Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2

by Rebecca Crowley

  They both shook their heads. Cedric’s attempt at hiding his irritation was significantly more successful than Alex’s.

  “How much time do we have?” Dan called, his face ruddy as he finally reached them.

  She checked the clock on her phone, and rued her failure to note the time more accurately when she’d seen the minutes tick down in the shed. “About five minutes, I think.”

  For a moment all four of them stared at the shed in silence.

  “Are we too close?” Alex broke in, his voice reedy and nervous. “How big is the bomb?”

  “I have no idea.” She recalled the noise the debris had made as it hit Warren’s hardhat. How close had they been then?

  She remembered his bolstering smile, the iron pressure of his arms as he’d held her close. She wrapped her arms around herself. She was trembling all over.

  Cedric’s slim figure was beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

  “He’ll get it shut down,” he assured her. “These Special Task Force guys are famous, even here in Latadi. He’ll be fine.”

  “How much time?” Alex asked hollowly. She shrugged. She couldn’t bear to check.

  “I think we should move.” Dan began to back up. “Let’s go behind the office.”

  Alex copied him, and the two of them went stumbling backward as though they couldn’t take their eyes off the shed.

  “It can’t be more than a minute now.” Alex picked up the pace, and Dan followed suit.

  Nicola glanced at Cedric, but his eyes were on the wooden building, his expression unafraid. Suddenly he grinned, and slapped his hands together in a triumphant clap.

  She snapped her gaze back to the shed just in time to see Warren emerging from the doorway, the timing device in one hand and the explosive sticks in the other.

  Her mind became a blank haze of relief and gratitude, and the next thing she knew she was sprinting toward him, tears welling in her eyes.

  He stopped to arrange the dismantled pieces on the ground, and she reached him just as he straightened, crashing blindly into his chest as she flung her arms around his neck. Through her sobs she was dimly aware of shocked hesitation on his part, before he rested his hands tentatively on her back, but she didn’t care. He was warm and breathing in her grip, and that was all that mattered.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” she chided harshly. “Let the equipment blow up.”

  If she hadn’t been so overcome with relief, she might have been annoyed by Warren’s laughing response. He extricated himself gently from her grasp and held her at arm’s length.

  “It’s my job.” His smile was loose and easy, but there was sweat on his brow.

  Cedric jogged up and Warren dropped his hold on Nicola to accept the smaller man’s vigorous handshake.

  “Great work, Sergeant.” Cedric grinned. “Amazing stuff.” In the distance Alex and Dan clapped and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Warren shrugged, clearly embarrassed by the attention. Nicola felt her breathing return to normal as she tried to swipe covertly at her eyes, now equally embarrassed at her excessive display of emotion.

  She looked at the electronic pieces discarded on the ground. “Do you need somewhere to analyze those?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I do need a drink.”

  “You have no right to tell me how to run this site. You weren’t here. You don’t know what it was like.”

  Roger’s face was bright red as he paced back and forth behind his desk. Nicola bit the inside of her lower lip and re-crossed her legs, willing away her irritation and forcing herself to be calm. Roger was already acting like a caged animal. Aggression on her part would only make it worse.

  “What are we talking about? When you were building the infrastructure?”

  “When there was a coup and the streets were full of corpses,” he hissed, spinning to face her. His eyes were bright with an emotion that bordered on unhinged, and flecks of spit clung to the corners of his mouth.

  She heard Warren shift his weight behind her, but she didn’t need to look to know he was still leaning against the closed door, exactly where he’d been since they entered the office ten minutes ago. Roger had been shoving manila envelopes into a plastic bag, which now sat at Warren’s feet. She recalled the stern tone in which Warren had ordered Roger to hand over the bag, and the meek way the site manager complied. She straightened, gaining confidence.

  “My understanding was the fighting barely touched Namaza,” she offered gently. “Are the official accounts incorrect?”

  “Incorrect?” he repeated bitterly. “They’re complete fiction. Hambani is the country’s most valuable asset—it’s the linchpin of the entire economy. Whoever holds this mine holds Latadi.”

  “But all the reports you filed said—”

  “We were under attack every hour of every day,” he roared, shaking an accusing finger. “Until neither the Matsulus nor the Kibangus could remember who was supposed to be seizing the place and who was supposed to be defending it. Piled bodies blocked the gate so we couldn’t get in or out. There was so much blood in the soil it seeped into the water supply. We could taste the iron in the coffee. You corporate pansies back at headquarters have no idea what we did here. None. And if you think I’m going to apologize for arming my employees, for stockpiling enough weapons to protect us, for preparing to be overrun, well you’ve—”

  “Okay, stop.” She raised a silencing palm. “I’m not interested in the dramatics—I’m interested in the lies. Why didn’t you apprise the regional director of the situation on the ground? Garraway could’ve provided private security, evacuated the staff, suspended production until it was safe to continue.”

  Roger’s face contorted, his mouth thinning into a sinister line. “You think I’m going to let these black moffies interfere with—”

  “Language,” Warren interjected from his place by the door, his voice laced with threat.

