With Simon.
“So coming to Africa wasn’t an aberration?” Simon sounded amused. He indicated that they go left around a thicket of shrubs.
“Well, it was partly to keep a low profile in the hope that people would forget that I attacked my boss with a freaking lethal telephone,” she said, compelled to be honest. “I saw an advertisment in the New York Times. The job seemed like a godsend. Hell, at that point Timbuktu wouldn’t have been far enough away from Atlanta as far as I was concerned. The distance was a big draw but part of it was also the excitement of coming to Africa. Especially a part of Africa that the world knows little about. I thought it would be a fun, interesting job for a year. I found out after I arrived that the ad had run for three months and I was the only applicant. The president is a complex, interesting man. And he’s faced with a crisis in his country right before his election.”
“Why didn’t he want you there for this press conference? Isn’t that your job?”
“He doesn’t like anyone in the room other than the press when he’s doing his monthly addresses to his people. It’s a superstition of his. I’m used to it.” She shrugged. “Besides, going it alone makes him look confident, involved, and concerned. I write his speech, and then prep all the possible questions and answers with him beforehand, then let him field the press after his speech at his own pace. He’s a natural, and the press loves him. He’ll do fine.”
It didn’t take long to walk the mile. Kess told him about falling out of a tree when she was six, trying to teach her older sister how to hang upside down. “I have a scar, right here.” She pushed up the bill of her cap and showed him the tiny scar on her temple. “It was amazingly cool…There was a lot of blood, which I found more fascinating than frightening. My father thought I might have brain damage—Hey, don’t give me that look! I got my first ambulance ride. It was the thrill of my life at the time.”
“I bet you gave your parents gray hair.”
“Still do, probably. But they’re smart enough not to mention it. They love us both, but Elizabeth is the golden child. She’s so smart, and focused, and dedicated. God. She just loves what she does and everything that goes with it. But as far as personalities go—she and I are complete opposites. She’s low-key—”
“And you’re exuberant?”
“Right. Every year I try to drag that little stay-at-home workaholic with me on some European trip. She has fun when she comes, but holy crap, I have to use a crowbar to get her motivated.
“Did I mention Elizabeth’s a doctor? We’re very proud of her. She was the youngest in her graduating cl—”
Simon whipped her around and kissed her.
Thirteen
He couldn’t resist her. Kissing Kess here, in the middle of a wide-open area, was madness, but he did it anyway. He hastily materialized a blind of shrubs to hide them, then sank into the heat
of the kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. He loved the way her lips molded to his, firm, yet soft and resilient and eager enough to make him want more. She tasted of joy. Pure, unadulterated happiness.
“I love that I turn you on,” Kess whispered against his mouth. “And I love that I get turned on by you.”
“Have to pull those samples…” he murmured against the curve where her neck met her shoulder. The smell of her, the texture of her skin beneath his mouth, made Simon forget sampling anything but Kess. Soft, perfect Kess.
“The river’s not going to dry up while you kiss me again.” She nibbled his ear and a shudder of pleasure ran up his spine.
“True.”
For several minutes they just stood there, their bodies perfectly aligned, their mouths tasting and teasing until Simon firmly took her shoulders and set her away from him.
“You’re a hard woman to resist.”
“Fortunately you’re a man with a strong work ethic. Your way things will get done. My way one of us would have a sunburned butt, and the other grass burns. Will you come back to see her?” Kess asked, keeping up with him as they walked. Perspiration trickled down her temples and she absently wiped it away with both hands, then readjusted the bill of her cap to shade her eyes. The air was hot and still, not a breath of a breeze. Insects buzzed and droned around them, and Kess kept a sharp lookout for snakes in the long grass.
“She?”
“Dr. Phillips is a brunette, smart, and clearly passionate. Your dream woman, right?” The second the words were out of her mouth Kess wished them back. Several days ago the comment would have amused her. Today it depressed her.
He wasn’t interested in buying, only renting for a while. She got it. But thinking about him with his dark-haired ideal woman hurt Kess deeply. She wished she could take the high ground and tell him she wasn’t going to have any more sex with him. The thought of his lean, powerful body covering someone else made her hackles rise. Thinking about Simon whispering endearments and raw sexual demands to another woman made her—She blanked the thoughts from her mind.
She wasn’t prepared to fall on her sword just yet. He wasn’t married. For God’s sake—he hadn’t even met the future Mrs. Simon Blackthorne yet. For now he was hers, and Kess wasn’t prepared to waste one precious moment with him anticipating regrets.
“Forget it,” she said cheerfully. “None of my business. Where are you going to send your samples?”
“Directly to T-FLAC’s lab in Montana,” Simon told her, not responding to the Dr. Phillips question. “I’m going to have to take them myself.” He pushed his damp hair off his forehead, and Kess noticed he was frowning as he looked into the middle distance. “Unless I can teleport the vials successfully without accompanying them. I’ll give it a shot. If I have to go I’ll have Nomis accompany you back to Quinisela.”
“I can go back with the president,” Kess offered.
Simon glanced at her. “He’s not coming.”
“But he said…He’s not?” The sound of the river was becoming much louder; a row of trees and shrubs hid it from view. “So the president didn’t plan on coming, and we’re clearly in the way. Why did he send us all this way for nothing?”
“Not for nothing.”
“Well, yes.” She slanted him a flirty glance. “The sex was spectacular. And that kiss was delicious. But I suspect that wasn’t why he wanted to get rid of us.”
“Quick, aren’t you? What do you know about those ships in the harbor?”
