“Yes, about that,” she interrupted. “How dare you!” And before she could control herself, she felt her hand fling the champagne in his direction.
Brendan stood shocked, doused with champagne as Charley stormed off to join the others. “What the hell—?” he asked as he watched her go.
The scene had not been lost on the group. The girl they thought unflappable had totally lost her cool.
“Excuse me,” she snarled. Her heart was racing and she was fighting tears of anger as she made her way to the bar.
“He’s coming this way,” Greg warned her as she reached for a fresh glass of champagne.
“Do not give that to her,” Brendan ordered the waiter, who pulled back his tray. Then Brendan took her by the shoulder and turned her to face him. “And what the hell is wrong with you?”
The atmosphere was intense, and everyone froze around them. This was much too good to miss. “Do not touch me again,” Charley said, pulling away.
“What happened to the girl who loved my touch a few hours ago?” he snapped, totally confused.
“You mean me or the girl you left me to see?” she flared.
“Phoebe?” Brendan answered. “Phoebe’s my daughter, so obviously I was referring to you!”
“Well, I’m thrilled for her!” Charley was on a roll and barely listening. “Thrilled for both of you!”
“Fine.”
“Fine!” she said, her voice rising.
“Fine!” he bristled.
“Did you say ‘daughter’?” Nikki interrupted. “Charley…”
“Yes!” he shouted. “I said ‘daughter’!” Then he raised his right hand to Charley. “Phoebe’s the only girl I’ve been with since I was with you.”
Charley was dumbstruck. The only sounds around them were the sounds of the night.
“And she’s your daughter?” Charley said weakly. “Daughter…?” Her eyes widened.
“You’re repeating yourself,” Scarlett threw in sarcastically.
“Yes, I have a two-year-old,” Brendan confirmed. “She just got back today from holiday with my in-laws, and I was aching to see her.”
“In-laws?” Scarlett said, raising her eyebrows and sharing a look with Nikki who quickly shushed her.
“She’s a two-year-old,” Charley repeated, not even paying attention to those around her. She was beginning to feel sick for her accusations. Of course, his little girl should be his number-one priority.
“There’s no stronger bond than that of a parent and child,” he said matter-of-factly.
Charley drank that in. Whatever her parents were, they had been devoted to her. And she saw in the family album how much John and Marlena were devoted to all of their children.
“Phoebe’ll actually be two next month,” Brendan said, interrupting her thoughts. “She was barely six months old when we lost her mother.”
Charley bit her lip and then turned away, horrified at how she’d reacted. “And you don’t have a girlfriend…”
“What? No. The way I kissed you?” Brendan said, turning her back to look at him. “What kind of a guy do you think I am?” The hurt in his voice crushed her.
“I didn’t always have the best role model in men,” she admitted. “It’s no excuse, but then I’d—just seen John Black kissing Scarlett…”
“You saw that?” Scarlett grimaced. “Honey, I kissed him,” she admitted. “And got nothing out of it but a blistering lecture.”
Charley let that sink in. John wasn’t coming on to another woman?
“And then Vince—” her voice trailed off.
“You and I had a misunderstanding, that’s all,” Vince said, cutting her off pointedly. Then he addressed the others: “Come on, we have better things to do than eavesdrop. Let’s get set up for our first shots—and give these two some room.”
After Vince moved away and the others followed, Charley and Brendan were finally alone.
“Who would have thought Vince could be a romantic,” Charley said with a soft smile.
“And who would have thought you could be so wrong about me,” Brendan said gently.
“I’m so sorry I misunderstood. And I’m sure your little girl is as special as you are,” Charley offered.
“And then there’s us,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You and I connected in a way I’ve truly never felt before. Ever,” he said pointedly. “At least I thought so.”
Charley’s knees were weak as her eyes met his. The connection was still there, the atmosphere more electrically charged than ever. It was as if every one of the creatures in Africa was now listening. A light wind swirled around them, the flickering from the candles casting a warm, romantic glow.
“Can you forgive me?” Charley asked as tears started to well.
Brendan stared at her for what seemed like an eternity.
“I should have told you about Phoebe before,” Brendan said apologetically. “I just didn’t realize how much you’d matter.”
Brendan wiped the tear from the corner of Charley’s eye, and she flicked a drop of champagne from his damp hair.
“Can I touch you now?” he asked with a smile that melted her heart.
She nodded, breathless, and he cupped her face in his hands. Both of them shuddered at the touch, and he leaned in to kiss her. It was a tender kiss that overcame them with passion.
The clock was ticking, and Patch was not happy. He drove up to the clinic and saw Kayla’s Jeep in the driveway and the lights inside still on. No other cars were in sight.
“You’re here alone after dark?” Patch muttered. “We had a pact that you’d never do that.” Then he took a deep, calming breath. This was no time for him to be angry.
He climbed out of his 4x4, aware of the chirping of nature that surrounded him. Small animals scurried across the gravel as he made his way to the door.
He reached for the door handle but then opted to knock.