  “What, didn’t they teach you words like that at your fancy English boarding school? I’ll use simpler ones so you can keep up.”

  “Enough,” she commanded. “Your job is on the line, Roger, and disrespecting your security consultant is not the way to win friends.”

  If Warren had taken any offense, his calm tone didn’t betray it. “Tell us about the informal settlement. Have you noticed anything odd? Sudden increase in size? Change in the types of people living there?”

  “Like what?”

  “Numbers of women and children dwindling, being replaced by single men. Any significant variations in population, types of dwellings, rate of illegal activity. Does there seem to be more money floating around the settlement than there used to be?”

  Roger waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t pay attention to that slum. It’s been growing ever since the fighting ended, but it’s just illegal miners and their dirt-poor families. Nothing a high wall and a loaded pistol can’t deter.”

  Nicola sighed. “All right. Irrespective of the context, you’re in serious breach of Garraway Gold’s safety and security policies, not to mention the potential ramifications if it’s proven you filed false situation reports. Sergeant Copley will secure the weapons per company standard and I’ll call up the chain. In the meantime I suggest you square your story as you intend to present it to the board. Between fraud and unlicensed firearms, you can expect a trip to London.”

  Although the color drained from Roger’s cheeks, the ire in his glare was fiercer than ever. Without another word he stormed out of the office, venting his irritation at Warren’s just-in-time move out of his way by slamming the plywood door behind him.

  One side of Warren’s mouth lifted. “That went well.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real charmer. I’ll call the director for central Africa and fill him in, but unless he’s got someone in his back pocket I think we’ll have to keep Roger in his job until we can find a repl
acement. This mine is too valuable to leave in the hands of an interim.”

  He nodded. “Roger’s the only one who knows the full story behind what’s happened at this site. Like it or not, we need him.”

  “So we have a newly built mine, the aftermath of a civil conflict and an explosion intended to gain access to a shed full of weapons.” She rose from her chair and moved to the oversized map of Africa adorning the wall, tilting her head to stare up at centuries of shifting borders, failed governments and a patchwork of languages. “We have to keep digging, but in the meantime maybe I should call corporate and make arrangements to increase the number of security staff.”

  “I wouldn’t trust anyone local, and personnel from outside Latadi will take a long time to muster.”

  “Okay, then I could contact our government liaison. Ask for military involvement.”

  Warren’s silence was thoughtful. “I think we should visit the informal settlement tomorrow.”

  “That’s it?”

  “For now.”

  She regarded him for several indulgent seconds, taking in his soot-blackened hands, the unworried set of his shoulders, the boiler-suit zipper lowered just enough to reveal a scattering of fine, black curls.

  She’d met a lot of rich, powerful men in her life. She’d swished through black-tie cocktail parties full of industry heavyweights, agitated for higher safety standards in conference rooms lined with cynical shareholders, even personally lobbied Garraway’s CEO for a higher social responsibility budget. She’d dealt with old-school, pompous executives who spoke in cut-glass accents and wore three-piece suits, and she’d held her own against young, hungry, entrepreneurial up-and-comers who would stab her in the back as readily as they shook her hand. She’d had her ass pinched, been mistaken for the waitress, and once had her own proposal rudimentarily explained to her by a man who insisted it was authored by someone named Nicholas.

  None of it fazed her.

  So why did Warren make her heart race until she thought she might pass out?

  She turned back to the map, studying the smooth lines and crisp right angles that divided Latadi from its central African neighbors. It was such a young country, carved out of the continent by professional geographers with political and economic agendas. Reduced to straight borders and town names and a star representing the capital, Latadi looked tidy. Orderly. Easily managed.

  It was proving to be anything but.

  Warren was at her side, and she couldn’t stifle her gasp at his sudden appearance, his silent approach.

  “You startled me.”

  “Sorry.” He followed her gaze, surveying the map with those strange, steel-colored eyes. “Finding any answers?”

  “Just more questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why don’t they draw maps that show the truth about a country? Not mountains and rivers, and little plane symbols for airports. They should show broken asphalt, collapsed bridges, bullet-scarred houses you hope to God no one lives in.”

  “So why work for the company that digs the gold everyone is fighting over?” It was a question, not an accusation.

  “Because the system won’t change, at least not in my lifetime. That means the only chance to make an impact is to work with it, not against it. The powers that be are much more inclined to listen if you know how to speak their language, and I’ve made a lot of progress in a short time.” She shrugged. “It can be hard to remember that when I think about how much further there is to go.”

  He chuckled, low and warm. “I love Americans. You’re all so sincere.” He curled his finger under her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Don’t despair for Africa too much. We have our pain, but we also have so much joy.”

  He was about to kiss her. His intent was in his eyes, in the determined set of his jaw, and a dizzying burst of adrenaline surged through her body.

  Did he know how much she wanted him? Had she been that obvious? Then again, what if he didn’t know? What if he changed his mind? What if he was waiting for her to give him the okay? Maybe she should say something, or nod, or try to pull off a seductive smile, because she needed this desperately, wanted it more than anything, was sure that if he hesitated one more second she would—

  His mouth was on hers.