It was Kess’s turn to frown. “The ones bringing in food and medical supplies? Those ships?”
“Two of them have been there for three days.”
She shrugged. What did supply ships have to do with why her boss wanted them out of the way? Kess mentally tried to connect the dots. “Sometimes it’s impossible to find the manpower to unload.”
“In a country with an unbelievably high percentage of unemployment?”
She’d had the same thoughts, but the president’s answer had made sense. “People would rather work on the church,” she admitted. “It’s a problem. The money’s the same, but they think their souls will be saved if they work on a church.”
“That’s not a church. It’s a multimillion-dollar basilica. The largest cathedral on the continent. He’s brought the Vatican to Africa, for God’s sake.”
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir. I’m not happy the president’s building such an expensive, elaborate structure right before the election either. To say his timing is off is putting it mildly.” She felt disloyal voicing her concern. “He believes that religion will bring all the small countries in central Africa together—”
“What do you estimate the percentage of Christians, let alone Catholics, is in Mallaruza?”
“Twenty percent, maybe a handful more.”
“Has it been consecrated by the Pope? Can’t be a basilica if it hasn’t been.”
Kess bit her lip. “I have no idea. I didn’t think of that. I’ll have to check.”
“I suspect not. Will anyone attend Mass there, do you think?”
“God, I hope so. Simon, the building has cost him—no, not the president—cost his people something like forty million US dollars so far. And it isn’t finished yet.”
While the enormous building sat right in the middle of prime real estate, it was also situated in one of the poorest, most destitute countries in Africa. Go a few miles outside Quinisela, and most of the homes didn’t have running water or adequate sanitation. There was no infrastructure. No basic system for delivering food, water, or services to the tens of thousands of people still living in medieval-era conditions.
They came to the trees and Simon magically cleared a path through the dense undergrowth. His magic was a handy skill. “You mean four hundred million.” He held a branch for her. Kess stepped under it and found herself on the riverbank.
“No.” She raised her voice a little to be heard over the sound of rushing water. “He told me in confidence—I gather from your expression that four hundred million would be closer to the mark?”
“Oh, yeah. I suspect four hundred and climbing. The outside looks more like a palace than a cathedral with all that hand-carved marble, and he mentioned the other day that he has Italian stone-masons and artists working on the inside as well.”
“Hundreds of them,” Kess told him. “He has people working 24/7 on the interior so that it will be finished by the time he’s reelected. Once it’s completed it’ll seat seven thousand people in the nave, and have room for about a thousand people standing. He wants the ceremony performed there.”
“And if he’s not elected he’ll hand over a legacy of debt to his successor.” Simon removed several vials from the case he carried and crouched on the bank to fill them.
Kess grabbed his shoulder. “God, Simon. Don’t stick your hand in there! Wear gloves or something.”
“Protective shield. Where are the funds coming from?”
“I—Hell. I don’t know. There’s never been that much money in the country’s coffers according to Jungo Kamau. And he would know.”
“Yeah,” Simon said, straightening, then inserting the filled vials carefully back into the case. “The comptroller would know. And why doesn’t Abi, do you think?”
Kess rolled her head on her neck as tension crept up to grab her shoulders in a vise. “I have no freaking idea. All I do know is that in the two months I’ve been here I’ve seen a man working his ass off to help his people in any and every way he can.”
“And you didn’t ask any questions?”
“I asked hundreds of questions,” she said impatiently. “But considering what he has to deal with on a daily basis, I’ve been giving him some slack. Maybe you should too.”
Simon placed the small box in his hand in the fork of a nearby tree and came to stand in front of her. He tilted her face on his finger, his eyes chips of dark emerald. “Just so you know, I felt not an ounce of attractio
n for Dr. Rachel Phillips.”
Kess’s heart skipped several delicious beats. “No?”
“No.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “If you teleport to Montana, can I come with you?”
“It’s the middle of winter and snowing.”
“You’ll keep me warm, won’t—Holy crap that was fast!”
His eyes glittered, and his lips twitched as he steadied her with his hands on her upper arms. The expression in those catlike eyes made her toes curl inside her impractical orange boots.
“You didn’t ask what would happen if this teleportation didn’t work,” he pointed out.
“There’s a reason for that,” Kess said, eyes wide as she looked around the long, empty corridor where they stood. The walls were a soft gray and hung with stunning black-and-white photographs of buildings from around the world. “Ignorance,” she said cheerfully, stepping forward to look at a photo of an old woman selling flowers in a Paris market, “in this case was bliss,” she finished, clearly distracted.
She shot him a quick smile over her shoulder. “If there was the possibility that my atoms, or whatever, would be scattered all over creation, I didn’t want to know about it.” She paused. “I don’t look like a Picasso painting, do I?”
“You look—” Adorably disheveled, a little sweaty, and wholly kissable. “Fine.”
She pulled a face and removed the pink ball cap, stuffing it into her back pocket. “I don’t suppose there’s somewhere I can wash up before we bump into anyone, is there?”
He kept a room here, had for the past ten years. It was convenient. He’d never brought a woman to HQ before. No need. Not in all the years he’d worked for T-FLAC. While it wasn’t exactly something the powers-that-be encouraged, women, Simon presumed, were allowed to spend the night. He glanced at his watch. Eight A.M.
Or an hour or two…
“We don’t have time to linger,” he said, more for himself than Kess. If he had to imagine her in his room, in the shower, he’d never finish what needed to be done here. “Dr. Phillips is expecting us back at camp for dinner in a couple of hours, remember?”