“Sweetness, it’s just me,” he called out. “Don’t worry. Joe’s got someone with him,” he added as a preemptive measure.
When there was no answer, he tried to contain his concern. “Come on, Sweetness, we’ve got to get past this,” he said. “Let me in.”
When there was still no answer, Patch tried the door. He was startled to find it unlocked. He pushed it open.
He saw Kayla’s body on the floor the minute he entered.
“Dammit,” he snapped as he flew to her side. “Anybody?” he shouted out in hopes that someone might be there. “Cornelius?”
Kayla wasn’t moving. Patch put his head to her chest to make sure she was breathing. Her breathing was deep and slow, but she was unresponsive to his touch.
“How long have you been here?” he asked, with no expectation of an answer.
As he pushed back the hair from her forehead to make sure she wasn’t bleeding, she began to stir.
“Sweetness, don’t move,” he ordered.
He surveyed the room quickly, and it seemed obvious what had happened.
“You fell over that bag and hit your head, I think.”
“Wha—?” she mumbled.
Though deeply concerned, he was gentle. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Kayla Brady…” she slurred as she opened her eyes slowly. “Hi,” she said with a disoriented smile. “Where am I?”
“Tom-Ali,” Patch told her. He was trying to be calm, but inside his stomach was churning.
“I don’t know…What time is it, and where’s Joe?” she asked as she sat up slowly. Then her motherly instincts kicked in. “How is his wrist?” and then repeated, “Where is he?”
“I found someone to watch him. He’s resting, and he’s fine,” Patch said, not telling her about Beauty.
She touched the back of her head and winced. Just then the door was shoved open. Patch and Kayla look
ed up to see Bill Horton.
“Kayla, are you all right?” Bill was immediately concerned when he saw her.
“I…fell,” Kayla said simply. “Anyway, that’s what Steve tells me.”
“Make sure you get up slowly,” Bill said in a calm, professional manner.
As Patch guided her up with his hand on her back, Bill extended his hand to help her stand. She was wobbly.
“I don’t see any contusions, but let me check you over,” he said.
“I’m fine,” Kayla assured him. But she tightened the grip on his hand as a wave of nausea hit her. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Bill quickly guided Kayla to the rear of the clinic and she stumbled into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. From inside they heard her wretch.
“Lucky I saw your cars,” Bill said. “I was on my way home from Ambri.”
“Drinking?” Patch said caustically.
“Just two beers, same as yesterday. I’m sober as a judge, Patch.” He extended his hand, which was steady as a rock. “I’m concerned about Kayla, though. The dizziness and nausea? Could be a concussion.”
“If she hit her head on the floor, would there be pain on the back of her skull?” Patch asked. “Would the pain radiate?”
“From a simple fall it shouldn’t. Why?” Bill asked.
Another wretch from the bathroom.
“There’s a bump on the back of her head.”
Bill drank it in. “Let me check her over. Whatever happened, we can’t be too careful.”
“Thank you.” Patch’s hand went to his vest pocket. “While you do that, I’ve gotta make a call.”
While Bill went to examine Kayla, Patch gave John the update and he agreed that something smelled worse than three-day-old fish. Marlena had come back from the day appearing drunk as a skunk, and now Kayla was even worse.
“Not to mention what’s been going on with Bill,” Patch realized.
“They all have the same symptoms for no apparent reason,” John said, trying to piece it all together.
“But obviously there is one,” Patch said. “And it all seems to stem from this clinic.”
“There’s a connection to the Xings,” John said, his instincts clicking in. “I don’t know what it is yet, but all this happening now is too much of a coincidence.”
Patch knew John well enough to know he was on a mission. And when John Black was on a mission, nothing could stop him.
“I know you, man, and be careful,” Patch cautioned.
“Don’t worry about me,” John offered, energized. “I’m a big boy. I can handle this myself. But if you don’t hear back from me in an hour…have Shane send their guys in.”
Patch agreed and then hung up and quickly began analyzing the scene for clues. His mission was finding out what happened to Kayla.
He knew his wife well, and she was never clumsy. She was also a neat freak, and a medical kit would never be left in the pathway.
Bill emerged from the exam room quickly, as confused as ever.
“What’d you find?” Patch asked, deeply concerned.
“Disorientation, redness of her eyes, nausea, low heart rate—and a fresh mark on her arm.”
“Mark?” Patch interrupted.
“From an injection.”
It took Patch less than five minutes to find the syringe in the trash, and Bill quickly checked the medicine cabinet for clues. The meds were alphabetized and a bottle was missing.
“Rohypnol,” Bill realized.
“Roofies,” Patch said, as it hit them both.
“Causes memory loss and amnesia,” Bill said, reeling.
“Your symptoms lately,” Patch said, putting two and two together. “And Marlena’s.” Patch scanned the area quickly, and his eyes went to the glass on the high shelf. “Why is that one by itself?”
“The last one in a set from my parents. Brings back memories,” Bill said ironically. “It’s the glass I always use.”
Patch grabbed the crystal tumbler with the worn gold “H” and, in the bottom, found a fine white powder.