  Until that moment she thought she’d been doing just fine when it came to romance. Over the years she’d had a few boyfriends, a couple of one-night stands and had recently settled into a comfortable roster of casual dating punctuated by the occasional call to a longtime friend-with-benefits who never disappointed or expected anything more. The men she chose were universally intelligent, ambitious and respectful. They could hold forth on everything from pop culture to coal prices, were as comfortable in chic art galleries as they were on chaotic trading floors, and had the confidence—and pragmatism—to let her call the shots between the sheets. She was emotionally fulfilled, physically satisfied, and certain that segment of her life was completely squared away.

  She was wrong.

  In the instant Warren’s lips found hers she realized that none of those men—no matter how gorgeous or sexy or seemingly psychic in bed—had given her what she needed. They were good men, but they were safe. And now that she’d tasted the breath-stealing wildness of Warren’s mouth, nothing would ever be the same.

  It wasn’t a particularly urgent kiss—it didn’t need to be. On the contrary, she enjoyed his unhurried restraint, savoring the exploratory pressure of his mouth, the slow slide of his hands around her waist. He kissed like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to learn every detail of her lower lip before moving beyond it. She crossed lazy wrists behind his neck, relaxing into his grip, letting every last thought drain from her mind until there was only this moment, this man. She was in no rush. She could stay like this all night, locked in his arms, lost in his mouth.

  Then he pushed his tongue between her teeth and she had a flash of certainty that if he didn’t make love to her there and then, didn’t throw her onto the thin, scratchy carpet and shove himself inside her in the next thirty seconds, she would die. She wouldn’t be able to take another breath, lust would overwhelm her faculties and she would simply expire, forlorn and unfulfilled in a dirty boiler suit in a modular office unit.

  It was the taste of him that convinced her she could survive, the mix of ruthless black coffee and fresh green apple tethering her to sanity, hauling her back to a world where she was kissing the security consultant and people didn’t die from sexual frustration.

  A world where her cell phone was ringing, buzzing on the desk where she’d left it.

  She wasn’t quite sure who broke the kiss—suddenly they were apart, watching the intrusive hunk of plastic. She lunged to retrieve it, then straightened when her boss’s voice echoed down the line.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed to Warren, pointing at the phone and trying to ignore the slight flush coloring his cheekbones, the glassy sheen to his eyes.

  He waved off her comment and whispered, “We’ll talk later.” Then he was gone, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  Nicola stared unseeingly at the place he’d just been, trying to extrapolate the significance of his statement. Talk about the mine? Talk about the kiss? Talk about why they shouldn’t have gone there? Or figure out how soon they could go there again?

  “So? What’s the deal with Roger Nel?”

  Her boss’s words snapped her to attention, and she willed herself into the present. “How much time do you have?”

  “As much as you need.”

  She launched into an explanation of the situation at Hambani, working to keep her thoughts organized and concise. She’d always excelled at narrowing down complex problems into clear-cut solutions, but not today. Not when her heart still pounded and her face still burned and every sweep of her tongue over her lips revived the taste of the hottest man she’d ever met.


  Chapter Seven

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” But even before he finished the question, he knew the answer.

  “I always do this. Usually on my own.” Nicola accepted the hand he offered, swung down from the Land Cruiser and slammed the door shut. She gathered her hair into a ponytail, then turned toward the entrance to the informal settlement, vaguely demarcated by a gap between two stacks of old tires.

  “Ready?”

  “After you.”

  Warren indulged in a brief glance at the snug rear of Nicola’s jeans as she preceded him, as though he needed another look. In the twenty-four hours since he’d given in to his hammering impulse and kissed her in Roger’s office, he seemed to have committed her entire body to memory, so that glimpses of it flared in his mind like vivid snapshots at the most inconvenient moments.

  Midway through Roger’s slurred tale of boyhood antics over dinner the night before, he thought of her mouth, how it yielded so readily beneath his own.

  That morning, swerving to avoid a hole in the ground on his run and nearly twisting his ankle in the process, all he could think about was the curve of her hips, that tantalizing slope inward toward her waist.

  And in the car on the drive to the settlement, as at his request she obligingly repeated back to him the exit strategy he’d devised should things become hostile, all he could hear was her gentle, satisfied moan as she’d softened in his arms.

  An empty aluminum can clattered against the hard ground, and he jerked up his gaze, shoving Nicola’s outstanding figure to the back of his mind and forcing himself to pay attention to their surroundings. There could be danger here—he had to be alert.

  They had attracted attention even before they left the car, as shoeless children froze mid-game to watch their approach. Now that they were out and walking around, two white people clearly on some kind of errand, not hapless tourists whose GPS had sent them down the wrong road, the community’s cautious interest was palpable. Women leaned in shack doorways holding half-peeled potatoes, a handful of brave children trailed them at a safe distance, and slowly but steadily, a disproportionate number of men emerged from under makeshift lean-tos and rose from overturned plastic buckets to line the packed-dirt walkway bisecting the settlement.