“Bingo. He’s been drugging you, man,” Patch said, seething. “To keep you off balance.”
Bill was stunned. “Why would he want to do that?”
“Trying to set you up for something,” Patch surmised.
“With small doses,” Bill said. “But to inject it…” Then he caught himself. “Wait a minute, we’re in luck,” he said as reached for a small vial and a fresh syringe from the cabinet.
“More drugs?” Patch asked.
“Anexate,” Bill said as he headed to the rear of the clinic. “The antidote for Rohypnol.”
***
The Anexate took effect in less than two minutes, and Kayla’s speech was nearly normal when she realized Bill had just given her a shot.
“Bill, Steve…” she said as she quickly came to. Her hand went to the arm Bill had just injected. “Oh, my god,” she said.
“You’re okay?” Patch asked, gasping in relief.
She nodded quickly, her face registering shock. “Cornelius…?” she uttered as the memories came flooding back.
“What happened, Sweetness? Do you remember?”
The anti-benzodiazepine Bill had just administered was having the precise effect that it had been created for, and Kayla began to remember everything.
Cornelius with the drugs.
Those gloves.
And Bill’s gun.
The past summer, John had put himself through the grueling physical and mental tests at ISA headquarters in London to prove to himself and Marlena that his rehabilitation was complete. With a history that had included everything from police officer to mercenary to art thief, this was a man who could indeed handle on his own what life threw at him.
Confiding in anyone he didn’t know intimately was neither his style, nor smart, especially when he had no idea who else was involved. So he opted to do what any red-blooded American or ex-mercenary would do. He hot-wired one of the Londolani Rovers.
After the five-minute trip through the rocky Timbavati terrain from the main camp to the airfield, he reached the jet that sat on the edge of the runway.
Sprinting to the jet, he used the emergency security code Shane had given him to open the outside luggage compartment. A quick scan with a high-powered flashlight found nothing, so he quickly disabled the steps and bounded into the main cabin.
The closed aircraft was sweltering.
Though the cockpit was exactly the same as the one he’d owned, every interior was different. Using his high-powered flashlight, John scoured the custom interior. Toward the rear, just past the rich leather sofa that lined one side of the cabin, was a wide series of shallow drawers. Using the same security code, John disabled the digital lock and slid the drawers open one by one.
Each tray held a dazzling display of gold, silver, and diamond pieces. They were works of art—signs of nature, signs of the zodiac. And one tray was filled with China’s most spiritual creatures: a turtle, a dragon, a tiger, and a phoenix.
John lingered on the phoenix, a symbolic link to his past. The past, he reminded himself. No longer a phoenix to rise but an eagle to soar.
Like a computer, his mind was processing what he was seeing: symbology, mythology.
He slid open the bottom tray, wondering what he’d find. There, on its own, was a gleaming gold dagger in the shape of a snake.
Snakes symbolize a message from the underworld, John realized. Under, he repeated to himself.
He slid the drawer all the way out of its tracks and noticed a notch at the top of the steel base it rested on.
Trained by the ISA to recognize hidden compartments, John placed his finger in the notch and slid the plate open.
“Bingo,” he muttered.
Underneath, he saw a la
rge, lined storage container.
Inside? There were half a dozen severed rhino horns, worth several million dollars on the black market. Taking out his digital camera, John quickly snapped image after image of the evidence.
A quick flash of light coming toward the plane from outside caught John’s attention. A car was approaching from across the veld.
He quickly reinserted the lid and then the drawer. He dashed to the stairs, pulling them closed.
He was trapped inside the jet. Without a weapon.
***
Jiao-jie and Wen’s visits to the neighboring game farms had gone beautifully. While they had sold less than ten thousand dollars worth of their incredibly expensive jewelry, they’d publicly validated their “official” reason for being in the Timbavati.
“That Meerlust at Ngala was beautiful,” Jiao-jie said flirtatiously and a bit tipsy. “Can we take a side trip to Stellenbosch?” she asked as they drove their rented Mercedes back to Londolani. The glorious location outside of Cape Town yielded some of the finest wines in the world, and she’d come to love its charm as well as its vintages.
“They can send us a few cases to Hong Kong,” Wen answered. “We need to get home. Thousands are waiting to pay us through the noses for those horns.”
“Life is good,” Jiao-jie laughed.
“No, life is perfect,” Wen answered with a smile at his elegant wife as they pulled into the airstrip.
They did not notice the Londolani Rover sitting in the bush less than thirty yards away.
“Be quick,” Jiao-jie said seductively as she handed him a small jewelry case. “I’d like to get back to the suite and celebrate.”
Wen quickly kissed his wife and then headed to the jet. He punched in the security code and when the stairs opened, Wen bounded up them two at a time.
Jiao-jie saw the lights go on and Wen head to the locked jewelry cases. Then she waited. And waited.
Several minutes went by, and she became antsy.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she muttered.
Making sure no creatures were lurking in the African terrain, she exited the Mercedes and headed up the jet staircase.
A Stirring from Salem Page 20
